Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Dreaming

This morning, I had a wonderfully vivid dream.  I was in a home in New England. The house was sitting on a foundation or huge rock which formed a natural porch front and back.  It looked much like a house one would see in Camden, Maine.  I decided to take a tour of the house and began walking through the rooms.  It was a little cluttered the home of a writer.  Most writers and artists I know tend to clutter up their space a bit and have less than organized minds.

The furniture was rustic, and a door with french windows and a Light Colonial Maple stain led to the back rock porch.  When I stepped through the back door, I was greeted with a breath-taking scene looking out over the ocean.  A small island jutted out of the water near the center of the bay, and a spit of rocky but tree-covered land curved around to the left.  The sand was strewn with seaweed, grasses and dark pebbles. It was enchanting. The kitchen off to the right proved to me this author was a bachelor and not very tidy with his kitchen duties.  I grabbed a sponge and gave him a little help cleaning up.  I saw he also needed better curtains to frame the lovely scene at the back of the house. Explaining that my mother was a dressmaker, and I had learned sewing skills as a child, I offered to make a set of cafe curtains for the window over the sink.  Just as we were about to enjoy a slice of strawberry cake, the dang alarm went off and took me away from this charming house.

I have two recurring dreams.  One that I move from my house to some place I think is better, then discover I don't want to live in the new place.  I try to get back to my little, haunted house, but it is too late.  I can't afford to purchase the house back, and my life in Florida is gone forever.  I always wake up from that dream with a great feeling of sadness and vow to myself that I will never leave this house.

The second recurring dream, I've had since I was a child is about a plane crash.  A plane flies overhead and crashes behind a row of buildings.  I'm standing at the back of the buildings and watch it as it almost touches the roof.  Then, there's a loud crash and bright flash.  As the years have progressed, so has the action in the dream.  The last time I had it, I was not standing looking out over the tragedy but peering at the sky from inside a body bag.  A fireman in a bright yellow coat is zipping the bag closed as I watch.  As you might expect, I avoid flying.

Dreams have always been a big part of my life and my creativity.  I've read that people do not dream in color.  My dreams are so colorful, I can set a pallet to what I see in the dream and often do.  At my art shows, visitors ask me where I get my ideas and designs.  I dream many of them.  Sometimes, the force behind the dream is so strong that I get out of bed, go to my studio, set the pallet and design to what I saw in the dream and create the painting that day.  This usually happens in the wee hours of the morning, so I've learned to live on five hours of sleep and be happy.  I consider the dreams a gift.

Caterina

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