LUCID DREAMING

By Beth Wilson

Lead Pillows

Ever since Sigmund Freud published his Interpretation of Dreams in 1900, and long before, dreams have held a particular fascination—spending almost a third of our lives asleep, drifting in and out of various unlikely and/or downright prophetic reveries. Everything is veiled, important things are made apparent, everything is desirable, everything is horrific, everything is possible and/or impossible by turns. Lately my dreams have been a bit on edge, slightly anxious exercises in situations that bear an uncomfortable resemblance to my waking days, or else calling up the spectres of people no longer part of my life and welcome to stay there. I’m hoping this is a trend that will turn around soon.
The name of this column is “Lucid Dreaming,” and as this is the one-year anniversary of its appearance in Chronogram, I thought it deserving of some special attention. I had intended to get across something of the contrary state of writing about art. To paraphrase what Laurie Anderson once said about music criticism, “talking about art is like dancing about architecture”—sort of an odd thing to want to do, but an intriguing sort of concept anyway. As I’ve tried to point out any number of times over the past 12 months, there’s a really interesting way in which art (or at least people trying to make art) can give all of us a totally different perspective on how we relate to each other, on what we believe as a culture to be important, on politics, and even occasionally on what it could possibly mean for something to be beautiful in this day and age.
This alternative way of going about the business of being human is rather like the way things waft in and out of dreams, and when you’re lucky, you find unexpected enlightenment when the confabulation of images and ideas in the dream presents you with sometimes shocking insights into yourself and the state of the world. But mostly yourself. Freud certainly did hit on something quite key in finding that the dream in particular could unlock the manifold mysteries of the unconscious—the other day, my nine-year-old nonchalantly asked me over his bowl of morning Cheerios, “have you ever had a dream you weren’t in?” At that moment it hit me that dreaming is the ultimately personalized experience of consciousness, and that my son’s question opened directly onto the narrative specificity of experiencing one’s own psychic reality. Getting back to the title of the column, however, lucid dreaming is specifically that state in which the unconscious is not just speaking to itself, but when the conscious mind is also awake and invited to attend the proceedings. My point is that as this particular heightened mental state facilitates communication across the great opposing gulfs of consciousness, so art (and specifically talking about art, working out what it can mean for ourselves) can help bridge the gap between individuals, as we collectively experience and generate our own culture.
That is the upbeat, hopeful thread that I try to hunt out when I can. Of course there is the other, darker side of life in these United States—the many ways in which the very mechanisms of contemporary culture themselves function in oppressive, deadening ways to halt or restrict the flow of a more creative mode of being. George Romero put his finger on it in his cult classic Dawn of the Dead, when he had his army of zombies shuffle through the Monroeville Mall (outside Pittsburgh—a special trip for us when I was a kid!), lampooning the inevitable sameness heralded by the growth of such homogenized culture. How much of my own time is dissipated by gaping at the spectacle of television, of witnessing political conventions that exist only as coronation ceremonies, of making “choices” that are constructed to reinforce the integrity of a consumerist economic system? Modern media open up the world, while simultaneously leveling the differences that originally made that world interesting. On the other hand, I like to think that a number of people make art in order to address the seriousness of the situation.
Every October, Ione organizes a dreamy month at Deep Listening Space. Literally. The whole month is dedicated to the dream, and I am hoping that some recent new blood will bring with it some new versions of the dream. Seana Biondolillo’s installation La-La Land is said to be about “the places in between dreaming and waking, places we know well as children and learn to forget, places we become lost in, places we go and cannot be found [return from].” I have the feeling that this work will add some salutary new layers of complexity to the festival this year—Biondolillo builds environmental assemblages that cobble together old toys, leftovers from yard sales, and odd objects that have almost forgotten their original purpose, all of which should combine to provoke any number of responses from any given viewer. Add consciousness, stir carefully.
A very different exhibition is in store for Coffey Gallery in October, which will be showing the geometrically-flavored work of Hendrik Dijk and Chris Gonyea. This pair of “working class heroes” have worked together both as artists and as humble house painters, and they share a different dream of art—as Hank put it, “art has always been outside the economy for me,” as he has worked on free public projects, like his upcoming 24’ x 24’ geometric mural for the Heritage Energy fuel tanks at Kingston Point. It behooves us all to show up to the gallery show to help support such aesthetic generosity of spirit. He may be less altruistic than he seems, however. In classic counterpoint to Freud, Hank also asserts that “sex is overrated. Squeezing paint slowly out of a tube is underrated.” Now why can’t I have dreams like that?
And now for something completely different. (Dreams do work this way, don’t they?) Carrie Haddad has helped to organize the sixth annual Hudson ArtsWalk, which will take over Warren Street in the city on October 7 and 8. In addition to the commercial galleries (such as Haddad’s) already displaying work, many local businesses will be exhibiting the products of local and regional artists and craftspeople, and there will be a number of demonstrations and special activities for children and others. (I most look forward to the local school children painting portraits at $1 a sitting.) The event has been growing steadily from year to year, and upwards of 4,000 are expected to attend the 2000 edition. An ArtsWalk 2000 map will be available at the event to help you navigate through the festivities.
Sweet dreams, everybody!

“Dreaming in Parallel,” group show (featuring Seana Biondolillo) open October 14 through 31 at the Gallery at Deep Listening Space, 75 Broadway, Kingston. 339-5776.

“Two Painters,” (Hendrik Dijk and Chris Gonyea) open October 7 through 28 at the Coffey Gallery, 330 Wall Street, Kingston. 334-9756.

ArtsWalk 2000, October 7 and 8, 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. on Warren Street, Hudson. For more information, call (518) 828-1915.