Dreams, and more

That dream of the bright windows in my body, I opened them and light was streaming from within them. Another, of looking at myself naked in a mirror; I peeled the skin away, my flesh was studded with jewels, ruby red and clear as pomegranate seeds.

A recent dream (Christmas night) of being in a large crowd of people at a show of my work and going around listening to what people were saying. One woman said she thought the figures reminded her of ants and I thought to myself in the dream, she is on a different wavelength, how can I get through to her? So I went up to the woman and I said ‘they are not ants, they are like little beings we don’t often see, which flicker at the edge of our awareness, which hover, dip and fly, such as we might see in a dream, such as exist between worlds.’ Then as I was speaking people crowded around me and it became dark with bodies and the human mass, and I asked them to move away from me. The gallery seemed like a very open space; there was no ceiling or roof; above was the sky (the world). I had the feeling of courage in the dream to speak up about my work.


The butterfly in my book, butterfly in face, butterfly in the sky of my veins, in my arm as I move it to sweep away that picture of you, right before my eyes.



Images of works in the show, and notes on blue light

There is a little blue flame burning at the top of my head. It comes from my crown. A blue light sometimes burns between us, Osiris. I step into a blue fire, I step into you. Your blue flames dance all around me, blue flames like wings.

A great wave is perpetually about to break in me. I contain this wave, the blue flame, I cover my edges, I build transparency and distance, I learn to move silently away.





More pictures of the Opening evening

Trying to speak about The Mother holds back the Flood. I didn’t mention the pink band at the top, but I thought of Rudolf Steiner and what he had said about peachy pink and it’s deeply sacred associations. There were many things I could have said in my talk but did not.Partly the heat of the moment, my nerves, but also not feeling confident enough that I could adequately articulate what was in my heart .

In retrospect I wish I had mentioned the surge of joy I felt when I read the first 3 pages of Penny’s first draft of her essay. I experienced a deep and certain surge of energy; I walked around the house and garden, I wanted to jump up and down, I could hardly contain what I felt: – but I did, and it was like a great charge to my inner battery.

In the talk I also wanted to describe how my dogs behaved when my Father died. I was in his house with Frankie and Missis, just waking to a dark dawn when the telephone rang. It was 6 am and I knew it could only mean one thing. The nurse told me he had gone. It was too early to make any other calls so I returned to bed. Frankie curled up in the curve of my belly, and Missis Darling stretched out around my spine. They kept me warm with their cuddle, and helped me to feel less desolate.

Seeds need darkness to germinate. Inside our bodies it is dark but so alive and full of activity. I wish I had been able to describe what the rich darkness means to me. It is full of possibilities and it is where the light comes from. We need deep roots to grow tall strongly.

Reading John Berger, preparing for my show, being in love

Last night I went to bed wanting something easy to read. But instead I picked up John Berger’s Why look at animals? He writes about being in love, and how when one is in love, ‘one wants to make love with fish, with fruit, with hills, with forests, in the sea’. (p 94). I guess it is about a certain expansiveness one is lent when one’s heart is open.

This morning I went into the wet garden as first light was creeping across the sky. A small bird was perched brightly in the tree above me, singing the most beautiful and exquisite song. One star still in the sky, the firmament pale washed blue. Feeling in love with the world, with the garden, with the bird high up in that tree which is in silhouette, which does not see me or need me but which pours out his song.

So you pour out your beauty like a song. I hear it. Tears come to my eyes. I am rooted to the spot. There is nothing for me to do except register it, feel it in my soul, and suffer to some extent because of it.

Organismic self

Working today on the original or organismic self. The part we are born with, our true self. Where the true and best part of us lives, is found.

The large canvas is now exploring a figure about to be born from the flank of a doe. The figure appears to be wrapped in a cocoon or chrysalis. It recalls a dream I had where I saw a figure in space floating, attached by cords to a chrysalid form. I feel it is probably about me exploring my organismic self, which has it’s home energetically in the body of a deer.