The Inferior Function

The Dream: A young man, an aspiring artist, is friends with an older woman. I want to be part of their group but am concerned that I might be intruding, and I do get a bit of the cold shoulder. Nevertheless, the young man and I engage in a serious chat about art. I am aware that he wants to take courses at the Art Students League. I go off in several directions with this information. I tell him that every artist must teach himself, ultimately, and not rely on the judgments or opinions of others. Each must develop a personal style, unique to herself. “For example,” I say, “when you see a Picasso you know it is a Picasso.” He mentions the many changes in style as Picasso evolved. “Yes,” I say, “because art is the working out of our inner selves, and as we change the art changes.” The conversation gets heated since he wants to pursue study, and he feels I'm negating that choice. But I'm not—at least not entirely. “It's important to study to develop the necessary skills,” I say. “If it hadn't been for Anthony Palumbo at the Art Students League I would never have learned to draw.”

I get back to the idea of art as a reflection of the artist's deepest self. I say, “My work, for example, is pretty and superficial, just like me.” A pause. “Well, I might not be pretty anymore, but I'm still superficial.” After this tongue-in-cheek statement a cloud descends on my spirit. I become aware that, while I might appear self-confident and even tough, I actually feel inferior. The outward aspect is a defensive shell.

Interpretation: This seems to be one of those dreams that interprets itself. It tells me to look at my vulnerabilities if I want to discover my true self. Pretty and superficial can only take a person so far.

A Failed Artist

The Dream: I'm with my mother and two friends. We start to head up to my walk-up apartment. As we are climbing the stairs I say to my mother, “I guess you're wondering why I always live in a 5th floor walk-up?” I mean this as a joke on the effort the stairs require, but it's not actually a negative to me. “Not at all,” says my mother. “It's because you are a failed artist.”

I'm stung by this, but don't feel I can deny the truth of it. I would have preferred she acknowledge the accomplishment of what I've achieved—a certain level of skill, undeniably--than to focus on my utter lack of commercial success. Then too, I don't think commercial success is what I'm after. Nevertheless, I see the career building strategies of a successful artist friend in a new light. It least she isn't seen as a failure.

Mother collapses onto the floor, and I'm afraid the effort of climbing the stairs has given her a heart attack. I bend over her, very concerned, but not ready to call the paramedics: her color looks good and I think she'll snap out of it. I feel, once the crisis has past, that I owe my friends an explanation. “I've been through this so many times before,” I say.

My friends give me gifts. One is a fused glass piece, a tube sprouting a plant. It's roots are in the tube; an exotic flower drapes out.

Interpretation: Ha! My conundrum in a nutshell: one part of me, the internalized critical mother, wants to know why I'm not a commercial success. In our culture money equals value, and if you can't show a profit you and your product must be worthless. Another part, the one that is happy to live on a higher level and doesn't mind the difficulty that entails, sees my art making as a spiritual practice and has no interest in monetizing it, only wants a bit of recognition for what she's accomplished. My critical mother collapses from the effort of the ascent, but I know she'll revive. After all, I've been through this many times.

The friends, protectors of my calling, give me a work of art: nature transformed into a glass object that could last--or might just as easily break.

A Blond, A Baby, and a Joint

The Dream: A platinum blond woman has a new baby. I am wondering about her age: I would have thought she was as old as I—but the baby proves she's younger. I think her platinum blond hair is so close to gray in color that she might as well let it go gray. She is very petite and superficial, reminding me of someone who might work in real estate. She is very judgmental over superficial things. To show off how petite she is, she sits with her baby in a baby car seat.

Somewhere in all of this is an artist. I'm not sure whether it's her, a friend of mine (I think that's it) or me. But everything about the blond is done with style, so it seems she would appreciate this artist, whose work is hip and stylish.

I decide, in light of having this done-up creature around, that I'd better put on some eyebrows. My brothers think this would be interesting to watch, and they peer at me as I apply the eyebrow powder. I get the impression that Nick has smoked a marijuana joint. I'm surprised. Nick has always impressed me as very straight. Greg says, “You'd better watch it; you'll get Dad in trouble.” He's alluding to our father's security clearance.

Interpretation: Dreams can tell us many things, but one thing this dream is telling me is that I think I'm superficial. And I have this to say to my dream:

You say I'm superficial:
I won't deny it.
I'm not the diamond, but its sparkle.
I'm not the ocean, but its glinting.
I'm not the cave, but its hand prints.  

Play with me.

Guest Dreamer: Solo Visit

Hunky's dream is about art, which symbolizes her most authentic self.

Hunky's Dream: I’m walking along San Pablo, near Ashby, in Oakland, heading north. There is an obvious entrance way I am curious about, so I enter. In a short distance I am underground. Is this an underground shopping center? I keep walking.

I’m now in a space as big as a football field. Throughout the space are areas where artists work. There are no separations between them--no walls, just spaces that flow into each other but reflect the uniqueness of each artist/craftsman. Sparsely located throughout the space is contemporary-looking work--some pieces small, some pieces large, all of them hold my attention and appreciation. I like being in this open space. I am particularly taken with a large, circular wood construction that the artist uses to produce his work. It is a beautiful piece of sculpture in itself. I’m impressed with the overall beauty of the place I’m in. It’s quiet in here. It’s a little odd that there are no artists in sight but this doesn’t bother me. To be social would interfere with the visual experience I am enjoying.

I walk up an organically shaped ramp to get to the outdoors. There are no right angles on the ramp, all soft curves. I look closely at the surface I am walking on barefoot. Embedded in the ramp material are tiny pieces of metal, copper and silver. They poke at the soles of my feet, but they do not hurt me.

On the rooftop the surface is covered with a material as dark as asphalt. The material must be as soft as sandstone, though, because all of it has been altered in some way. What I’m walking on has been altered by means of scraping away or building up. An undulating attractive surface was created.

A woman (about 60) greets me and offers to show me around. She is the only person I’ve seen since entering from the street. We visit artist’s areas. As it was when I was in the basement, the artists are not here either. At one place, an artist has created unique pieces of furniture, all of which has an animal as part of it. I see a wooden chair with a life-sized cat carved as part of the arm of the chair. The cat is the arm of the chair but it is definitely a cat as well. On the arm of a sofa is a soft animal form made of the same material as the rest of the sofa. These animals are cleverly integrated as part of the furniture. All the animal forms are compatible with, or the same materials as the furniture.

The woman tells me she is an artist but works here for other artists. I notice she is standing on the edge of the surface here on the rooftop. She is standing on the balls of her feet, like a diver who is preparing to do a back dive.

Then she shows me a large unfinished part of a connected rooftop area and tells me that her boss (an artist) wants to expand his area there. I mention that it must be strong to handle the weight. She says it is.

We approach this person who is her boss. He and she exchange pleasantries. Then the woman asks him if she can use his toilet. He doesn’t seem to be willing to allow it. I figure it must be a tricky and difficult task to install plumbing on this rooftop that has such a surface such as this one. But he tells her she can use the toilet.

As I wait, I hear the sounds of expulsion. I’m not embarrassed. The sounds are loud and powerful.

Carla's Thoughts: As usual, I will respond to Hunky's dream as if it were my own; I invite her to add to our understanding of her dream by leaving us her thoughts as well.

My natural curiosity, something I associate with my playful, creative inner child, has led me to an entrance to the underground (my unconscious). That I at first think I might be encountering a shopping center tells me that this area contains things I might buy (accept), or—by the same token—that I might not. But I pass by this initial response, and, as I do, the space opens up. In fact it becomes huge. Here I am given a vision of my artistic possibilities (my potential). I see no artists here because all of them are me, and we never see ourselves. The contemporary work symbolizes the things my psyche is currently working on. The circular construction represents the many facets of myself working together; this construction is me. In a place of beauty and serenity I am at peace with, and can appreciate, who I am.

As I walk up a ramp (go to a higher level by bringing some of this material into consciousness) my world becomes even more expansive: I am outdoors. This is a natural place, both because it is outdoors and because there are no sharp angles. My soul (sole) is poked, prodded, but this is not painful. On the rooftop I encounter a material that represents my life experiences, some dark, but all altered by the sculpting, the scraping and building up, of things I've done. I appreciate my life; it's an undulating (moving, changing like a river) and attractive achievement.

Then I encounter my anima (the 60 year old woman). She shows me forms (the animal / furniture combinations) that point me to the realization that I can be relaxed (as if on a sofa) with my physical self (the animal). Yes, we are physical beings and subject to all the woes of the flesh, including our own deaths, but my soul tells me I will find my own way of putting these apparently opposing forces, the animate and the inanimate, together in a way that will be comfortable. This part of me is on dangerous ground, standing on edge, maybe about to go over—but she doesn't. She shows me the unfinished business I have yet to complete, and she assures me that I can handle it, heavy though the task may be.

The boss, a controlling part of myself that is very demanding and wants to expand his domain, reluctantly allows my soul to express herself. She does so with gusto, and I affirm her action.

No Release

The Dream: I am dressing for an event, feeling rushed. There are several women with me, and one is an artist friend. I put on a pair of black silk trousers, wide-legged. I'm wearing a white blouse. I add a black sweater/jacket, not quite as out-dated as the trousers. My friend tells me this looks fine, and while I know it's lacking in style and out-dated I decide there's no time to come up with anything better.

I have to go to the bathroom. I'm in a public toilet stall and try to pee, but find I can't. I give up, feeling uncomfortable.

Interpretation: I'm dressed in the traditional mourning colors, black and white. I look for a release (going to the toilet) that doesn't come. The clothes are out-dated; this tells me that the grief I'm experiencing is not only current, but from the past as well. My inner artist (the friend) thinks these clothes are appropriate; perhaps she is more in touch with the old pain that needs expression.

I'm in a toilet stall; indeed,being unable to find the needed release has stalled me. I will feel uncomfortable until I can let it out.

Paint Like a Child

The Dream: I am on a bridge talking with someone about an artist friend’s painting. We are holding one of her paintings, and the other person says, “A child could do this.”

I say, “You think that. Do you have any idea how hard it is to paint like a child?”  I also point out that in any case my friend brings a lot of design sense and sophistication to her “childlike” paintings.

Interpretation: This is a dream grounded, as most are, in what I’d been doing the day before. I had been playing with Photoshop’s Mixer Brush, getting painterly effects in my mindless digital “paintings” that I liked too much to delete. One part of me judged these rather harshly; another didn’t want her playtime denigrated. That we’re having this discussion on a bridge implies that I am straddling two states of being: the proper adult and the playful child.

So Ugly She’s Cute

The Dream: My college friend Mary has a baby who’s so ugly that she’s cute. She is brown with straight golden-brown hair cut in long bangs, and she wears glasses. The baby is very young, only a few months old. She nurses with delight at Mary’s large breast. It soon becomes clear that the baby is very precocious. She can sit and talk; we can tell she is extremely intelligent. Mary is thrilled with her baby.

Interpretation: I think the newly arrived brown babies (this is the second one recently) are linked to a more authentic artistic self emerging as I work on my illustrated dream journals. Not all will find these drawings “beautiful,” yet I find them immensely appealing: so ugly they are beautiful. In waking life Mary is someone who has expressed her own artistic proclivities through others: she married a writer and has many friends in the arts. In the dream the Mary part of me—not quite brave enough to be an artist—has given birth to someone who might manage it. Mary nourishes the baby and is thrilled with her arrival: both good signs.

Time for My Own Vision

The Dream: I am subletting an artist friend’s apartment. The main room is square, and I’m very busy preparing food for a large group. A lot of clean-up work is generated. Some guests offer to help but I tell them not to; they have to go to work tomorrow and will need to get up early, whereas I can sleep late. Nevertheless I’m not happy being stuck with all this clean-up by myself.

A very large computer with many components is in the middle of the kitchen. It has a giant screen, of amazing clarity, on a moveable arm. I imagine watching movies on it. But the system is too big, and when we move it out of the kitchen the room is much nicer.

In the course of our rearrangement I discover an image that takes up most of one wall. It’s made of red clay, like the walls of a cave. In its center is a thick, waterfall-like seepage.  To the right is a recessed area: at first I think I’m seeing into outer space, as if the recess is a window into the universe. Later I’m not sure: it’s ambiguous. Am I looking at something near or far?

Interpretation: This dream further develops the theme of Relieved of Duty. In that dream I was determined to do a boring and impossible task, and in this dream I jump in to be helpful at a boring task and then feel taken advantage of. The computer (the rational mind) in the middle of the kitchen (a place where transformation takes place) needs to be moved before a more personal, deeper (cave-like) image can be revealed. While the rational mind shows us a very clear picture (its screen has amazing clarity), it’s also impersonal and external, like a movie I’m watching. The more personal image is only revealed once we get this contraption out of the way. The ambiguity of seeing something near and far at the same time tells me that what is “out there” is at the same time “in here.”

Beached and Yoked

The Dream: An artist acquaintance is a yoga teacher. She’s teaching at the beach and having some difficulty getting the class together.

Interpretation: Whoever we dream of represents some aspect of ourselves. I associate this particular artist with someone who has managed to be successful in the very demanding fine art arena. In my dream she stands for the part of me that would like to achieve this. I see from the dream that I don’t yet have a “following.” I am stranded (beached) and yoked (yoga) by the choices I've made. At the same time I can see that I’m in a beautiful place, doing something I love.

Guest Dreamer: Bed, Bath and Beyond

A typical dream for Hunky, a visual artist, is composed of images. She is perplexed by this dream because it consists only of words.

The Dream: This morning before I was totally awake I almost called out loud to my husband, "John, call Bed, Bath and Beyond!  Correct the error!  We don't want to pay for what we didn't receive!"  

Hunky: My imagination takes off with this dream, Carla, but I could be totally wrong.  Does it refer to my marriage?  Does it refer to my health (just got good news)?  Does it refer to my continuing concerns (issues around my father)?  Should I sleep on it (bed), and what is it?  Should I wash away certain concerns from my thinking (bath)? Should I look to the future (beyond) for positive, fulfilling endeavors?  I am totally confused.  Because this dream had no visual context I am challenged by its words. Can you imagine the dream as yours?

Carla: My version of Hunky’s dream operates on two levels. Marie-Louise von Franz says that a dream refers to, or is triggered by, something that happened in the past day or two. The trigger doesn't limit the meaning of the dream, but it can be helpful in starting to understand it. The first level has to do with my day-to-day concerns and issues, such as the ones that Hunky has mentioned. If it were my dream, I would ask myself if there were something that I had felt as if I had paid for (not necessarily with money--perhaps with my effort) that gave me nothing back. I call on my animus (my husband, my other-half) to fix the situation. I don't feel my feminine side can deal with the problem. Perhaps I feel I have to give, to support and to nurture beyond my capability. I need my male half to step in, be practical, and protect me from my tendency to overextend for the benefit of others.

Express Yourself

The Dream: I have a new two-story house, unfurnished. An artist friend gives me a wooden table and a toilet stall. This is a self-contained toilet, like the ones you would find in a public restroom. The slightly curved floor and the walls are composed of wooden slats. I examine this fixture, thinking about cleaning it.

Interpretation: I am on the way toward building a new understanding of who I am (the new house). The fact that the house has two stories tells me that I am attempting to integrate two different versions (stories) of myself that currently reside, at different levels, in my psyche. The house is unfurnished; this hints that I have the opportunity to go in a new direction. In other words, I’m not constrained by a previously set style.

My inner artist (the artist friend) immediately steps in to help. One of her gifts is a wooden table. Since tables are places where people come together for sustenance, she is trying to help me to integrate these varying, often inharmonious, aspects of myself. She also offers an unusual toilet. Toilets represent places where we can express ourselves—let things out—in privacy.  But instead of my using her gift in this way, I immediately think about the chore aspect of having a toilet: you have to keep it clean. My unconscious is pointing out that I miss out on some parts of life by being unwilling to accept the mess that's part of it, and--more to the point--part of me.

Death of the Attached Baby

The Dream: I am in a dune-like area. The sea is implied, but not seen. There is a modern road through the dunes, with a sidewalk and the sort of empty bus stop often seen in the suburbs. I wander here for a while, waiting for one of my husband’s colleagues. He works at a nearby high-tech scientific installation which will soon be dismissing its employees for the day.

It’s 5:00 o’clock, and the lab workers file out of the simple, modern building, about seven stories tall. I am with a woman who has just had a baby. She resembles an artist friend. She is obviously thrilled with her baby, and at first all seems okay; but it soon becomes clear that the baby is still physically attached to her mother—through the mother’s hand. They share capillaries. Then the shocker: we realize the baby has died.

Some medical technicians come and take the baby away. They wrap the baby in newspaper secured with twine; they throw her off a dump truck into a garbage bin. I am appalled. Why wasn’t the baby returned to the family for a respectful and loving funeral?

Back to the mother: She is now attended by her sister, a plain-looking German woman with short cropped strawberry blond hair. The sister is very upset and doesn’t feel the mother is adequately distraught. I know the mother is upset, but in a less effusive way than her sister. I put my arm around the German woman and walk her a few steps away, trying both to comfort her and to keep her from making a bad situation worse.

Interpretation: In the beginning of the dream I am in an intuitive, unconscious state (the sea, the dunes). But progress soon asserts itself in the form of a road, sidewalk, bus stop, and high-tech laboratory. This symbolically plots my early life, my personal progress between the ages of five and seven, which are the two numbers in the dream. During this time I moved from the idyll of a happy 5-year-old child living in a beautiful rural setting to the challenge of starting school and being subjected to the discipline and socialization that entails. At this age we still hold our mother’s hand. That the baby is not completely detached from the mother reflects the wrench that I felt on starting this new phase of life.

Then the dream veers into the present. How do I know? The mother resembles one of my current artist friends: this tells me the issue here is not entirely in the past. The baby, representing my authentic artist self at a critical juncture of my life (between 5 and 7), is carted away by technicians (the school system) and dumped. The dead baby’s crude disposal reminds me of a scene from the movie Amadeus. When Mozart dies he is given a pauper’s burial. The reusable casket opens at one end like a dump truck and his unsheltered body thuds into an open pit, a common grave. How could my baby artist expect any better?

The mother (my adult artist, the compromiser) accepts the death of her own potential with an equanimity that baffles her sister, the German woman, whose geographical proximity to the home of the Austrian Mozart tells me her opinion is important. But in my role as Dream Ego, I try my best to shut her up and keep her from making waves.

Yet again, the voice that seems most difficult in my dream is the one I need to listen to.

Pictures in an Exhibition

The interesting thing about this dream is the relationship between two paintings: one made up in a dream while sleeping; the other designed in the normal way while awake.

The Dream: I have some pictures in an exhibition. The space is not very elegant—something like a community room. The work is poorly presented. After the show has finished I go to retrieve my paintings, and only one is still hanging. I secretly hope this means they have sold, as unlikely as that would be in this venue. I keep looking for my paintings. Finally I find one: looking at it I consider it inept and wonder why I put it in the exhibit. The upper portion has four angular biomorphic shapes in strong colors. There is a line of writing underneath, with a circular flower-like motif to its left. The writing is obscure, and I don’t get the meaning. The lower portion of the painting has less defined shapes and softer colors.

I’m embarrassed by this painting as I continue to look for the others. I’m told, at last, that they are in another room.  I go into a storage room and find paintings stacked on top of one another, lying in a heap on top of a counter. I wonder why they have done such a sloppy job dismantling the show. Why aren’t the paintings carefully tipped against the wall, as is usual when an exhibit is struck? I look through the stack and find The Portal. I am very relieved to find it, despite my earlier wish that something had sold. The painting has a drop of water on it. I’m afraid it’s been damaged, but I think I can rescue it.

Interpretation:  Oh dear, quite a lot of artist’s anxiety on display in this one. I am showing inept work in a cheesy, badly run gallery where nothing sells and the work is not respected. Could it get any worse? But one thing is interesting, the painting that my unconscious offered up in the dream and the one I had painted previous to having the dream both have a similar construction—notice the levels.

To analyze this dream in Jungian terms, it’s presenting two pictorial representations of the mind’s organization.  The painting reproduced from the dream and The Portal both depict the layers of conscious and unconscious material that combine to make up the totality of the psyche, what Jung called the Self. In The Portal the small figures at the bottom represent the unconscious in its attempt to communicate; in the dream picture the amorphous regions of the unconscious give way to the structured biomorphic forms. The dream picture turns The Portal’s structure upside down. The drop of water that I fear has damaged The Portal? I think Jung would call this contamination with unconscious material.

The Tangled Forest

Your dreams work on several different levels at the same time. While a dream might comment on a current problem, it also might—at the same time—hint that this current problem is part of a deeper pattern.

The Dream: I’m with a group of people in a classroom setting. We are about to leave on a field trip to a museum. I get separated from the group. I see a very long queue for a packed bus and look in vain for my classmates. I don’t see any, but nevertheless decide this is the right bus. In desperation not to be left behind I want to squeeze in at the head of the queue, but then notice the inside of the bus has lots of space.

I get on the bus which pulls away before I realize my group is not on the vehicle, and I’m heading I know not where. I pull the bell to get off. I doesn’t “ding” so I keep pulling, feeling the panic of speeding off in the wrong direction. The bus stops in a desolate area. My plan is to cross the street and take the bus back in the other direction. I think I am on a footpath, but soon realize I’m in the middle of traffic. I dodge the on-coming cars and make it to the opposite side of the street where I find myself in a park.

The park is covered in snow, but it is artificial snow. It has a grayish cast and an odd grainy yet slick quality. I rub it between my fingers. It is very cold. I wander through this snow-covered landscape for a while, and then come to a wooded and brambly area where the snow abruptly stops. I don’t think I can get through the tangled forest. I turn around and head back for the road.

Interpretation: I had this dream after taking an art class with an artist whose work and aims were very different from my own. Trying to assimilate what I admired about the artist’s technique while not rejecting my own style created a conflict—and this conflict pointed to a deeper issue that needed to be resolved.
At the time of the dream I was working on a piece using the art instructor’s techniques. Many images in the dream tell me not to follow the “collective” path: that is, the path of engaging in an art based on someone else’s standards, or—by expansion—to live a life based on someone else’s expectations and ideals. In the final dream image, after separating from the group but still going in the wrong direction, I find myself stuck (“park”ed) and facing an insurmountable obstacle. The dream is telling me I got into this position because I wasn’t ready to go look at some old stuff (in the museum).

Artists in the Garden

In dreams sometimes a friend is a friend, and sometimes the friend represents some particular part of you. I often dream about two close artist friends, Jane and Lillian. Over time I’ve come to realize that when these friends appear in one of my dreams they represent the artist in me.

The Dream: I am going to be leaving, and I am with Jane in the garden. Swiss chard is growing in a peculiar, leggy way from under a raised wooden walkway. “Look,” I say, “You can eat this.” Then I remember the squash, adding, “And don’t forget the squash.”

Lillian has appeared, walking behind us carrying a huge bunch of Joseph’s coat roses that she has gathered and is taking from the garden. She looks somewhat pleased with herself, and happy, holding this glowing mass of color. When she sees me I sense, however, a little discomfort. I wonder, very briefly, if I feel proprietary, as she walks away with most of my rosebush. But instead I realize I realize that I’m happy that these things will be used. I point to the squash, mentioning that they are very prolific, and suggest to Lillian and Jane that they share them.

Interpretation: I have been stingy with my artists, causing them to struggle to survive. As one bursts forth in a glorious resurrection I offer to squash them both.

The Chicken and the Egg

When someone you know appears in a dream you have to puzzle out whether the dream is about that person and your relationship or that person as an aspect of yourself. In this dream, which I interpret as being about my development as an artist, I see my husband symbolically as “my other half.” In this role, as my Animus, he supports my desire to “steal” some creativity. There’s often a parallel between myths and dreams: in this case it’s Prometheus stealing fire from the gods.

The Dream: I’m walking with my husband Clark in a large garden. I pass by a chicken and a rectangular box of eggs, but then have second thoughts and call it to Clark’s attention. “Look,” I say, “You don’t have to buy chickens. You can have a wild one.” The chicken is very colorful, looking more like a rooster than a hen. It is small and struts behind the box of eggs, apparently guarding them. I suggest to Clark that we take some of the eggs; meanwhile I’m worried about the chicken’s reaction. I wonder how she sits on them to hatch them; they are spread out in a rectangular box and she would have to sit on them sequentially. As we begin to cull the eggs I have a new worry: what if some of the eggs have begun to develop into chicks? How awful would it be to open an egg and see a partially developed chick! We select some eggs. They vary in size. We try to avoid the ones with developing chicks in them.

Interpretation: The incubating creativity is here and available. It’s up to me to be aware of it. It is part of the deeply instinctive. It is guarded by the Eternal Maternal, in herself very beautiful, but a force that needs to be worked around and placated because she represents both the good and the bad of the traditional. A rigid conventionality, represented by the box, could hamper the potential of the eggs, some of which are developing in a conventional manner. We want the ones that have not started to develop: infinite potential.