Can't Erase the Black Marks

The Dream: I'm in a contemporary style classroom, in a shopping mall, with Clark. I am looking for places to cover with black paint, and I find some along a wall that is organized for storage. Then I paint on the glass of some windows and an entrance door. I sling paint around and write some words that are inappropriate for the school age children who come to this place, like “damn.” I soon become aware that I've done something inappropriate and need to remove what I've written. I work at it but find the marks impossible to erase completely. Clark disapproves of my poor judgment in expressing myself in this uncensored way. When the marks I've made in the storage area prove impossible to remove, I move on to the glass door. I scrape with a single edge razor blade and can't understand why the paint won't neatly peel up as it does when I scape paint off my palette in the studio. Clark points to a window on the other side of the room and says I should have used that one instead of the door.

Interpretation: The black marks are things I've done that haunt me (stored in my unconscious), as well as my attempts at self-expression: in waking life I am a painter and the marks I'm making in the dream are with paint. I am unable to eradicate either these black marks or the content they express (damn!), even though I feel both are inappropriate. My laying down of paint in this self-expressive way makes a mess, and that's interesting because I find that's the result when I try to paint something without a plan in waking life. The dream has uncovered the genesis of my rigorous self-discipline, the strength that is also a weakness. Clark, my other half, tells me not that I shouldn't have done what I did, but that I should have found another place (a different way) to do it. He points out that the window (of opportunity) is still available.

The Unmade Bed

The Dream: I have rested on a bed in a place that is like a hotel room except that it has no walls. I've rumpled the bedspread, and although I haven't been under it (between the sheets), I have nevertheless degraded the bed from its pristine state. I am ready to move on, but feel guilty about leaving the bed unfixed. "Is it my responsibility to fix it?" I wonder. Would anyone know I messed it up if I don't? Should I have paid for my rest?

Interpretation: There's an old saying, “You've made your bed and now you must lie in it,” meaning you've created an unpleasant or difficult situation and now you must live with it. In this dream I seem to be reversing this: I've lain in the bed, but refuse to make it. I move on, leaving the bed unmade and feeling guilty about it—nevertheless, I'm unwilling to take on fixing the situation. The dream points out that straightening this out would be a simple enough task.

The Artist Within

One of the most difficult things artists do is to represent conflicting aspects of life simultaneously.
The Dream: I am at Hunky's house, but it doesn't look like her waking life house. It's one story with lots of off-shoots. Art is everywhere. Looking through the window I can see an outside wall, at an angle to the room I'm in, hung with primitive masks of heads painted in earth colors.

There is a very large studio in the back where Hunky is working. I comment on how much I like the way the art is displayed along the outside wall, and she tells me that her son has made the masks. They are hung as if no thought were given to their arrangement or spacing and yet . . . there has been. It's very sophisticated. Hunky says this is where her son hangs his work to dry as he churns it out; it's not a planned arrangement of paintings as in a gallery.

Hunky talks about her process: she puts down shapes and color and then responds to them. She works abstractly; her art is unplanned. She loses herself in the process. I think this must be enjoyable and that I'll have to try it, but then remind myself of the pig's breakfast I get whenever I attempt to work this way.

As Hunky talks about her work she shows me a piece she is starting. It has a large tear-drop shape in red lined with blue on the left side of the paper. Hunky will start with this and then move on. As she talks about her work she begins to look like an obsessed artist: her hair becomes messy, her clothes paint-stained. Clearly the only thing that exists for her is the moment of creation. I contrast this with my meticulous rendering in egg tempera, concluding I must be a lesser artist. Hunky talks about her two lives, or roles: one as a suburban matron responsible for creating a certain sort of living space for the family, and the other as a committed artist. As she talks I see Hunky split into two people, although I realize this isn't possible. Both are working at their very different jobs. One is tidy and organized and on top of the housewife job; the other is messy and focused completely on the art she's creating.

As I awakened I was dreaming about putting a wax finish on Pomona. The top of the painting had a pattern of water, and as I waxed it part of this pattern began to dissolve. I liked the softer effect but I didn't want it to dissolve to the point that it no longer existed.

Interpretation: Hunky's house (my house, where I live) is one story with lots of off-shoots. In other words, my life has a consistent theme that has been expressed in many different ways. Art is everywhere; that tells me it is the ground that nurtures the off-shoots. The primitive masks in earth colors reinforce the idea of art as something primal for me.

While Hunky's (my) studio is very large (the work takes up a lot of my psychic space), it has been relegated to the back of the building. Its location hints that, while the activity may be primal, its status is not. Although I like the work, not only has it been hung outside, with no thought given to its display, but another stand-in artist has appeared: Hunky's son. My inner artist is twice removed.

After showing me how I denigrate what I do, the dream goes on to show me what this inner artist (if not the waking life one) is capable of. First of all, the son artist churns out the work. Apparently he's so creative he doesn't have to give it a thought. Then he hangs it up any old way, and it looks marvelous. His mother tells me about how she works with total absorption.

As Hunky demonstrates her artistic fervor, a basic dilemma emerges, presaged by the teardrop in her painting. The problem? One most women face: how to balance life and work. The conflict is so strong that she (I) splits into two separate people. And then it becomes apparent that the dream has been talking about polarities from the start. Inside, outside; planning, spontaneity; thought, passion; tidy, messy. How do I reconcile these opposites?

The dream tells me to live with them. The pattern might begin to dissolve, and it will look better for it. But the structure will still be visible, only softened (more integrated).

Flying or Falling?

The Dream: I am about to fly; I’m pushing off from a wall with my feet. I think, however, that it looks to those on the ground as if I might be about to kill myself.

Interpretation: As one part of me works to get beyond the block (push off from the wall) so that I can grow (fly), another part sees what I’m doing as reckless and dangerous—even self-destructive.  A future dream must resolve this conflict.

Guest Dreamer: Pulling Roots out of my Feet

I can think of no spiritual leader who has not warned of suffering along the path to enlightenment. Emily, who frequently contributes insightful comments to this blog, has given us a poignant dream about the difficulties that must be faced and overcome on a spiritual journey.

The Dream: I walk out of a building (I can't see it behind me, but I know I've left it) onto a wide, cement sidewalk. The tall wall of a building is on my left. I am barefoot. Suddenly I am aware of pain on the bottoms of my feet. I realize I am walking on shards of glass: small, colorful pieces are embedding themselves in the bottom of my feet! I can barely walk it hurts so much. Then, I am inside a room, sitting on a chair. I look at the bottom of my feet, and I see that I have roots, like slender tree roots, growing out from the bottom of my feet. I try to pull one out, and I realize it's deep in my leg, up the calf.  I don't pull it out.  A blonde woman watches me, I think somewhat approving of my actions.

Shift: It rains. Pours. In 2 separate incidents, a man and a woman have left their notebooks/binders in the rain. I rush out into the rain and pick them up and bring them inside as I don't want the rain to ruin them. The man is 30-40ish, tall, and thin. He doesn't appear to be grateful that I rescued his notebook from the rain. His notebook is stuffed with papers and notes. The thought crosses my mind that maybe the rain wouldn't have hurt the notebook after all....end

Carla’s interpretation: I’m leaving my structured way of being (the building) behind. The way ahead is opening up before me (it's wide), but also hard (cement). There’s some sort of unconscious block (the wall to my left). I am vulnerable (barefoot). My foray into this new world outside is risky; I feel pain. There’s something in my path that makes progress difficult and painful; small shards of colorful glass. Apparently I can’t get around my difficulty; I keep walking through this excruciating mess even though my progress is very slow because I am in so much pain. But my persistence is rewarded. I find myself sitting in a room, able to examine my vulnerability (the bare, painful feet).  I have roots. I have the potential to be grounded, to find my ground of being. At first I attempt to reject this possibility, but I realize it is too deeply a part of me to be pulled out. The part of me that is enlightened (woman with blonde hair) approves.

Now the rain can come, like an ancient blessing, over the notebooks of a man and a woman. For Jung, male and female together represent a coniunctio, opposites coming together into wholeness. I have, for many years, created notebooks of my dreams. I fear that all this water (so much unconscious material) pouring into my notebooks could ruin them. My stronger male side lets me know that rescue is not necessary. My unconscious material and the spiritual grounding I’ve accomplished by so carefully recording my dreams, and being brave enough to learn from them, are safe.

The Wall Flowers

The Dream: I’m in a car with some other people. At times I’m driving, at other times Clark. We come to an area surrounded by a wall covered with many beautiful flowers. The road is wooded and dense with vegetation, not like a forest, but like a suburban area that has been long established and become overgrown, yet beautiful. I ask what the wall surrounds, since something about the place seems familiar to me. I am told it’s a swimming pool; in fact it is the community pool near the house I lived in as a child. I am excited, saying, “I thought it looked familiar. I spent many hours here as a child.”  There are wide concrete steps, set at angles, going down from the pool to street level. The path meanders. I see it’s changed a lot. At some deep level I feel “activated,” but don’t stay to explore. I don’t go into the enclosed pool area.

Interpretation: The walled-off area and the pool represent the potential I had as a child, at the time of life when it seems all things are possible. But I am now like the suburban area, long established (overgrown) and changed from what I once was. The steps taking me down to reality (street level) are concrete, like the time that has past. Despite their concreteness, these steps meander. My path in life has meandered, and I can’t undo the (concrete) choices I’ve made.  Although the past can’t be changed, the way I perceive it has changed a lot. This subliminal realization is in some way exciting, but I don’t choose to explore it.

Do I Need Another Dimension?

The Dream: I’m invited to create art work for a Renaissance church. A fellow artist is Raphael-lo. I am honored that I have been asked to do this, but anxious because the job is a huge undertaking. It involves decorating an entire wall and ceiling up to the peak formed by a vaulted arch.

I’m in a state; I usually work small and this job is too much for me. On the other hand, I don’t want to say no. I go to look at the space and discover that it isn’t covered with painting, but with sculpture on little platforms jutting out. Some of the sculptures are of animals; one is a pig’s head. I feel I can use this as my excuse not to take on the commission, explaining to my prospective clients that I don’t work in three dimensions. They accept this excuse in good faith, and I am relieved.

Interpretation: My unconscious is suggesting that I consider pushing myself to a new dimension (work in sculpture, 3-D, instead of painting, 2-D). The primitive or instinctive (the animal sculpture) needs to be integrated into my higher consciousness (the church).  I am ambivalent, not wanting to do this, and not wanting to say no. I wriggle out of it. The unconscious, in accepting my excuse, lets me off the hook—at least for the time being.

A Different Kind of War

The Dream: There are two opposing armies: on one side, the Americans; on the other, the Koreans. I’m on the American side. We’re behind a high stone wall. We shoot over the wall, and then duck to keep from getting shot. The other side doesn’t have a wall, yet we never hit any of them. I think we should call in a helicopter to shell them from above since we are getting nowhere with our current method. The general tells me we won’t do that because we actually don’t want to hurt anybody.

Interpretation: I see this dream as an almost humorous image of my internal battle. On the one side is my current concept of myself (a “me” rican); on the other side, an important part of myself (a “core” ean) that I haven’t yet accepted.  The dream ego (me) has insulated itself behind a stone wall and fights it out with this unacceptable part of myself. I get impatient and want to destroy it from above, indicating it’s my intellect at war with my instinctive, more primitive nature. The general, who represents my greater, more integrated awareness—what Jung calls the Self—counsels patience. The dream tells me that there is a better way than destroying a part of myself to resolve my internal conflict.

Studio for Sale

The Dream: An artist friend is selling her two-story studio. The unfinished downstairs smells musty, like a basement. Black construction paper lines some of the walls. The person moving in will use the larger of the two upstairs rooms for her painting. The smaller room, to the right as I look at them, will be for storage.

Interpretation: The downstairs, evocative of a basement with its musty smell, tells me that I’m dealing with an issue that has basic, or primitive, overtones. The black paper evokes a dark cave, perhaps one with writing on its walls (paper is something we write on). That it’s construction paper hints something was built on this obscure foundation. This train of thought leads me to the Lascaux cave paintings. Here these French caves symbolize our species’ early commitment to art, and the dream deals with some sort of unconscious change in my relationship to the art I make.

The dream emphasizes duality: the studio has two stories; the upstairs has two rooms. One part of me is getting rid of her studio; another part who’s moving in seems to be elevating the work, taking it to a higher level (on the second floor) where she will paint in the larger room and store things in the smaller one. I hope the transformed artist will be nourished by the primitive energy from downstairs, and that she can synthesize that energy with the higher consciousness upstairs.

Scale the Wall

Dream: A wall must be scaled. It looks like the sort of climbing wall you might see in a sporting goods store.

Interpretation: I realize that I need to rethink my relationship to this dream blog. Even though creating it is enjoyable, in some ways it feels burdensome (like scaling a wall). Trying to prepare the illustrations and interpret the dreams as quickly as the blog requires can be frustrating. I don’t want the quality to drop, but sometimes that seems inevitable. On the other hand, I've learned something from this quick production schedule: I’ve  experimented with a lot of new techniques. Perhaps my dream is telling me to put the process on a scale (weigh it) so I can see it in its correct proportion (scale) to the rest of my life.
 
Why the sporting goods store? Probably because dream work is my hobby, not my profession. The message here: It's your hobby: Don't make it into a chore; have fun with it!

A Remodel

The Dream: I am remodeling my very large apartment in the city. One room looks quite spectacular. It is the dining room. A large wooden table sits in its center. The walls are covered in a velvet-like pattern, a simplified medieval design in rich shades of green and golden brown with black accents. Brown wood molding surrounds the windows. I think it looks wonderful, but I am concerned this decoration has been slapped on to a base that can’t support it. On the other hand,  perhaps it really is okay.

Interpretation: This dream seems to be a continuation of Not A Black Hole. My psyche is attempting to shift its center; in other words, the Self that Jung talks about is trying to expand in order to include some previously unconscious material. The dining room, being a place where we come together for nourishment, symbolizes this process. But at the center of the room is the large wooden (not pliable, rigid) table (in a meeting to table the motion stops forward progress). I can see there is richness here: the velvet, the warm colors—but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to support it. The jury is still out on this one.

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). 

Touch, not Sight

The Dream: Coming down a steep staircase I close my eyes and run my hands along the surrounding walls, which function as a banister might. I navigate by touch, not sight. I feel that Clark is guiding me, and I can just about conquer my fear by not looking.

Interpretation: In order to experience the deeper levels of my psyche (get to the bottom of the staircase) I must rely on feeling (touch) not intellect (sight). Here Clark represents what Jung calls my animus, the part of a woman that copes with the outside (male-dominated) world. I'm up against the wall, so to speak. Will I get past the ban(ister)?

The Mouse

The Dream: A mouse is hiding between the wall and the sofa. Only two small parts of the animal can be seen: a bit of nose and tail.

Interpretation: A timid little part of me hasn’t revealed much of itself, at least not so far (sofa). It has, however, come out from behind its wall. It’s curious—it’s sticking its nose in. And it isn’t completely spineless; we can see by its tail it has one.

The Wailing Wall

The Dream: I look at the wall between the stairs and the guest room, and it is water stained. There is a leak coming from the guest room wall, and it has spread to a large area. I wonder why we didn’t notice it earlier. I talk to Clark about fixing it, and I am concerned that he will put it off and it will get worse. I think, “This is a disaster.”

Interpretation: My mother’s furniture is in the guest room. Something leaking from that room is contaminating, ruining my house (self). At first I thought this symbolized my mother’s influence over me, but Clark pointed out the symbolism of the Wailing Wall and suggested the image symbolized my inexpressible grief at her death.

Stop!

As in the previous dream, the psyche tells me it’s not ready to move.

The Dream: I want to make more room for my child’s car in the carport of my house. I suggest moving the parking spot to the left to create the necessary space. This seems a simple solution. Later I realize a wall from the house is obstructing the left side, and that moving it would be too expensive and difficult.

Interpretation: The ego can’t move left (toward the unconscious); it’s hit a wall. At this point making room for previously unconscious elements is “too expensive and difficult.”

The Mural

You might have heard that Freud organized our minds into id, ego, and superego; and Jung organized our minds into three levels as well: unconscious, subconscious, and conscious. This dream seems to confirm the theoretical concept that our minds have these “levels” of consciousness.

The Dream: There is a stairwell going up, on the right. Just to its left is an elevator, but I discover there is no way for me to access it. However, by going around a central structure and up a stair or two I find another way. I think it’s too bad we didn’t know about this elevator sooner, since we have spent so much effort trudging up the stairs.

When we reach the top floor the walls are covered with enchanting Klee-like biomorphic forms, in beautiful colors. The design forms an all-over pattern. I get the impression that I am in a Disney space.

Interpretation: The stairwell going up indicates that previously unconscious material is “rising” to a conscious level. This is emphasized by the fact that the stairwell is on the right. Symbolically, right equals conscious; left equals unconscious. To the left is an elevator: the quicker way to go up and down, but associated with the unconscious here—and you’ll notice there is no way for me to access it. But wait! I find a way. I go around a central structure (the controlling ego) and up a stair or two, telling me I have become a little more conscious, probably the result of my conscientious dream journal. I grouse a little that it’s taken so much tedious work to get as far as I have.

Then I take the elevator and am rewarded by a beautiful mural. This higher level is a place of art and imagination (as Disney likes to tell us about itself). But there’s a little warning here, too. Disney is fun and imaginative—but lacks a certain depth. As for the mural: have I hit a wall?