So, it's no secret to the world that I have some wacky dreams. Last night, however I had a most intriguing one. In the dream an artist was visiting IUP to meet with grad students for individual critiques, as our visiting artists usually do. The artist, whose name or face was never revealed, was exhibiting work with content very in sync with my own. The work of this artist consisted of little tiny child drawings of a family, a large family. These drawings were cut out and staged in a doll house that was lit with a warm yellow light. Parts of the work were kinetic, and interactive. As I was viewing the work, I was able to move the little people around, much like I had done when I was a child playing with my barbies. It was a comforting experience. Something I knew. Something I had done before.
Today, while remembering this adorable little dream, I thought, how cool? A profound contemporary artist who works with the same ideas and materials as I. BUT that artist doesn't really exist. Or does she?
Maybe it's me. Maybe that's my work. Maybe that's my success.
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