Doesn’t our reality begin with our dreams? The subconscious and the conscious. The real and the surreal. Our dreams tell us about where we are and where we will go. Dreamers are the same. In stillness, in chaos, together or afar. Connected and connecting. The dots of hope.
Dotted skies, dotted lines, dotted seas. As far as the eye can see. We are the dots on which our dreams reel. Dots merging are dreams turning. Into reality.
Are our dreams our first memory? A gateway to knowing ourselves. A reflection of our reality. And what we contrive. A mind at play. What do your dreams look like? Do you remember them when the earth becomes alight? Or do you dream better with your eyes open? Do you also dream under the sun?
They say colour is not visible in dreams. Yet we wake up with memories of lush green, striking reds, lavender fields. Surely the sky is blue when we dream and a vortex purple, dark and deep. The clouds seem soft as a peach, waves roaring, minds swirling, dreams are a creative reality. And we are yellow, pink, orange, rainbow colours, rainbow spirits, soaring out of reach.
How often do we turn our backs to our dreams? Walking on water, on clouds, on stars, on beams. Hopelessness, exhaustion, doubt and everything we feel. Footsteps leave no prints, success leaves no clues, to what transpires in between. Shall we chase, shall we paddle, shall we swallow, shall we forget, take baby steps, or shall we scream. To swim in the joy of dreaming a little dream.
Are we truly free only in our dreams? Boundless, unshackled, limitless, uncategorised. Soaring, spreading, reaching, no ground below, no sky above, infinity, indelibility, undefiable, undefined. Is freedom a myth in reality, seen through a prism unmagnified?
We are born in packs. grey and white as wolves. We run wild, survive, threaten our existence, dreaming, collecting. Tears for memories. Loving. Hearts braided, blood soaked, hands held, breaths exchanged. Only to be back, in the pack, as stars.
Dream. Till the words trace your lips. Till mouths run dry, eyes become pools, fingertips outstretch, paces stretch farther than the size of your limbs and a head buries under water. Till we become droplets which hold up a cloud and dust particles travelling across a beam.
EXHIBITED BY
LOOSEN ART
in ROME, ITALY — march, 2021
