my eye is bleeding

I had a dream last night. It was noteworthy, first of all, because it was the first time in ages I've had a dream where I wasn't at school in my pyjamas. Secondly, it was an almost-rational dream, very rare for me. In it I had reunited with the first person (I have a hard time calling him a man because we were so young at the time) with whom I ever had a significant relationship. But something in the dream wasn't right; there were no arguments and fireworks because we were both on our best behaviour, pussyfooting around anything contentious ... until the final scene. In this scene we were moving some paintings, which seemed to clutter every surface and lean against every wall, and he happened across this small abstract. I remember every word he said: "Jesus, Andrea, this is a million times better than all those pigs and shit you do." As he said it he slammed the lid on this beloved ceramic Stilton cheese jar I got from Harrod's many years ago and some dust flew up into my face, causing my eye to start bleeding. There was no injury to it, but the blood was pouring out and wouldn't stop. But still I wouldn't say anything about how his remark made me feel, maybe because I knew there was a grain of truth in it. (There was always a grain of truth in what he said, and his criticism of me created the highest levels of anxiety and therefore despair, inane chitty-chat and serious partying I've ever experienced.) I'm guessing 'pigs and shit' is a reference, in dream-ese, to everything I did that was not what he considered 'serious art.' Anyway, my eye kept bleeding and I woke up.

I couldn't go back to sleep after that because of all the layers of symbolism needing microscopic examination (who, me?). In the dream there was the clutter of paintings everywhere, the stuffing down of my feelings/opinion, the fact that it was my eye that was bleeding, plus the fact that I couldn't make it stop. Maybe if I'd voiced an opinion (which is something I don't usually have trouble with:) it would have stopped? I'm pretty sure that planting this almost-forgotten object of my affection as the mouthpiece of my dream was a cheap ploy to get me to pay attention to the message.

Eventually it occurred to me that attempting to forge a career in the arts means you are constantly facing obstacles of the artistic integrity variety. Earlier this week I had an email exchange with a respected local arts writer. I had gone to him seeking some advice and he had basically lambasted me for using who he considered to be an unethical dealer to try and sell my work. In a strange dichotomy of business strategy and moral high ground, that very same day his monthly editorial came flying through my mail slot. In this article he advises artists to create art for the consumer (i.e. 'sell out') in order to survive. He has a lot of good points, and I agree with much of what he says, but I found it fascinating to observe him giving with one hand and taking away with the other. On further reflection, it occurs to me that his opinions simply mirror the dilemma all artists, musicians, writers and other creatives face on a daily basis. I sure do, from choosing a colour (should I choose 'consumer-friendly' yellow or 'serious' brown?) to closing a deal (do I sell it at gallery prices or cut him a deal because he's a long-time friend?).

I have no answers and I'll keep asking, though I suspect I will always have a hard time knowing when to speak up and when to just let my eye keep bleeding.

stone lithograph from a long time ago -- sometime in the early '80s