Look What We Still Have

Yes. I did that. That thing all artists do and never do right. I went the childhood dreams route. This is sort of the end result(?) of an idea I had in sophomore year of college. The basic premise was of what we wanted to do versus what we became. I had chest shots of people holding representations of their childhood dreams. And next to these representations were their name tags from their current jobs. I might do that series later, but for now I like the more optimistic look at our childhood. "Look what we still have" sits better than a pessimistic "look what we've become". Enjoy the first.

Dreams.

Some people want to make their first million and certainly not stop there.
Some people want to become rock stars.
Or models.
Or actors.
Or singers.
Or sports stars.

I'm starting to think I'm the only one who wants desperately to be an undiscovered genius. The kind that people later go "Oh, well shit. Didn't see that coming."

List of things I want to do:
Document Goldfield
Document a lot of ghost towns.
Get a degree in archaeology.
Get a degree in anthropology.
Go to a live dig site and document it.
Buy an expensive camera.
Buy an expensive laptop.
Get a degree in mathematics.
See Stonehenge.
See Rome.
See Italy.
See the ziggurat.
See ancient Mayan ruins.
Travel somewhere by train.
Shoot a gun.
Sell my artwork for some extra money.
Buy a telescope.
Go to the planetarium.
Do a portrait of president Bush.
Fly.
See the Statue of Liberty.
See the Grand Canyon.
Stand in Tienanmen Square.
Kick open a door.
Teach a photography course.
Jump off a large structure into one of those massive pillows.
Ride a horse.

So I'm going through a dream phase.

It's actually very neat. I'm in a sleeping pattern that seems to allow me to remember my dreams much more vividly. I'm obsessed with unreal and otherworldly things, so this is awesome.

I'm having more of those classic teeth falling out dreams. Everyone seems to have them. It's a ridiculously realistic sensation. Only in mine I have another tooth behind the one falling out so it's actually not a really threatening sensation that I get. The problem with these particular dreams is that for a while they were filed under real memories in my brain. And I would think back to the last time I lost a tooth and think it was very recent, and cite the dream memory as real. It's really very strange, and leads me to wonder if there are any more dreams I've filed in the "real memories" file.

A recent dream went roughly like this:

I was going to see a girl who is sick. She was in a room on the second floor of a large house. The house was old. The colors of the house were rich and deep. And when I would try to go up to see her I would find my way blocked. As it turns out I am not allowed to see this girl. She is off limits. I try various methods and eventually make it to the second floor but have to hide constantly. I am forced to leave before I am discovered. the top floor is old but cleaner. I enter through the front door again and am led to the stairs by the girl's sister. She tells me to go through a small (very small) door under the first stair and crawl up to the second floor. One inside the crawlspace A mouse scuttles up to one of the exit holes. I push out and into a pristine medical ward-like hallway. I run through room after room until I reach the girl. I wake up.

All of my dreams seem to follow this search, evade, discover, escape type of theme. It's interesting. Needless to say, I will be sleeping in this pattern to see if I can illicit more of this.

This is from xkcd

Musings on myself

I've always found a deep and troubling connection with those characters you see in movies that coat the walls of one room with their thoughts. I've always had the urge to do that. To lock myself in a room with reams of paper, a computer and a printer. The end result of which I believe would be an astounding piece of artwork. I want to map out my ideas on massive walls. Start in the center and let it grow like some virus upon the wall.

I also want to do this in three dimensions. start with a room the size of an airplane hangar and employ dozens of people to help me build wonderland. Where sketches of domed shaped rooms with mirror floors and starry skies could be just one of the hundreds of other rooms. Mobius strips the size of a BMW bus.

On a much more attainable level I want to make a book. A book of paper models. Each page would be made of cardstock, and have shapes that you would pop out of their perforation that when put together would make paper models of the universe. And not just the ones I think are real. These models would bring abstract notions into a visual corporeal existence. So people would then see just how the universe ticks. And "tick" is kind of exactly the right word. I want people to construct these simple white models and see the metaphorical gears behind the white clock face.