Dream log Did our work impact your dreams – during your time with the performance, or after? Will our dreams be similar? Our dreams are uncharted territory. Please tell us of your journey.
During the performance, as I was falling asleep I saw flashes of the participants – women in wigs and robes, Bao Yu walking around – and, intermixed with those images, suddenly an image of a different woman. A young woman with hazel eyes and dark hair, wearing athletic clothes (small black cotton shorts and a black tank top), kneeling with her hands behind her back, looking to the right. She seemed as real and vivid to me as the images of the performers who I had seen moments ago.
I slept and woke numerous times.
At one point I dreamt (?) that the piece was coming to a kind of climax and there were many strands of pastel pom-poms descending from the ceiling that the performers were interacting with them in some kind of complicated and beautiful formation dance and Then a giant curtain was pulled back to reveal….and I couldn’t quite believe it but JIM had somehow removed the floral mural I had painted in the bathroom of my old apartment from years ago and had it re-installed RIGHT THERE! and it was huge! what an wonderful surprise! I was deeply touched by this incredible feat and I was feeling quite emotional and was getting kind of teary- when I began to wake up and felt a bit confused. that well, maybe the mural wasn’t actually there, but I think the pom-pom dance did happen… or did it? anyway what ever did or didnt happen it was a magical evening. that turned into a beautiful day emerging out into Times Square at dawn,
dreamt of a potion made of hard-to-find ingredients. Still trying to remember the recipe.
Last night I dreamed of the dream that might not have been the dream. The sounds of cards shuffling overlapping over, and over……
I didn’t have a dream during my stay in the red chamber…but I did go home and have an extremely vivid dream about talking about performance with Jeremy Barker. It was like real life, only it was a dream. I had some understanding that I was dreaming during the dream; this isn’t exactly rare for me, but it was definitely on a different level from my typical semi-lucid dreams. It was so real I could read text – that’s always my marker for how lucid the dream is.
For once, i did not dream. i woke up over and over again in delicately crafted moments- both choreographed and accidental. a friend walking across the room to me. a performer shifting through the curtains above my bed. ‘Yes. I must go home and get some rest.’
On the train home into pre-dawn dusty bluegold brooklyn, my sleepy fingers folded a paper box, the effort of this activity tuning out the saturday night drunks. What is a weekend, anyway.
i am not the person i have been. i feel so rested i want to weep. i feel so peaceful i want to scream. where have i been all this time? no matter. here i am now. i am ready.
yes. i will be meticulous but not precious.
yes. i must go home and get some rest.
yes. i must go home.
yes. i must.