I dream in black; white and red. Recently I’ve had to force myself awake from my dreams; but the problems persist. My brain and it’s processing enjoys mocking my conscious mind; it always has done and I’m half used to it now. Except when my dreams feel more like life than my waking hours.
The other night I had to wake myself up from a dream that finished with “But how do you know that life is real and not just a dream”. I laid there in bed for an hour or so listening to my breathing trying to quiet my heart and encourage myself to believe that this was real. That I had woken up.
They’re always the same; other people who I’ve never met; worlds I don’t recognise all encouraging me to question if anything around me is real. It’s exhausting and sounds very similar to Inception; believe me I know. In a diary written in 2009 I complain that I need to wake up from life, that I need to do that by killing myself. The coincidence is creepy and left me concerned about the validity of the world around me.
But I bleed and that must mean I’m breathing.
I seem to be encouraging one of my kittens to sleep on my pillows. This is probably going to come back at some point and bite me in the arse. She is only little at this moment; but kittens turn into cats and then I’ll be forced half-way down the bed while she relaxes above my head.
Which leads me on to a program I watched, called The Paw Project. I learnt a lot, but mostly that some people in America think that declawing a cat is perfectly ok; almost a necessity. It’s not. It’s disgusting, it’s wrong, it’s maiming; and I think you’re an idiot if you go anywhere near your cats claws with the aim of removing them. It’s down right cruel.
The latest The Lights Are On… stop in the tour opens tonight. I’m excited and looking forward to the whole lot; photos will follow, they always do. Yet again; while making the works at one point; right bang in the middle of working to a deadline I did what I’m best at. I stopped. I stopped making works and just ignored the fact that opening night and exhibition dates were edging closer. Burying my head in the sand being rather scared that anything I made did not live up to my exacting standards.
This is not so much a problem; but definitely just the way things happen. I begin, I stop, I start again. The break in the middle if integral to so much of my artworks; allowing me the space and time to objectively look at what I’m creating. To step outside of myself and view it without the emotional attachment as best I can.
At lot of my life is like this too, the stop starting, jarring of activities, relationships and projects. I need that moment alone to appreciate the weight of what is happening around me, and I need that moment to listen to my body tell me if this is what I really want; because my instincts start screaming if I need to get out; and I’m always thankful.
Did you know, I’m not really here? I wrote this the other day, knowing that in this moment I needed to be with friends, talking about art, talking about feelings. I am not an island, and I never wanted to be anyway.