Just before I woke up this morning, I had a bizarre dream. President Trump had started a new weekly television show called I Hate Art. In the first episode he was in a huge indoor swimming pool, wearing a black suit, white shirt and red tie, rambling on and on about why art is worthless and unimportant.
I thought — I can still wear a bikini, and I’m going to be on that show! I’m not sure what I was thinking about the bikini. Maybe I was younger in the dream than I am in real life.
Then I found out that the show was filmed in New York, and I had no way to get there. Maybe this was before airplanes were invented.
Three of my artist friends were in the second episode of the show, and I felt envy. Everyone has the same idea as me! Seeing them there created more urgency for me to find a way to be on that show.
I somehow made it to New York for the third episode, and I was on the show with four other aritsts. With each episode there were an increasing number of artists who appeared on the show, creating more competition between us for air time.
I wasn’t wearing a bikini. I was wearing my paint encrusted painting clothes and looking more like a house painter than an artist. Just as well, because the indoor pool had vanished by then, anyway.
There was one artist who kept interrupting me when it was my turn to talk, and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. It felt imperative to tell the world that my art is important and has meaning. I had brought some paintings with me, and I wanted to explain that I’m not enslaved to money, sales or what anyone else thinks of my work.
When I finally did get a chance to speak, the signal was fading in and out, and the broadcast was cut off before I could say anything. I felt confused, defeated and angry.
What could this strange dream possibly mean? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts. You can share them with us in the comments section below.
With love and appreciation,
Painting at top: “Dawn of a New Day,” 30 x 36 inches, repurposed acrylic latex paint on canvas.