The dream was vivid and memorable in the sweetest of ways as I was in my early thirties and falling in love; we both were.
I thought nothing of the dream until this afternoon walking on the South Downs a friend mention a dream he’d had about flying and I shared my ideas on how to understand the meaning of dreams through a set of probing questions. I mentioned that I’d just fallen in love in a dream, that I was on film set of some kind: 15 performers, same number of crew. And I’d fallen in love with one of the team. I even said that I could draw her if asked.
Later today I’m playing around with Amazon music and amongst a set of modern folk singers I recognise a face from New Year’s Eve when we’d watched the last half hour or Jools Hooland. A few clicks and I’m watching ‘Christine and the Queens‘ and instantly recognise the face; so that is what my mind had done. The face had had to come from somewhere.
I love ‘Titled’. I’ve just been listening to ‘Jonathan‘.
A couple of hours ago, before any of this I jotted down a note to myself about a story I will struggle with all my life. I wrote: ‘he can only communicate through drawing’ while she can only communicate through dance’. In honesty I doubt there’s more than a music video in it, and a potentially corny one at that. But it intrigues to give characters I have developed and written about for over a decade such specific parameters. I had the protagonist of ‘Form Photo’ Robbie become an artist 18 months ago when I was working on this piece through ‘Start Writing Fiction’ with the Open University. Suzi’s world was overly complex but I had her leaving unexpectedly, even faking her death, to go and find herself in France. The story lasts a lifetime with Robbie, a kind of Damien Hirst cum David Hockney cum Paul Nash cum Lucien Freud eventually exhibiting massive pieces in the hall of his castle.
Inspiration has to come from somewhere.