Stories of my art – ‘Conversations at the Edge of Sleep’

At the doorway to the liquid realm of sleep, Guardian and Dream Weaver give me pause. They ask distorted riddles and insist on amorphous conversations. My words emerge in single, slow motion syllables and dissolve into smoky silence, my limbs become dumb puppets struggling to speak for me and fragments of my days dance dark and dizzying waltzes with the phantoms of my nights.

Conversations at the Edge of Sleep - acrylic/oil by Clinock

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2 thoughts on “Stories of my art – ‘Conversations at the Edge of Sleep’

  1. ah, you poet you.
    is the dream weaver working for you? the great night sights can push the work, the guardian clear and/or block them. where is your currency?
    carolyn

  2. Dream Weaver breathes the smoke of visions and I reach through the haze of promise for the offered images but the Guardian censors – allowing only filtered and fractured stories that evade holistic memory. Maybe my work is pushed despite the obstacles and despite my recollections – how could I ever know?

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