Saturday, June 25, 2005

Sleeping, and Dreaming of Sleep

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Blogger pghpoet said...

i can almost use these pictures as a meditation devices. o.k., this one 'spoke' in this way-

the dark, damaged side of the man- where the soft tissue and nerves are exposed, is also the one that creates the woman, the partner, in his dream. he doesn't dream a man, he dreams what he is missing: longing for healing and softness. someone to bind his wounds, and perhaps, perhaps

it is the gentler side of himself he dreams into being. not a woman at all, but what we think of as the feminine qualities within: regenerative, nourishing. this picture calms me.

3:08 PM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


I really enjoy getting your take on these pieces. I think you are dead on.

There seems to be some Jungian collective unconcious thing at work in this holds within it a host of meanings.

Thanks for your comments.


7:35 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

how did you make it? are they found images you played with, or did you paint it, or what? is it collaged Cornell-style?

See also Kurt Schwitters.

the work is good. I am surprised by how good it is, usually a poet sux at anything else. On the other hand blake and bishop weren't half bad painters.


7:47 AM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


Backgrounds are digital photos I took, the elements
are scavenged from magazines, books, etc.

10:01 AM  
Blogger jenni said...

these are so cool, scott. you are a very creative person. i bet that it helps at your job too--to be able to think outside the box.

10:12 AM  
Blogger LKD said...

I found this image deeply disturbing, Scott. Disturbing in the sense that it unsettles me deep down. I walk away from it, but the image seems burned into my brain like one of those halos you see in front of your eyes after the flashbulb goes off.

I just wrote this off the cuff. Maybe this poem says how or why I find the image so disturbing:

So, This is Grief

Eyes and mouth shut; squeezed.
Lids and lips slitted. Nothing gets out

or in; nothing’s consumed or secreted. No tears
or specks of dirt to sting, no food or vomit

on which to choke or aspirate. And the skin
peeled back from half of the face

to reveal the viscera of the human
body: The veins that move the blood, the veins

that bleed; the countless muscles
that make the mouth smile or grimace. And deeper,

without, within, what can’t be seen:
Like a halo, a woman, breasts pressed to knees

floats above you or hovers in your head like a dream.
You see her even when your eyes are open.

10:20 AM  
Blogger Djuana said...

If there is something disturbing about this collage, it is that the woman's arms are behind her back, almost looking as though they're tied. I didn't see it that way at first though - that came after reading Laurel's fine poem - & so what I really keep of the idea of "arms tied" is a subtle hint of the violence shut down at the root of humility. The Man, with his head's innards exposed, is the delicate one, the slightly painful, slightly wondrous woman he incarnates unintentionally into a dream a kind of extention, as Karen suggested (& some jungians would suggest) of himself. I love the colours - though they are beiges & browns & muddied yellows, not whites, they give me a feeling of eggshell. Very beautiful work, Scott - thanks.


10:55 AM  
Blogger tearful dishwasher said...


Thanks. Yeah, being a nut-job is a big help. Or at least, having everyone think I'm a nut helps.


Great poem. Really moving and apt. Thanks so much.
Although it does surprise me that you'd find darkness
in this image. (Ha!)

Thank you.


I am so thankful to have your input here. You are a great synthesizer, putting everything together into a coherent whole.


Thanks everyone.


7:09 AM  

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