“Be a light unto yourself.”
All artists are students of light. We watch how it caresses a scene, how it embraces a subject; we notice how it creates shadow. There is never one without the other. Light calls out to us. Sometimes it sends us running. I can’t tell you how often I look out the window or look up at the sky and say to my sweetheart, “The light is perfect right now!” He always replies, “Photo, photo!!” We are blessed to live in the Valley of the Impressionists. The light here truly is amazing.
Inner light is also a subject of fascination. Have you ever met someone who just seems to glow? Not in the way that people associate with pregnant women, where the joy of anticipation entwines with fears about what lay ahead and gives them a unique shimmer. I am not talking about that but about a radiance that comes from deep within, as if some of this person’s essence is spilling out at the seams, seeping out of the pores, sparking a fire in their eyes. I have met a couple of people who exuded that kind of glow, and an aura of good-ness, of compassion, of benevolence emanated from their being. They seem to be of this world and yet, at the same time, not. Perhaps they are people who inhabit multiple worlds, multiple existences, at once.
The night after I came home from the hospital after having my hysterectomy, I had the most incredible dream. I remember being at the edge of a lake. The sun had just set. Night was just beginning to fall. Tiny waves crashed upon the shore, white-capped, sinuous lines that extinguished one another and then rolled back out again toward deeper waters. I walked along the beach, feeling a breeze upon my skin, silky water beneath my feet. In the distance, I could see some kind of illumination. It was gentle, and welcoming. It called to me, urging me on. I approached and came upon a small group of beings, whose form was human, but their bodies were made entirely of light. Muscle and tissue and bone glistened beneath their cellophane skin; silvery, tinsel-like strands comprised their hair. They were standing at the water’s edge, scooping up handfuls of water and letting it slip through their sieve-like fingers, water cascading down like thousands of shooting stars melting into the lake. One of the creatures paused to look up at me for a moment. I stood there, rapt, held by its gaze. A current passed between us. We really saw each other. And in that fraction of a second on the edge of the lake, we came to know each other. Then silently, it turned back toward the water and continued playing. Light mingled with water. Water danced in the light. Time stood still. When I awoke, I felt as if I had been standing on the shores of eternity.
The dream was a gift. It calmed my aching body and was a balm for my spirit, which was still struggling to make sense of what I had been through.
It’s been six months since I had that dream. When I think about it now, it still has a soothing effect on me. Someday, perhaps, if I am lucky, I will return. In the meantime, I am exploring what this dream means to me and trying to capture images that relate to it, that play with the notion of luminance. These cyanotypes are a starting point. There are a couple of others that I made too, which were printed earlier today and are still drying. After they have all dried and been toned, I will post them in one of my galleries on this site. We shall see where the quest takes me as my adventures in art-making continue.
If you have had any dreams that were similar of if this brings up anything for you, please drop me a line. I am curious to see what you have to say, lovely readers.
Sending light to you.
Until next time…
Anne