Dreams of painting

A few weeks ago I went to an art supply store to pick up more sketchbooks that work well with fountain pens to journal in.

Near the entrance there was a large painting with a black canvas as background. It caught my eye and I stood before it awhile, soaking in stark imagery. It wasn’t anything beautiful yet it stuck out with deep contrasts and colors.

The shop guy strolls next to me, says it’s a form of “reverse art” he’s framing for the artist.

Something inside me creaked a tiny bit.

A few nights later I had a very lucid, vivid dream:

I was in a darkened room, an informal art gallery or an artist’s living studio. There were various objects of art throughout.

An old fashioned slideshow apparatus started slowly flashing images of art on a wall. I realized the show was for me.

The art was stunning — beauty of a kind that goes so deep it hurts.

It was in the style of abstracts with dark backgrounds and profound imagery. Art I’d never seen anywhere. Surreal colors off the charts, patterns which bled into one another. Out of this world art that struck deep chords.

Each image did a slow burn into my soul and DNA, leaving an indelible imprint.

All the while it felt as if a silent message was being drilled into me through each painting. Quietly calling to me to open my heart to it and bring those visions into reality.

I’m not sure what to make of it.

I’ve always had some kind of desire to paint and it would pass, lost to the detritus of life.

I’ve also always thought if I was super motivated to make something happen that I would do it. But it hasn’t materialized when it comes to art.

My imagination is an eternal artist, creating beautiful images in my head but my hands and fingers are controlled by my mind. They don’t have the desire or will to deliver what the imagination wants.

It’s a constant struggle.

Often where there is struggle I move onto other things because maybe to struggle means I’m just not ready?

Or is the dream telling me to push through this inertia and make it happen somehow?

I recently bought a handmade portable pochade box just in case the fire to create comes back to life — and stays lit.

So we’ll see.

Not mine but very similar by same craftswoman