Actually, I doubt that any of you are that interested in my blog. Not that that bothers me, necessarily; I’m just so vain that way. (I probably think this song is about me.)
If it makes you feel any better (it makes me feel less like a blogging jerk, at least), I have been pretty busy. Here’s what I’ve done lately:
1. Become obsessed with the process of bookmaking, which I’ve learned from my bookmaking class. I’ll show you some of my projects sometime.
2. Starred in a one-act play at my school.
3. Listened way too intently to Renaissance through Rococo Art History lectures every Tuesday and Thursday.
4. Dreamed more than I ever have before, and stupidly forgotten most of them.
5. Won Bethel Idol singing competition! My winnings: $200 and the fear that someone will confront me about how I am supporting a form of idolatry.
6. Finished Harry Potter Four…Oh my gosh can you believe that Mad-Eye Moody?!
So, even though I’ve been busy, I thought I’d give you a little sump’m sump’m before I head off to California for spring break with Bethel Choir tomorrow, even though this post is probz a little bit too long.
Here’s a dream that I had the other night—one that I remember, anyway…
In my unconscious, I visited a very peculiar town. Nestled in a small cranny somewhere in the United States (probably in a state, I’m guessing) was a tiny village that spread out vertically instead of horizontally. Let’s call it Whoopsy-Daisyville. Why not.
Whoopsy-Daisyville rested on top of a perfectly measured inverted square the size of a city block. The buildings in that block were dank and gray, dusty with the remnants of years and years of movement that happened above them. Mostly deserted, these dilapidated structures were company to the occasional stray cat or runaway kid that chose to lurk in their shadows.
I was invited to walk around by an elderly man, the kind of guy who still goes running all the time in a t-shirt tucked in to his elastic-waisted windbreaker pants, and sports a walkman (yes, an actual, prehistoric walkman) clipped to the same waist band. Let’s call him Silvio. He also had a cat. Let’s call him Tangerine.
Silvio and Tangerine took me on a tour of this town, Whoopsy-Daisyville, an organized mess of stairs and buildings, painted only in the colors or the new Sharpie Pens: Orange, Red, Blue, Green, and Purple (pretty much all my faves). As we walked over and through purple bridges and green stairways, red rope ladders and orange houses, I wondered how this place was supported. It seemed as though it was only kept up by its numerous walkways. Another mystery that slipped into my mind was that there didn’t seem to be any problems with shadows, regardless of where these ladder-hoisted buildings and walkway were. I was amazed. Popcorn Day weather.
[I'm trying hard not to listen to the fact that the Art Minor inside of me is ranting about how the bottom of this drawing has two vanishing points.]
We toured the whole town, up and down, Tangerine jumping from railing to landing ever so often. Silvio waved to a person walking a schnauzer-like dog, merrily. I also spotted a man riding a bike. (How the hell can you ride a bike with all these stairs?) We strolled through a fresh market, a coffee shop, a park made for kids, and finally Silvio’s home. Like all the other buildings, multiple stairways and ladders came in and out of it. The house was adorned with giant windows and hanging flower baskets in the doorway (just flowers in these, though; no popcorn). The blue porch had a walkway up to garden on the roof, which had not only vegetables and flowers, but big trees as well. Most of the houses had them.
It was the most lovely and confusing day. I knew I wanted to stay there forever, though, in the sun, smelling flowers and waving at dogs, walking around with Silvio and Tangerine…it would have been great, but somewhere in there I woke up, and all I could do was sketch it.
Have a nice spring break, everyone. I’ll have more to write about in a week or so.
