Dream Journal
When the pandemic first hit, I started having strange vivid dreams. I was not alone in this, and the experience can readily be explained by the pervasive collective anxiety we all felt. For me, these dreams were a bright spark in otherwise dark time, because they provided rich imagery for new work.
Think of the images below as a visual, personal account of our collective exerience through these dark times.
Black Water
March
In the earliest pandemic dreams, the themes were of empty desolate cities. There were floods of black water that washed into the streets. In some cases, buildings turned into ruins and even dissolved into smoke.
‘Black Water’ In this dream it’s quiet, no one’s around; not a breath of wind. Slow, heavy waves roll through the black tarry water that has replaced the ground. The black water stretches to the horizon. The sky is so close and heavy you could touch it. I notice that I’m in a small, varnished wooden boat. It has no oars. Black sticky water splashes up. It’s very hard to wipe it off.
Bad News
March
‘Bad News’ The bad news in this case are the cheerfully coloured letters ‘a u u a a a g g…’ which is the RNA sequence of the Covid-19 virus. The genetic code of the disease. Again, the world is dissolving into ruin, but there is hope in the form of the little boat. Whereas everything else is under a dark cloud, this little boat is lit with rays of hope.
Bridges
April
in this dream, I’m on a bridge that’s strangely connected to other bridges. I don’t know where to go, but I’m in a hurry. Everything is shaking and rattling. There’s a huge train somewhere close, but I can’t see it.
Stitching
April
I can’t make much sense of this dream, but here it is: odd but not threatening people visit our houses when we sleep. They take photos of banal things and leave them in drawers where we find them in the mornings. The photos are cut up in different shapes and then stitched together. Some of the stitching is tight, some of it very lose so that there are long threads between the pieces. In the dream, no one seems concerned about these nocturnal artists, they look forward to what they will find in the morning.
Boat
May
‘Boat’ is a short vignette that attempts to reflect the image of a dream-world. I’m in a city that is dissolving. Buildings are turning into smoky, wispy clouds and the ground is moving like the surface of water. A little wooden boat appears. It’s some kind of lifeboat.
Hands and Glasses
May
In this dream, houses have open sides, like stage sets. Odd, but not threatening people visit these houses when we sleep. They take photos of banal things and leave them in drawers where we find them in the mornings. The photos are cut up in different shapes and then stitched together. Some of the stitching is tight, some of it very loose so that there are long threads between the pieces. In this dream world, no one seems concerned about these nocturnal artists, people just look forward to what they will find in the morning..
Empires Collapse
June
My artwork has been affected a great deal by the pandemic. It was cool and meditative before, and became dark and nightmarish early in the pandemic. Recently, the work has taken an optimistic turn - there’s hope that we’ll build a better, kinder world once this is over.
The stress of the pandemic has exposed deep fault-lines in our society; brought many problems to the surface. We have a chance to re-imagine and re-build a better society: kinder and less materialistic. There’s optimism in the crisis; light gets in through the cracks!
The Way Back Home
July
It’s based on a recent dream where I am in town, but I can’t find my way home. Buildings have disappeared and been replaced. I turn a familiar corner but it leads to streets I’ve never seen before.
I have a map but I can’t find my place in it. It’s a dream about trying to find my way back to the way things were.
This piece was featured in the Toronto Star.
Full Fathom Five
August
This is at least the third piece titled ‘Full Fathom Five’ that I’ve made over the last couple of years. An idea I keep returning to, it’s based on this piece of text from Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest’:
Full fathom five thy father lies.
Of his bones are coral made.
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell
The idea of impermanence versus continuity is what engages me. The body has sunk more than thirty feet down. In the dark depths, it has become completely transformed. The constituent parts: eyes, bones, etc. are gone and yet the form of the body remains: transmuted through a sea-change.
Superman
September
Pride goes before the fall. The pandemic and climate change will teach us humility. If humans are to survive, it will be by getting along with each other, and the natural world, not by trying to dominate. Hubris is our most dangerous trait.
The figure is John Graves Simcoe, a Brit who named many of the towns and counties here in southern Ontario after friends of his. You can see through him now. His power is dissolving. The colourful text is the RNA sequence of COVID-19 - maybe it’s a solvent; an agent of change?
Bricks in the Wall
October
This wall was built to keep people in. A window opening has been bricked up to prevent escape. Today only fragments of the barrier remain; you can walk around the ends.
Up and Over
November
This place is full of ghosts. The patients (inmates?) were forced to build the walls that would enclose them. Brick by brick, they stood on ladders working to block out the sky.
Pale Glow
November
“… Din dag är blott en strimma,
som lyser blek och matt -
se, framom henne dimma
och bakom henne natt! …”
- Viktor Rydberg
Fog can be more disorienting than night. More blinding than dark. You so easily lose your orientation and sense of direction.
Cloudscape
December
It’s depressing: the sticky tangled mess that we humans make of things.
But look up at the clouds.
Clouds are amazing! Nature is amazing! Let a sense of awe blow away those cobwebs!
Cloudscape
January 2021
When you glance at the sky, the clouds appear still. Look again and they’ve changed. The same is true of the city. Brick, concrete, steel and stone: they all look permanent, solid and reliable. But give it some time. Everything will change.
Frames
February 2021
I can never see things as they ‘really are’. There’s always some reference, preconception; some structure that frames what I perceive. Maybe, if I look through many different frames, I could reduce this self-imposed haze.
Slowly Churning
March
Slowly churning.
Billowing out; expanding in one place, dissolving into thin vapour in another.
At a glance, it appears static. Over time, all of it is transitory.
Clouds, cities, everything is changing, growing, and passing away.
On earth and in the sky.
Navigator
April
Intricate diagrams; colour coded graphs.
Vast data collected and presented.
But I can’t find my place on this map.
The compass has no needle.