|Painting of a Dream|
I was part of a group of women taking a class by my dear friend, writer, and artist, Julia Fehrenbacher. We were encouraged to paint a dream. Immediately I chose a nightmare from my childhood where in pitch-black, on the grounds of a large dark house, there were glimpses of large iron gates, and a heart-racing whole lot of violence and blood-shed pooling everywhere.
I began to paint some iron gates, blood, and darkness, but soon there was this tangible desire taking over my hand and brush, inspiring me to add swirls everywhere to the painting, actually beginning to hide the gate and to light up the night sky. I felt as if the swirls were whispering that they had been there too, permeating the dream, as a great love and holding. Even as I write this, it feels silly, but I cannot discount that in those moments of communing with the blank page and some kid's paint, that there was a streaming connection, and it brought a blanket of peace over a very dark remembrance of a nightmare. The peace remains to this day, the fear replaced by a reverberating curiosity of how something so simple as swirling paint could reconfigure a nightmare into a new dream, teeming with peace and light.
This is when I knew that art had a way of opening up new perception and even reaching back in time (and perhaps into the future) to create wholeness and interject a sense of okay-ness into experiences, dreams or otherwise. This transformation has stayed with me for years and is perhaps why I've made lasting space for art in my life. I experienced that the act of creating is much deeper than one would suppose. This direct experience of the transformation art can bring naturally and lastingly, has greatly influenced the malleability of my perceptions of existence, and how I feel I can learn about, interact with earth's inhabitants, and perceive happenings in a more positive light.