Dreams

Weird, hallucinogenic dreams fueled by yesterday's meds, a martini, and oysters. I'm not sure whether I recommend them or not. Lost in a combination of Disneyland and a World's Fair in San Antonio, Texas. Unable to find the way out, I keep getting deeper in. At one point, I'm trapped in an installation honoring a British artist. (Where are the rides?) The access points to a dome-like room becomes smaller and smaller until I am in a room with an Easter Island-like bust comprised of layers of papier-maiche as thick as egg cartons. It is quite striking, with the technique inspired by Chuck Close . And as good as the sculpture is, it would be nice if I could find a way out of the room. There are false doors and exits that lead nowhere. Eventually, I do escape -- if that's the word -- and wind up visiting my old college, which has changed beyond recognition: All of the lower campus parking lots are now filled by retail space and lecture halls.

This is not the first dream I've had about some truly excellent original art or music. Once, I dreamed of an original symphony. Of course, I awoke and couldn't recall a note. Even as I write, the details of the installation fade. It's like the dream mines some deep creative inspiration that I simply don't have the talent to realize. (The art or music is invariably someone else's work.) Well, we can dream, can't we?