Material Witness will focus on extreme textile process. Images will be posted here showing the history of my work, new work, developing projects and inspiration.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Dreaming Weakness

I wake up in the morning. Not really morning for a few hours.
I get out of bed after planning. Remembering dreams if my pain is tolerable.

Dreams now are filled with my vulnerability.
So many have to do with endurance and trying to reach a destination.
I used to be so strong in my dreams. I could fly if there were obstacles.
It took no effort to be heroic.

Now it is different. I lose things. I am trapped inside places.
Witnessing someones great sorrow and I have no idea what to do.
I touch and there is a repulsed response.

My sleep is fit full. Sometimes there are more than one dream.

1. There is a baby dropped in my arms and it is almost porcelain.
Like fine Japanese porcelain that is opaque in the light. The baby has the whitest skin but no eyes.
It is so round and rolled up in a tight fetal position. I want to find someone else to care for it but I am burdened by it's weight. I sit and look at it and recoil but know I will hold it anyways. I have always been too responsible.

2. I am with Kyd in Lima, Peru. She has given me her horse to care for. There is a festival in the next town and I agree to bring it to her there. It must be perfectly groomed. I look and look and can't find either her feed or her curry comb. There are branches that look like they would work for a comb and when the first stroke hits her side blood seeps through her skin. I know I have to meet Kyd at Confession. I keep explaining to people that my mother is Catholic and not me.

3. My birth certificate is lost. I am allowed to get a travel card without it. I leave to a stupid destination that has a big box store and nothing else. The whole town is empty. So I open the door to go into the store and it closed down six months before. There is dust and a few papers and old boxes on the ground. I try to go home but the authorities at the border won't let me back into Canada. There is a hysterical little dog running everywhere. It is in terrible condition and no one will help it. I try to pick it up but it bites me. I drop it and it continues it's hysteria.

4. My father is across the river. It is filled with logs and I try to walk them like a log driver but the logs I choose are really just floating bark. My father is yelling at me. Saying his normal unkind things. " Get up you big baby!" And then he puts on his disgusted face and storms off into the forest. I can hear him but I can't see him. His tirade continues and I know it is hopeless.

All last night the dreams kept coming. None particularly profound or meaningful. None that hard to figure out.

5. I am with my Nanny. Irish for Granny. We are in Parc Frontinac in Montreal. There is a grotto with a Mary in it with flowing blue and white gowns. Her face is pretty. I try to pry the figurine out of the grotto

I have one dream that has been repeated over and over. It is kind. I dream I am standing in a vast prairie field. My hands are covered in prairie dust. I wipe them on my dress. There is a dusty mist and the sounds of the prairies. Grasshoppers, peregrines, wind in the grass. My dress and very long light blond hair are captured by the soft breeze. The dress is long with pin tucks and a full long skirt. It is a faded soft blue green cotton. "This is not my time". But I know I am my great grandmother's mother.
My name is Julia.

In truth I didn't know her name and got a family tree a few years ago. There she was. Not a dream at all. Her name was Julia.

Julia always comforts me. She died when my great grandmother was a little girl.

Is there such a thing as genetic dreaming? I have no memory of Old Gran telling me her name.
Maybe she did.

My Step Granddaughter Sloane seeking a little comfort from me.

1 comment:

Deb said...

Oh yes there is..I never met my mothers mother..she died when Mom was only four, but I had dreams of her scolding in Italian. The red sauce spoon swat too.