Art Dreams

A group of Artist Trading Cards I made at an
evening meeting of artists in a local studio.
My friend Sue and I go to ATC events together.

These days I have a friend Sue who loves to drive around town and suggest how a certain house could be just right for her. Once I said one of her houses would be too much for me. “But you’d need a room for a studio, one for writing, one for living in, and on for sleep,” she insisted, “and maybe a second bedroom for company.” 

“No. That would be more than I’d ever want to clean,” I responded.

“But when I fantasize,” she rebutted, “I always assume a large house comes complete with a staff: a person to clean, one to cook, one to take care of the lawn and grounds, and one to drive me around.”

“Oh. I just don’t have those kinds of fantasies.”

“Well maybe you need some,” she retorted. 

I suppose her challenge to me is to dream bigger in order to clarify just what I want and need. We are different, my friend and I. We talk together a lot and although we differ on our housing fantasies, we do sometimes dream together of having a large studio together where, away from the phone, our families, and other interruptions, we could spend serious time painting, art printing, making collages, creating mixed media works, and probably talking until our throats were raw. Actually we may end up tiring our voices over this fantasy because already we’re clarifying just what we want to do, what kinds of equipment we need, and the like. We haven’t yet let anyone else know we have these dreams. We still seem insecure about where the visions will lead us.

I am reminded of my childhood friend Keith with whom I would fantasize about many things. We’d lie on the twin beds in his room and talk and talk about all the things we would do in a kind of duet daydream. The big project we undertook in this fantasy world was to dig out his family’s basement so we could build a rifle range. We actually did remove a few wheelbarrows full of dirt before we gave up on the idea. I guess we grew out of that kind of communal fantasy when our lives started becoming too different, our interests diverging—his into hunting, woodworking, and messing with large machines; mine into making music and studying language. Those kinds of changes happen to seventh graders.

But my friend Sue and I as adults continue driving around Denver talking, wondering if we will ever get to work in the same art studio. The dream seems possible when we work together in another artist’s studio we make Artist Trading Cards. Working alongside other artists stokes one’s enthusiasm and encourages creativity. Having such a studio is a dream I’d like to pursue, so I guess I’d better start dreaming about how to get the money to do it! Sue’s already watching for vacancy signs. I’m still dreaming. Maybe I’ll go out and buy a shovel. Who knows where this dream could lead.

Denver, 2014