How a Dream Turned into a Painting

Carla: Elaine Drew links one of her paintings directly to a dream. In this post she'll show us the path that took her there.

Elaine Drew: The inspiration for this piece, called Journey was a dream in which I was to about to be sacrificed in a primitive religious rite. (That scene is represented in the 3rd panel of this 4 panel painting.) What, I wondered, was that all about?

Because the dream seemed to embody a spiritual quest of some sort, I organized the artwork along the lines of a medieval predella, a small strip of narrative scenes that appear at the bottom of an altarpiece. This organization reflected my asking myself what was at the bottom of the dream?

This led me to think that consciousness, the great gift that makes us human, might be a double-edged sword. That is the theme of the second panel. Here the figure carries consciousness like both a precious gift and a burden.

So, in the first image we enter life, unconscious, enclosed in a particular culture and point of view. Our first task is to break out of our shells, hit the road, and experience life in all its complexities. As we do this, in the second panel, we attain consciousness, and this includes the awareness of our own mortality. In the third panel we face the threat that this hard earned consciousness will be obliterated.

Wait a minute! I thought. I've been told that dreams come to us to tell us things we don't know. My piece needed a 4th panel, one that would get me past the limits of my current understanding.

It took a while, and some of the false starts most of us are familiar with when we try to solve a problem. Finally, as you can see in the 4th panel, the idea of the renewed self emerges into a built environment. And then the meaning of the piece became clearer to me: while I will probably never understand the mystery of life on earth, I can understand the process of death and resurrection that often plays a part during our lives. We are asked to sacrifice, and at times it feels like too much. Or we find our hopes or ideas dead in the water. But then a kind of natural salvation kicks in. We re-emerge with an expanded consciousness. It engulfs us, and we see the world through it. We are now in the world we built, no longer wandering in a barren wilderness. The sacrifice is behind us.

So, the Journey begins again. The painting is about life, about change, about learning as we go, and about the hope for an ultimate understanding that makes sense of it all.

The Difficulty of Approaching a Painting

The Dream: A painter, a gregarious, accomplished man, allows me to help him. First I watch. He is working with white paint only, a viscous oil. He puts his brush into a long and narrow trough, pulling the brush hairs along the edge again and again to adjust the amount of paint. He does this until I become impatient, thinking, “Get on with it!”

When he finishes applying the paint to the canvas, he has somehow managed to model a man's face and body; his strokes are perfect. I get to work on a similar piece that has been assigned to me and soon create flaws that I can't smooth out. I'm unable to mimic his perfection, try as I might. I get some paint in a spot it shouldn't be. I go for some water and a paper towel. Even though I am aware that water isn't a solvent for oil, I hope I can correct the defect before it's too set to remove.

Later there's an easel arrangement I'm expected to use that I don't understand. A platform is supported by four saw-horses near one end. At the other stands the painting. It appears balanced at the moment, but what will happen when I stand on the platform and approach the painting? Clearly the set-up has no stability.

Interpretation: I'm making some mistakes. As I face my own imperfections I try to solve (solvent) something with the wrong solution (water not turpentine). Getting closer to the problem (the painting) will throw me off-balance. The part of me that can handle it, the dream's competent male artist, has spent a very long time preparing, so long that I've lost patience with him. He works only with white, so might not see the black or gray tones (ambiguities) of the situation. Since the situation (set up) has no stability, it looks as if I'll have to address my difficulty, whether or not I'm ready.

Pomona is Stepped On

The Dream: Someone has changed Pomona, one of my paintings that depicts the goddess of the fruits of the orchard. Five different shoes have been superimposed in the area between her navel and her breasts in a circular, asymmetrical arrangement. Pomona herself has been “pushed back;” blurred until she's a ghost of her former self, and I almost can't make out who she is. In fact, she takes on the name of another goddess from a different painting: Taera, who represents the earth.

We can't see the goddess clearly, but we do clearly see the shoes! I begin to like this alternative rendition of the painting; I think it's more contemporary and mysterious.

Clark and I go down a very steep sand dune to to the sea, and I'm not sure I'll be able  to climb back up. Clark tells me this is the “easy” way. On an adjoining sand dune I see a large menagerie of animals: emu, wolf, raccoon, and many others, charging up the hill. Nature has been restored, and I feel that the animals will not threaten us if they are given their own space.

Interpretation: Pomona is the goddess who represents nature's bounty, and Taera represents the earth. Both the earth and its bounty have been stepped on and obscured by our consumerist culture. I am so used to this that I can no longer see the goddesses who represent our crucial relationship with the environment. I have come to like and accept things the way they are.

I get to the sea (the unconscious) where I see things as they should be. The animals have an uphill battle, but they prevail and nature is restored. The dream tells me that it is important to honor the processes of the planet and get our priorities in order. Only then can we live in harmony with nature (the animals).

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.

A Baby’s on the Way

The Dream: I am pregnant, about to give birth. A friend has come for the event. The doctor has called and told me the birth will be in about a week. I tell this to my close circle of friends and family, and I begin to fret. I don’t want to have a caesarian and don’t know why I should, since both my previous children were delivered normally. Then I remember my age and how long it’s been since I last had a baby. I remember my Lamaze coach saying that each birth is unique; this experience will not necessarily be like a previous one.

Interpretation: I have just started a new painting and am concerned that my new “baby” might not come out the way I would like it to.

Living at the Ritz

The Dream: Clark has bought a ski condo at the Ritz building in Manhattan. It is on Central Park South, facing the Park. Our condo is on a top floor and can be accessed only by going up ladders and through openings which look like holes in the ceiling. I find this method of access scary and cumbersome. Once I get up there, I wonder, how frightening will it be to come down?

When we finally get to our condo it’s very large, but dirty—stuffed with old furniture from previous occupants. It’s in need of a paint job, cleaning, clearing out. I’m not sure how this can be done, since there is no elevator and only a small entrance.

I’m in the lobby of the very fancy building, with uniformed doormen scurrying about. At first I feel quite classy for being a resident of such a place, but when I go outside to look at the building I see a marked change between the lower floors and the floor our condo is on. Our floor looks shabby, and it occurs to me that it must have been the servants’ quarters, which explains why it must be accessed with ladders.

I discover, however, that I can take the main staircase up to all but the very top floor. To get to the top I must still use a ladder, made of rope and hanging from the attic. I discover some workmen in the hall who are dealing with the mess upstairs, or attempting to.

Clark is quite pleased with the purchase of this condo, which he made without consulting me. He was uncharacteristically quick to buy it. When I reenter the condo, armed with my insight that it must originally have been the servants' area, I notice that, nevertheless, the ceilings are very high.

Interpretation: In my previous dream I faced my desire for wealth and fame; this dream takes the process forward. The part of me that deals with the world, what Jung calls my animus, is represented by Clark who has bought a ski condo at the top of the Ritz in Manhattan. That’s a pretty clear image of success! But the fly in the ointment soon emerges, as I discover the practical difficulties inherent in this success: it’s difficult to attain (must climb up ropes and go through hoops (holes) to get there, and once I do it’s messy and dirty. And was attaining this sort of success even my idea? The dream hints it isn’t, since my place is crammed with things from the past, put there by others.

To top it off, this success is a sham. My marvelous condo at the top of the Ritz looks shabby when I stand back and look at it, and I discover it once housed servants. But the situation is being worked on. Once my inner workmen clear out the debris left by others and I stop running after a version of success that is not true for me I start to notice the good things about where I am. The ceilings are, after all, impressively high.

Spiraling roots

Dream image: A plant, with its roots spiraling down into the earth.

Interpretation: This dream was inspired by a similar one I heard at a dream group meeting the evening before and also by a painting that I had been working on of Pomona, who represents the fruits of the earth. The dream expresses how I feel about our deeply important connection to the earth.

Things are Not What They Seem

Often it’s a lot of work to get to the truth of a dream. In this one, my initial reaction was far from what I later concluded.

The Dream: An evil and powerful woman -- ambitious and driven, caring only about her own advancement -- is trying to kill me in an exotic way. I am the captain of a small crew, and we are going to be shot into space. Then I will be murdered—remotely by her. The crew knows nothing of her plot and is not involved. I am frantically trying to stave off this event, which seems to be moving forward inexorably.

The Sink

The Dream: There’s a bathroom I want to remodel. It’s in my house, but situated in the same place as the bathroom in my childhood home. I want to redo the tile, and I notice the sink might need to be replaced. Once I focus my attention on it, I see that it is very tiny and has been moved forward from the place where a more traditional sink once stood. There is a mark on the wall that indicates its original placement; the paint has peeled away, exposing an earlier color.

The tiny new sink is in the center of the room and functions more as a planter than a sink. It is decorative, filled with foliage. I think it is far too small for any practical function, and I suspect that the previous owners have installed it as a “quick fix” to make the bathroom more appealing to buyers.

Interpretation: I’m in a private place, a bathroom, which tells me that I’m dealing with a personal, private issue that I’d like to change. (I want to remodel.) Yet the attempt gives me a sinking feeling.  Although the current sink (problem) is small, it has left its mark (the traces of the original) and moved away from the wall (block) to a central spot in the room (my psyche). The new growth arising in this unlikely place (the foliage) hints that the problem is unraveling, much as the ferns do. That the growth is associated with water (the sink again) suggests it is taking place at an unconscious level.

But, as usual with dreams—they both giveth and taketh away with their paradoxical implications. The growth is taking place in a very tiny new sink: it’s a small start, nothing to get too excited about. It might even be superficial: a quick fix that will satisfy the buyers (the parts of my psyche that really don’t want to be bothered). 

A New Space

The Dream: We are moving into a new place, and Clark and I discuss whether or not it needs painting. He’s concerned we’ll have to get the place back to its pristine condition before we move out (it’s a rental). I mention we’ll have to do the same with the place we’re currently renting. I tell him I’ll paint the new place in light colors so it will be easy to restore.

Interpretation: In light of the previous dream, populated with dead friends, I think this dream attempts to make me comfortable with my friends' deaths and, in addition, my own mortality. Moving to a new place can be looked at in a couple of ways (at least). It's a metaphor for dealing with an issue: people often say they're "moving on" after they have resolved a trauma. In another sense, the moves from place to place, in rented homes, reflect the impermanence of the body.  Making the new place “easy to restore” symbolizes my hope for rebirth.

Your Money or Your Life

Many who are interested in dreams are artists. If you are, I think you’ll find this dream relevant to the age-old artist’s conundrum: make art or make money.

The Dream: I go to an art supply outlet. It is an old-fashioned office in an industrial firm. The room is not at all glamorous, with beige file cabinets, clutter and a utilitarian wooden desk. Behind this desk sits a younger middle-aged woman (about 40). She is thick-set, has dark brown hair and wears horn-rimmed glasses. She is a little chubby, with a round face and in a very dull dark blue dress.

I give her a list of pigments and other art supplies that I would like to purchase. I realize I don’t have the money to pay for my supplies, which have amounted to $200.00. I ask if it is okay if I write her a check, and then ask my mother if the money is in the account: she might have to transfer some money.

I can see the woman is disapproving. She is wondering why I don’t earn my own money. I arrange that I will call her after I get my mother’s approval, and then she will send me the supplies. Since I have been a long-time customer I am annoyed that she didn’t trust me enough to let me take the art supplies home with me.

Interpretation: The short one: I’m not getting any credit! To elaborate: Some part of me is unsure if I have the right to color (the pigments). In this dream color represents an expressive outlet. My color is controlled by the rigid forces of practicality: industry, busy-ness, clutter (old unresolved stuff lying about). I can’t give myself any credit for the choice I’ve made or the work I do. As Oscar Wilde said, “All art is utterly useless.” I am dependent on my internalized “mother” for approval. Another part of me is disgusted with this dependence and thinks I should “earn my own money;” in other words, be my own source of affirmation.

The Egg and I

Often in dreams real world events or activities take on a symbolic meaning. This dream uses an ancient paint binder—egg yolk—to help me get over a creative block.

The Dream: I am wandering around in the streets of San Francisco in search of an egg to use to make paint. I am at Liz’s house, and I think I’ll use one of her eggs. I get one out of the fridge and crack it open, but it doesn’t look right and I find I can’t get the white part separated from the yolk. I try two more eggs, thinking I owe Liz 3 eggs, but also remembering that she mistakenly took a quart of my yogurt the last time she visited me—so perhaps she won’t mind.

Interpretation: My friend Liz and I are egg tempera painters. Symbolically the egg represents the germ of creation. I don’t have what I need (the right egg) to be creative in the way I’d like. As I take my friend’s eggs I am identifying with her qualities: we both had perfectionist parents, and the dream tells me that I need to get past their perfectionist expectations to be creative in my own way. The dream points the way to a more relaxed attitude by letting me off the hook for taking my friend’s property; my action becomes part of the give and take of life.

Celery in the Garden

When you take the wrong path in life, your dreams will let you know.
The Dream: Giant celery stalks are growing around the borders in the garden. I feel dissatisfied with the garden.

Interpretation: My recent foray into a new painting style—with its different aims and sensibilities—has created a situation in which I feel as if I’m trying to please someone other than my own deepest self. I feel as if I have sold out (celery: sell-ery). This feeling is represented by my dissatisfaction with my garden, the symbol of the well-spring of my creativity and the sacred place of my soul.

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.