Some other people and I were sitting in chairs scattered around a spacious room and were watching a movie. Among those present was Judith Varadachar, a slender blonde legal secretary (around 40 years old, several years my senior) whom I had recently met in Dallas. Wrapped in a blanket and lying at my feet, Judith seemed nervous and withdrawn, almost shaking.

like a flower without water, art without a message will shrivel and die

I was on a trip with a class of students. We had ridden to a strip of land (about five kilometers wide) which stretched latitudinally along the center of Texas where nuclear tests had been conducted. The leader of the trip seemed to be Mrs. Thompson (my junior high school art teacher), but she was actually Molly Bartholow (an attorney in her mid 40s who served as trustee for reorganization bankruptcy cases in Dallas in the early 1990s).

We were all on a bus which resembled a flat-bed truck and as we rode along, I was absorbed by some of the nuclear test sights which I saw. When someone hollered out that there were some bunkers nearby, I noticed small buildings which appeared to be made of stone and which were mostly submerged in the ground. When we finally reached a large cemetery, I thought many of the people buried in the cemetery had probably worked on the nuclear project. I was extremely impressed by what I saw in the cemetery -- large statues which seemed to go on for a great distance. I thought that one particularly large statue constructed from strips of metal fashioned together to look like a person holding a torch looked like something Salvador Dalí might have created. 

Among several small clusters of statues was one group of gray statutes. Another group of small statues appeared to be made of marble. Many statues looked like crosses, and one large statue depicted Jesus Christ. One incomplete statue of a cross was being cut from a block of granite, but only half the cross had been chipped out of the granite. Several other statues also looked as if they might have been created by Dalí.

Tired of sitting on the flat bed, I climbed off and ran along side the truck. Bartholow said the truck wasn't equipped for that kind of thing, but I pointed out that other people were also running beside the truck. She didn't say anything more about my running, but she did mention that I hadn't taken part on a previous trip to another location. I hadn't thought the previous trip would be interesting, but I found this trip extremely interesting.

As we continued along, we passed a parked bus from which people appeared to be disembarking to walk among the statues in the cemetery. I suggested to Bartholow that we also stop, but she didn't seem interested in stopping, so our truck just kept moving.

Dream of: 30 June 1996 "Dalí's Brown Sandy Plane"

submerge and cleanse yourself in the stream of art

After walking into an antique store together, my black-haired Hispanic wife Carolina and I had strolled off in different directions, she down one aisle, and I toward a counter. I stood in front of the counter, which was about waist high, and looked at a shelf just a little higher than my head directly above the counter. Seeing an intriguing-looking array of cards and books arranged on the shelf, I reached up and pulled down a stiff piece of paper which I at first thought was a large post card – about the size of piece of notebook paper. Looking more closely, I saw that on one side of the card was a picture of the four main characters from the television series "Bonanza." Writing which looked like different autographs was scribbled all over the picture.

Only now did I notice that several women had walked up together to the counter and were talking with a man on the other side. Overhearing what they were saying, I realized the women were talking to the man about buying the very book I was holding. At least they were talking about buying a book like the one I was holding, and since I didn't know if any other books like this one were available, I thought they might be talking about buying the one I was holding.

I knew I had to act fast if I wanted to buy the book, but I wanted Carolina to see it before I actually told the man behind the counter that I would take the book. I quickly spotted Carolina in one of the aisles not far from me. I beckoned her and she immediately came over to me.

I laid the book down on the counter where she could see it, and once again I flipped through the pages. I was specifically looking for the paintings by Dalí and Picasso, thinking those were the most valuable ones and the ones which I especially wanted Carolina to see. After flipping through about ten pictures, I found the one by Picasso and I showed it to Carolina. The picture, however, seemed strange, because I thought the first time I had looked through the book, Dalí's painting had been first. Nevertheless we both looked at Picasso's painting which was composed on brown paper about the color of a brown paper sack. It was actually little more than a series of black lines with no color and little or no form. Nevertheless, Picasso had signed the work, and I knew his signature was what made the painting valuable.

I continued flipping through the book again until I found a painting by Dalí, but this one was different than the one I had first seen. This one showed figures on a brown sandy-colored plane, with an azure sky overhead. It was quite beautiful, but I still wondered about the other Dalí painting which I thought I had seen earlier. I flipped back towards the beginning of the book until I found the other picture. Now, however, I was uncertain that this other picture was actually by Dalí. I couldn't be sure, but at least the book did have the one beautiful painting by Dalí, and it might even have two by Dalí. I was quite satisfied. When Carolina indicated that she also liked the book and that she thought it was a good buy, I handed the book to the man behind the counter and told him I would take it. I was unsure whether I had that much cash on me, but I thought I could pay with a credit card.

Almost immediately, however, I thought I had acted too quickly. I thought I should have tried to haggle with the man; perhaps I could have bought the book more cheaply. I reflected that I felt pressured by the women, who were still standing there, and I had acted precipitously to avoid their buying the book out from under me. I still thought there might be some chance that even though I had told the man I would take the book, I might be able to get it more cheaply.

I looked at the man, who had just finished putting the book into a white plastic sack, and I asked if he would take $200 for the book. The man stopped and looked at me. He didn't seem offended that I would be making such a tardy offer, but instead of handing the package to me, he laid it aside on the counter. He then politely told me that he couldn't lower the price, and that in fact his boss had been talking about raising the price. Realizing there was no hope of getting a better price, I told the man I would take the book.

Later, after making the purchase, Carolina and I were standing alone together in a sparsely wooded area behind the antique store. We were standing next to a small muddy stream less than a meter wide and less than a half meter deep. Carolina was wearing a pair of tight fitting white slacks and was nude from the waist up. She looked extremely sexy with her brown skin and large breasts.

Both Carolina and I knew the stream where we were standing had something to do with art, although the exact relationship between the stream and art was unclear to me. Somehow I thought the stream flowed into the antique store and into other buildings in the area. The stream also had something to do with movies, and this aspect of the stream was what most interested Carolina, who may have already been standing in the water.

For my part, I felt as if for some reason I myself needed to stand in the stream – to get my feet wet. I was uncertain what I would accomplish by standing in the water, and I hesitated to do so because the water looked dirty and perhaps even polluted. Nevertheless, I knew I needed to stand in the water, and I didn't think the experience would prove to be terribly unpleasant.

The power of a beautiful story parallels the power of a beautiful painting. Dreams tell stories, but dreams woven together around a single element can tell epics. Any epic worthy of reading will confront the reader with his or her own identity and a dream epic is particularly adapted to this confrontation. When Dalí appears in my dreams, I am confronting myself. My identity is forever linked with Salvador Dalí because the author of my dreams placed Dalí there to encourage me that although I may not be on a par with Dalí, I too am an artist capable of creating beauty.

Dream of: 27 March 1997 "Dalí's Floating Books"

Perhaps thirty spirits, including myself in spirit form, were gathered in a high-ceilinged athletic-like room. Although we were spirits, we still resembled normal physical beings – except that we displayed no color, all of us being dressed in white. Our purpose for being assembled was far from pellucid to me. However I had a certain sense of why we had been gathered together. Gradually I began to sense that one among us was to be selected for some grandiose purpose, and that at least to some extent, we were in competition with each other to be chosen. I was calm, but somewhat subliminally agitated, realizing the importance of what was transpiring.

Slowly I also became aware of another figure standing over to the side of the room, set apart from the rest of us. This figure, all dressed in black, somewhat resembled Mike Schwille (a Dallas criminal court judge before whom I had previously practiced criminal law). It was immediately manifest that he was the being there with the power; and he wasted no time in displaying it. He announced that by now it should be completely obvious to all of us who the chosen one was, because that person was wearing white shoes. With trepidation I gazed down at my own feet and saw that I was sporting a pair of brilliant white tennis shoes. Glancing around the room, I saw that no other spirits were wearing white shoes, that I was the only one. When the other spirits saw my white shoes, everyone knew I was the chosen one.

However, the being dressed in black mentioned that one other spirit in the room had also been chosen in some way. The other spirit, however, was more like a child and its destiny was to remain on its knees, praying.

My destiny, however, was not one of supplication, but of action. I knew that the selection ceremony had now been concluded, and that it was time for me to act. I also knew what I had been selected to be: an artist. An intense feeling of satisfaction welled within me. I had previously suspected my destiny, but until now, I had never been certain.

I detected no animosity from the other spirits that I and not they had been chosen to be an artist. Everyone seemed to know it was my destiny, and no one opposed it. To the contrary, all the other spirits now seemed to realize that they were the raw material of my art.

By now the other spirits no longer resembled people. Instead, they all looked like white bricks neatly lined up on the ground, awaiting me to work with them. As I felt my artistic powers flowing naturally within me, I raised myself off the ground, floating a meter or so in the air over the bricks. As I did so, the bricks also began to move, all slowly rising synchronously around me, somewhat in the form of an abstract funnel cloud. With complete ease and mastery, I turned my body upside down so that I was floating with my legs straight up above me and my head and arms below. I felt no discomfort whatsoever; the position was highly conducive to my work. From this position I could reach down and touch the bricks, which now seemed more like thick white books lying on the ground. The sonorous strains of music played in the background – something which sounded like "Love Is A Many Splendored Thing."

I touched the books, which also seemed somewhat like audio books, that is, the cases of audio books with the cassettes inside. As I felt the books in my hand, I thought I discovered a key to art: awareness. Holding each book in my hand, I became aware of it, I incorporated it into my being, and I understood that an artist must be continuously aware. As the floating brick-books formed a funnel-wall which looked like something from an abstract painting by Salvador Dalí, a more concrete realization began to unfold inside me: by practicing my art, I not only created art for other people, I also learned something for myself. As I hovered upside down in the air, with my long white gown flowing in the air, experiencing sensations of being almost Christ-like, I realized something else. For a long time I had tried to know God. Now I had discovered a truth about God's nature: for me, creating art and knowing God were the same thing. There was a fusion for me of two different ideas – when I created art, I felt God within me. I had never before put these ideas together. Now I not only knew the truth of this fusion of God and art, I felt it. And that feeling was part of my essence, an essence which I was now beginning to understand. When I created art, I knew God.

My hands held onto the books, absorbing the feeling of the books so I could remember them. Becoming aware of things and remembering them was a critical part of my art. Now I focused on the concepts and words in my mind, fixing them so I could remember them later: "God," "art" and a voice in the background saying, "Steven on the fourth floor."

Let beauty free me from pedantry! I will use words the way Dalí uses paint to delve into my dream world and uncover the beauty hidden there. In my weakness I will trust the master and reflect on girls skipping ropes, statues of nude women, telephones, grasshoppers, elephants, crosses, Voltaire, Picasso, Lenin, Lincoln, Figueres, Cadaques, Gala, bullfighters, burning giraffes, crutches, pipes, father, mother, sandy planes, drops of milk, melting clocks, atomic bombs, hats, horses, lions, tigers, bayonets, reclining women, challises, Christ, Mary, azure skies, easels, piercing eyes, Meninas, ... and I will regain my strength to create beauty.

Dream of: 27 September 2001 "Dalí In The Middle"

any theory of art must be based on beauty

Dream of: 31 August 2002 "Detailed Painting By Dalí"

sacrifice everything for your art

I walked into a small shabby church where I had come for the first time. In the entrance I noticed a broken tile with half of it missing. Little things like the missing half piece of tile made me wonder why the church was so run-down. Why couldn't the tile be replaced? A tall thin gray-haired man (about 50 years old) stood up. He looked exactly like B. J. Harrison (the character played by George Hamilton in the movie The Godfather Part III). He and I started talking. He was an attorney and we quickly arranged for me to do some work for him. It seemed the church was also his law office. I could see other lawyers who were also working for him. One was a woman (about 35 years old) sitting at a desk. I figured that the lawyer probably met many people in this church and that much of his clientele must originate in the church. I had the feeling he had many clients.

The lawyer and I walked into another room and immediately went to work. He told me that one of his projects was making wine and that I could see the bottles in the room. I looked over the bottles and I talked about the fermentation process. Some wine was in a jug where it was fermenting and some had been poured off. I asked him if the wine in the jug was still fermenting and he said it was. I looked into the jug and I could see the bubbles still rising on the fermenting red wine. He poured out some wine and we tasted it. Then we tasted a second batch which had been fermenting for a day longer. I commented about how the second batch of wine was definitely better than the first.

We walked out of the room, went outside and started walking along a city street. I thought to myself that I was little more than a lackey for this lawyer, but I didn't mind. Although I was wearing a tee shirt, the lawyer was dressed quite well. I noticed his shirt and his black shoes. He was a wealthy man. I wondered how much the black shoes had cost -- they looked quite expensive.

We sat down on a little bench which appeared to be a bus stop on a city street and we talked about the kind of work which I would be doing for him. He mentioned he would like to plant a vineyard. I said I knew of someplace like Iowa where he could plant. I then thought about my father's Gallia County Farm. I told him that my father owned a farm in Ohio and that for years my father had been thinking of planting grape vines there, but he had never done so. I told the lawyer the Farm was almost 400 acres of gently rolling land and I made a gently rolling motion with my hand, but quickly corrected myself and made the hills seem steeper with my hands. I said at least 50% of the land could be cultivated. The lawyer seemed to like the idea. I told him my father was now 70 years old and obviously he wasn't going to plant grape vines. I thought maybe the lawyer could actually arrange the planting of the grapes on the Farm. The idea seemed excellent.

As part of the project, the lawyer gave me some sheets of pictures to work on. Four artistic pictures (one in each corner) were on each sheet of the average-sized paper. I was supposed to cut out the pictures and paste them on a conference table in the lawyer's office. I looked through the pictures and one picture by Salvador Dalí especially caught my eye. The fabulous picture displayed much detail. I would definitely paste that picture on the table.

After perusing the pictures, I stood up. We took our leave and I walked away from the lawyer. As I headed down the street, I reflected that perhaps I should have spent more time today with the lawyer. But when I turned around and looked back, he had already left. So I continued walking on.

I am so fortunate to have Dalí as my companion on my adventure of self-discovery. Though old, we are young of mind, bedazzled by the beauty of history. He is a man I trust to guide me toward the truth.

Dream of: 23 September 2012 "Dalí On The Dock"

guard your art wisely lest it disappear

Piles of all kinds of stuff are lying on the docks of New Orleans before the Civil War. As I watch the many people circulating the docks, I'm thinking about something which I have heard that people do in order to stay here: they agree to guard someone's possessions which are piled here on the dock. Usually the person guarding the possessions will have a little cover with which to build a little tent for shelter as he stands guard.

 I've heard that former president Bill Clinton has had great success in hiring people to guard his possessions piled here on the dock and I reflect that Clinton was always successful because he was so careful whom he picked to guard his belongings.

A young kid who has an uncanny resemblance to Salvador Dalí intends to try to hire himself out to guard someone's possessions, but since he has never tried such work before, he is unsure how well he can do it.

The author of my dreams has guided me to ponder the works of Dalí and the message seems clear. Like Dalí, I am an artistic trailblazer into the mind. I am spellbound by the beauty of my mind which at times resembles the beauty of Dalí's paintings. More than the paintings themselves, however, I am awed by the effort which Dalí expended to create his art. I hope that I can absorb some of the power of his art and fortify my sometimes flagging dreams.

Dream of: 31 October 2012 "Dalí Calendar"

make time for art

Its twenty after six and I have an appointment to be somewhere at six thirty. I'm in a house and I'm trying to get ready. My ex-wife Carolina (in her late teens) is also in the house and apparently she is going to accompany me. I had intended to drop something off somewhere before attending the appointment, but I tell Carolina that I'll have to drop the thing off later.

She and I walk outside and leave on foot. We are in my home town of Portsmouth and are headed toward the Farley Square area (a subsidized housing area traditionally occupied by blacks) where I have an appointment to meet William Mosure (my former twelfth grade trigonometry teacher) at a small school where he works. Mosure has rather reluctantly agreed to accompany me to another school where I will take a test. If I pass the test, I will receive credit for a class which I never even took.

There's snow on the ground. Carolina, walking slowly, falls behind. She's dressed in black leather boots and bundled up in a heavy white jacket. When we reach an area where we have to walk along the railroad tracks, I worry that this route might not be safe, but other people are walking here, so it looks alright. I know I'm going to be late and I just hope that Mosure waits for me.

Just before we reach the building where Mosure is, I see a Newsweek magazine on the ground and I pick it up. Then I see a bin of thrown-away papers and notice a bunch of Time magazines among the papers. Even though I'm already late, I start looking through the magazines, and I pick up several, hoping to find some with artistic covers. Since I don't want to carry the magazines inside when I go in to meet Mosure, I think I can leave them with Carolina.

Then I see Mosure. He steps out of a back office and walks toward me. I'm fifteen minutes late and I'm a bit surprised that he has even waited. When I approach him, he asks me about the test I'm going to take at the other location and he wants to know how much I will have to pay for the test. When I tell him I don't know, he looks disgusted and says to forget the whole thing. Obviously I haven't even made the proper arrangements to take the test. He turns and walks back down the hall to his office.

Dream of: 07 December 2012 "Dalí In Lights"

I'm looking up at at movie theater marqee with several words written in bright pale-white neon letters. The only word I can clearly make out is "Dalí", which I know refers to Salvador Dalí. I sense that Dalí's name in lights has some special significance for me, but I'm unsure what that significance is.

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