Lateral Thinking Needed

We have had it easy up to now, but money is tight and all the extra perks we have been used to are no longer permitted. We have been told there will be no more access to our machine in the work lab. We  have to invent some clever way round it.

Objects in Collision

I have been invited to hang my artwork in a prestigious show.
"Whatever you dream up you can put in that space," I am told.

I have this one drawing that I will include.

Empty Offer

"I am prepared to buy your silence on the matter of website fraud with these objects- one rod, one cardboard roll and one Xmas style deer figure. Will you accept?"

Avoiding the Sex Cult

We emerge from an underground tunnel onto a field where sex cult zombies are mechanically sowing seed. We sneak past unnoticed.

A mysterious texture comes to mind like a close-up of a fly's wing.

"You should join us, you will love it," a lanky young man shouts after us.

His offer is tempting, but once you get sucked into this cult, it takes over and you can never leave.

Uncovering Forgotten Powers

I am in a huge builders merchants' yard. Workmen are milling around, busy on an important task - something has to be found out, uncovered.
I pick up a plastic bag with plumbing connections in it.
"Leave them alone," I am told, "don't want you meddling with that."
I just seem to be in the way.

Then I find a stack of old papers, all in handwriting that is not easy to decipher. It goes back years. I am convinced this has the answer to everything the men are searching for and I say to one of them,
"Let me look through these, I am sure I will find the truth here."  The men are a bit dismissive, they don't share my conviction but they are happy for me to take this dusty heap away.
As I start to look through it my heart sinks, there is so much there and it's really hard to read, I'll never get anywhere.

Slowly I begin to sift through the paperwork, writing down each tiny detail. A woman (about 30-35 with long straight hair) sits with me.
"Let's work out what this is all about. Someone's life is at stake- its about someone's life, a record." (I see an image of Beachy Head cliffs.) The documents seem to be about this woman.

Now I find pictures and objects within this pile of papers- there are three knitting needles, maybe 2'6"long,  and they are covered in knitted wool in soft,"feminine" pastel shades of flame. The needles remind me of bullfighting spikes or spears or something to do with electricity like lightning rods.

"This was the beginning - one of many projects that never led anywhere." The woman laughs and admits it was another fruitless project. (Am I slightly contemptuous of her? Do I think she doesn't have it in her to create anything deep, anything meaningful?)

There are receipts in this collection. She must have been working, she must have earnt this - sums like £320 and another for a bit less. Modest sums.
"Is there a date?" I ask the woman. We look and I arrange them in order.

The pictures I find are black and white newspaper cuttings collaged together and now a heap of old sepia family photos that I drop on the stone floor. I try to pick them up in order but muddle them a bit - never mind, I should be able to sort them out.

I am annoyed that I wake up before the puzzle is solved. There are pages of this novel, for that is what it is, that are maybe in german or russian.  (So many times I start a book only to give up because the language is too hard.) This will be difficult language to decode but I know I can and must do it.


This dream has been interpreted by three eminent Jungian analysists -  a very exciting process - the results of which can be viewed on Carla Young's excellent blogsite here.

The Itty-Bitty Teaspoon Divider

Someone talks about an idea to overcome cheating. They suggest I demonstrate accurate measurement by using a teaspoon with an itty-bitty divider.

I think it would work better if the divider were moveable.

Two Dream Fragments

A kidney shaped bowl with attachments.

A badly drawn car with brown splodge on the roof.

The drawing gets placed in the bowl and then slowly disappears.

Art Danger

Like a great revolutionary orator, a Polish artist addresses a crowd in front of Somerset House. He storms towards a shop window smashing the glass. Inside is a block of an extremely unstable substance at which he hurls a handful of coarse salt. A poisonous vapour is emitted.
How can he do this and survive I wonder?
The audience is spellbound and flocks towards him in admiration. Everyone now has their face bandaged as protection from the fumes.

Midlife Crisis

I am shifting an unwieldy pile of cardboard boxes loosely bound together to form an ugly sculpture. Hanging at the bottom are two loose boxes which somehow represent testicles. My long dead aunty offers to help me carry this home. Bundling the boxes together, I thank her and tell her I can manage alone.

Metal Jug

A large grey metal jug stands on the windowsill. It has no handle. Around the spout is a rough seam. There is the sense of another smaller vessel below out of sight.

Nazi Fossil Found

I have been working in this Elisabethan garage for a few weeks and have produced a book of dreams. Outside on the ground I find what appears to be an old fossil which turns out to have some kind of SS connection.

Mystic Crisp Bag

A small crisp bag with the symbol of an eye on the outside and a silver coating within, is seen running along on wheels. It is empty but open as if waiting for something to be placed inside.

Crown Of Teeth

In amongst a pile of dead leaves I see a small crown formed from teeth about 4 inches across. Industrial wasteland in the background.

Catboy Twins

Wonderful dreams tonight - more journeys to exotic places. We pass through a shop/museum showing a collection of intriguing artefacts from around the world. Mum loves it and wants to stay longer. At the end I see two beautiful men with cats' ears, dressed in cat suits. They are young and nimble and carry a large drawing board.


(The men make me think of the amazing artist /tightrope walker Phillipe Petit.)

Strange Light

I am in a squat with some other people. There is no electricity, yet when I look at the ceiling a mysterious dot of blue light winks softly through the plaster. It seems to come from a spot where there had once been a fluorescent light strip. There is the feeling that the room is like an old sleeping computer.

Baby Christ Clock

A kitsch clock in pastel glazes depicts the childhood scenes of Christ, viewed through a misty romantic haze. Each little figure has white porcelain skin and moving parts, the whole thing topped by a grownup Jesus waving one hand cheerily. Our point of view pans around like a promotion on a shopping channel.

Nonsense Joke

This was a joke I think. A man with two walking stick contraptions each with four feet and smoking tin cans attached. I remember I didn't find it very funny.

Anarchic Rubber Ball

"It's starting again," my friend says and we notice the rubber ball bouncing wildly around the room. We pick it up but it jumps away and spreads itself all over the floor. There is no point in our scolding it - it only responds well if you treat it with great patience and it has already bitten me once. It slides onto my shoe, forming itself into a string of beads around my ankle. "See how it can actually become attractive," I say. My friend is impressed but as he looks away it edges its way up my leg tightening like a tourniquet. I am guilty of my feelings towards this ball, but it is too badly behaved.

Suitcase Of Dream Junk

A friend in Berlin asks me to show her some of my drawings. I unpack my tatty suitcase and am embarrassed by my usual messy pile of dream junk - broken pairs of glasses, electrical components, a tangle of wires, scraps of paper and a couple of small sketchbooks. One drawing I find is like a miniature Escher of a crowded building complex. I delicately brush the image with black ink and all the tiny figures appear to raise one arm in Nazi salute.

Family Sculpture Workshop

My family are making commemorative sculptures for a still-born child from history. Most of us have worked on tiny clay heads on the end of ornate hairpins. Mine hasn't turned out very well, it's a bit flippant. I dust it with talcum powder as a kind of "slacker" Brit Art gesture. It is ignored because Monica has come up with these great little finger chopines (- those strange Venetian platform shoes worn in the 17th century) - they really look like legs walking along a busy street.