Saturday, August 02, 2008

Provincetown 34

Well, I've certainly been catching up on some sleep yesterday and today! Two strange dreams:

1. This has to do with an article I recently read in the New Yorker about Stuart Little. Apparently there was much controversy about Stuart's origins, the way he was born small and looking like a mouse to human parents. I liked the article so much that I sent it to Erin (Erin's Everyday Thoughts) who is getting her MFA in writing chrildren's literature.

I dreamed that I had a child, a tiny being looking like a tiny little boy. He was a perfectly formed little boy but only about five inches tall. He was brought to me in the hospital wrapped in a baby blanket, rather lost in the blanket. I looked at the child and said, "Do you know who I am?" And the child said, "You're mama." And I said, "How did you know that?" And he said, "Santa Clause told me!"

2. In the other dream, I was lost in an old rerun of Oprah, in which she had taken her audience across a highway to listen to a talk given by Robert MacNamara and others. The talk happened in the summer, but in "real time" it was winter. In one part of the dream, a beautiful woman stood on a balcony in a summer dress. The dress was sleeveless and backless. But everything behind her cold and dreary with winter. I don't know where that dream came from.

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"I was no better than dust, yet you cannot replace me. . . Take the soft dust in your hand--does it stir: does it sing? Has it lips and a heart? Does it open its eyes to the sun? Does it run, does it dream, does it burn with a secret, or tremble In terror of death? Or ache with tremendous decisions?. . ." --Conrad Aiken

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Fave Painting: Eden

Fave Painting:  Eden

Fave Painting: The Three Ages of Man and Death

Fave Painting:  The Three Ages of Man and Death
by Albrecht Dürer

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The Secret of Hurricanes : That article in the Waterville Scout said it was Shake- spearean, all that fatalism that guides the Kennedys' lives. The likelihood of untimely death. Recently, another one died in his prime, John-John in an airplane. Not long before that, Bobby's boy. While playing football at high speeds on snow skis. Those Kennedys take some crazy chances. I prefer my own easy ways. Which isn't to say my life hasn't been Shake-spearean. By the time I was sixteen, my life was like the darkened stage at the end of Hamlet or Macbeth. All littered with corpses and treachery.

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My Original Artwork:  Triptych

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