Dream

Last night I had an unusual dream – one of those you wake to over and over, and revisit over and over, throughout the night.

The main focus of the dream was a very long, rectangular canvas. Each end of this canvas was supported by a large easel. 

On the left, a young girl (maybe 6 years old) stood before her easel and painted dainty images from nature with pastel paints – clovers, tiny flowers, and the like.  Sunshine predominated in the background. On the right, an older girl (maybe 12 years old) stood before the other easel and painted grand towering trees of various description with darker, bolder paints.  Shadows wrapped around the trees until a few spots of coal black settled low against the ground in a striking, rather than ominous, way.

As the girls worked, oblivious to each other, they moved from the outside edges of the canvas toward the center.  The small girl’s small, delicate work moved toward the right, and the bigger girl’s big, bold work moved toward the left. 

Each time I woke I wondered about the significance of this dream, and what it might mean if and when their two styles merged?  Would the girls stop painting in the center, or would each continue working to the other end of the canvas (literally over each others’ work) to produce a more “complete” picture?

The interpretation is still pending.