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.

Through the Looking Glass

The Dream: I'm in my apartment in NYC. I have plants growing in many of the windows that go around the corner of the large kitchen. I am pulling the window shades down to the tops of the plants and hoping that they will fill the gap between the shades and the window sill enough to provide the necessary privacy. Someone says they won't. I try to figure out whether or not others can see in and how to protect myself from their prying eyes while still doing what I want to do—that is, leaving the shades above the plants.

Interpretation: The dream was triggered by a suggestion that I bring some of my paintings to a meeting. Showing work represents both a kind of growth and a kind of exposure. The dream shows me that my desire to grow, to do what I want to do (represented by the plants), is coming up against my discomfort at feeling exposed. What is the right mix of privacy and exposure?

Criticism Resolved

The Dream: I am preparing the design for a square in a new city, putting in trees and plants along the border. I enjoy the project, which is part of a new and exciting cityscape: a beautiful urban place full of art and park-like features. There’s an accidental mound of soil in one of the planting areas.

The director of the project comes by, just as I feel the work is “coming together,” and he is very displeased because the design lacks one of his specifications. He wants a mound, partially covered in bark, with a tree at its center. I return his anger, very annoyed that he isn’t pleased and that he isn’t looking at the over-all design. “Well!” I storm “I’m not finished, am I?” As soon as I’ve said it I feel anxious about my blunt reaction. Then I notice the accidental mound already in the design and realize I can use that space to do what the director wants without having to change anything.

I am relieved. I pretend I had kept his brief in mind as I worked, but I realize it’s just luck that it has turned out to have the feature he had asked for.

Interpretation: Here I’m dealing with my internalized critical father. As a child I often felt he enjoyed pointing out my mistakes. My anger about this surfaces in the dream, but I also realize that I am able to accommodate his expectations without actually changing the way I do things.

Why Are Things Unconscious?

The Dream: I am working on an image in Photoshop. The software suggests what part of the image should be cropped out. I don’t like the software making these determinations, but after a while I realize it’s right. The areas it wants me to delete are populated with animals and plants: leaving these in detracts from the main part of the picture.

Interpretation: Our more primitive knowledge and experience, symbolized here by plants and animals, is kept at an unconscious level; so it appears to have been deleted (cropped out). This dream tells me why: consciousness evolved to enable us to focus.

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.

A New Garden

Parents are more than parents in our dreams. “Father,” for example, represents what Jung calls the conscious collective: church, state, traditional mores and authority. “Mother” represents the collective unconscious: instinct and myth.

The Dream: We have a new house we’re trying to get used to. We’re talking ourselves into liking it and being comfortable in it. There is a remote part of the garden, in the front of the house, planted with attractive plants and flowers. We can see ourselves sitting out there.

There’s a door to the left of the house, framed in green, with steps leading to a large side yard with 3 trees. I point to this side yard with its trees and a couple of straggly looking bushes along the back fence close to the back of the house. I am excited about the idea of making a new garden here, under the trees, where we can sit when it’s hot. I mention this to “mother.”

Interpretation: Not completely defeated by the previous night’s altercation with the “father,” I am trying to get comfortable in a new house (new psychic center). The plural dream characters tell me this effort is complex. The attractive front garden represents my public face--or to put it another way, my accommodation to the conscious collective. The steps show this may happen in phases (one step at a time) and the color green, signifying growth, that a change is in the works. The number 3 (three trees in the side yard) says I’m on the right track toward integrating my warring parts (3 represents the complete self). What about the green framed door? A door indicates a passage from one state to another. Here is a garden I can develop where I can shelter from the heat. I mention this to “mother.” Father and mother, each with a garden near my house, are coming closer.