What Dreams Are Made Of

At the onset of the 1990s, I had one of the most profound dreams I can remember. The setting was inside my childhood house on Mohn Street, pronounced moon. I could feel myself being drawn to the living room from upstairs, surrounded in darkness for the most part. The only thing illuminated was an easel with a canvas on it. 


I have the dream written down and the creative writing it inspired since then. The painting on the easel was supposed to be my father's. My father wanted to get training as an artist when he was in high school but wasn't able due to lack of finances. 

It wasn't until I acknowledged my own artist within as an adult did I realize how frustrating life must have been for my father. Although he did have one creative outlet, his music. He learned to play the accordion without lessons, but by ear.  

I have gotten so much from this one-scene dream, like a movie clip. Nothing was said and not really vivid. It's message was revealing. I should say its messages were many--Like pay attention to the silent whispers, the hidden canvas you've forgotten, or find that something waiting to be uncovered. Whether in writing and allowing a character to emerge from the depths of your psyche, or taking that first step to pick up a paint brush.  

It's about having the nerve to be creative, artistic. Listening to the revelation and picking up that camera or chisel and not be afraid of the surrounding darkness that sometimes presses in. Go forth this New Year, soon a month old, and dream up a storm!!!