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A Commitment to Canvas and Ink

On the source of my narrative:

Working with the Dead

The dreams were literally mythic in proportion.

I dreamt I was a Cyclops chained in a cave. With the help of a “wisp-of-smoke” I break free in time to devour my captor. Doing so, I'm empowered. I become strong and return to my natural state. Then, while discussing the dream in therapy a second dream occurs. This time it's a quick day-dream. I'm a Caryatid sculpted in stone. For an instant I hover about myself and then zoom in on my face to find I am crying. I clearly see tears streaming down my cheeks as the Sun glistens off the structure I support.

Both dreams were charged and burst into consciousness. I touched depths of restrained sadness. My therapist saw the dreams as sign of something yet to be unleashed; something that literally cried out to be heard. It was then, somewhere inside, voices and images arose.

I had the courage to allow my inner experience to guide my life. I surrendered and let go. Was I a Cyclops dreaming of being a man, or a man dreaming of being a Cyclops? Only in hindsight can I appreciate now dangerous the situation was. My ancestors had questions of the present and they made demands on me.

I create art as a therapy; a healing process for both the living and the dead.

 

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