Over the course of my life I have had eight dreams in which Pablo Picasso has been mentioned. Although I have seldom felt particularly close to Picasso, I value his effect upon me.

Dream of: 10 October 1980 "Bird In Flight"

I was lying on my back, trying to keep from falling off a raft being pulled by a motor boat driven by my father and my mother in the harbor of San Juan, Puerto Rico. When the boat suddenly speeded up,  I fell into the water. I swam to the bank and climbed up on shore. The sand on the beach was snow-white and had a consistency pleasant to the touch.

I saw an old man who looked a bit like a man with whom I had recently had an argument on a bus. He apparently lived on the beach. When I asked him if he had a cover to use at night, he said he just used the sand.

Across the bay I could clearly see a beautiful, snow-capped mountain which I called "Kilimangaroo." It rose almost perpendicularly and clouds swirled around the summit. Wondering if anyone had ever climbed it, I thought someone surely had.

The sun was beginning to set; it was spectacular. Other people showed up and lay down all around us. I noticed people putting up a fence.

The surroundings had changed. The bay no longer stretched out in front of me. Instead of on the shore, I seemed to be sitting in what appeared to be bleachers. When I heard someone say the rock band "Three Dog Night" would be appearing shortly, I was enthused. I wanted to see them and it wasn't going to cost anything.

Someone came along trying to sell paintings. I didn't look at them closely, but I saw some paintings by famous painters such as Pablo and Marc Chagall.

The band members came out and began tuning up. I wondered what would happen if someone would try to sell marijuana there, and then I thought I saw someone selling pounds of marijuana for $350.

All three members of the band each lit up a joint and shared it with people in the audience. One member of the group was a woman who looked like the singer Mama Cass. She offered me her joint and told me not to mouth it. I toked it.

Some commotion began. The woman became upset and we went around back. A large light had burnt out and was lying on the floor on its side.

I saw the man again who was selling the artwork and I immediately became interested in some paintings by Chagall, but I kept saying the paintings were by Picasso. The man had several paintings, one hanging over the other. They were cheap. One large one which only cost $35 interested me. It was a type of combination of stitching and painting. It was folded in half and I couldn't open it all the way, but I did open it partially. It appeared to be a large bird in flight. I thought of offering $25 for it.

The first key to art is simply to do it, however primitive or undefined.

Dream of: 23 July 1986 "Dew"

Steve Weinstein (my good friend during my first couple years of college) and I were in some kind of schoolroom sitting across from each other at the end of a long table. Nothing was to my left, but some other people were seated to my right. I picked up a notebook which Weinstein had with him and I began looking through it. The notebook contained 20-25 pages of plain white paper. On the first page, written in large letters in blue crayon, was what appeared to be part of the novel on which I knew Weinstein was working. The title of the novel had two words, one of which was "Dew."

I wondered if I should be reading his novel. I didn't know how much work that one page represented whether it was one day's work, a week's work or what. I thought it might be interesting to read, even though I had the feeling Weinstein hadn't been working on it much. I leafed through the pages and saw some pages partially written in crayon. There was probably only a total of about three pages of writing in the notebook.

Toward the back I discovered some pages with drawings. One was quite well down and reminded me much of Pablo Picasso's work. It depicted a standing person wearing a long coat, which was probably 10 times as long as the person and which flowed down in front of the person. It had been drawn either in sharp pencil or ink. It somewhat reminded me of a collage because it consisted of many different blocks of color carefully arranged together. I said, "I really like that one."

Weinstein showed me another drawing on another page which was similar to the first one but which had been done with even more detail. When he asked me if I liked that, I replied, "Yea, I like both of them equally well."

I looked at another page and saw a sketch of the face of a bearded man lying in repose. I thought it might be a picture of a death mask. On the opposite page was the same picture (very well-done) drawn in detail. I said, "That's interesting because I was thinking of doing a collage similar to that. But I would use different size pieces of paper for the faces."

I held my fingers together to form a square of about a centimeter and said, "I've been making collages with real little tiny pieces and using them for the face."

Weinstein said, "Listen, mother, I've been doing 455,000 of these a year."

All my life I have felt as if I were an artist, yet I was never able to commit myself totally to my art the way I perceived that Picasso had done.

Dream of: 06 June 1987 "Artistic Stamps"

I had decided that instead of throwing away the old envelopes which I had received, I would paste new stamps over the old stamps and new address labels over the old addresses and reuse the envelopes. When I picked up one large manila envelope and prepared to paste some new stamps on it., I noticed that the envelope was one I had received from my good friend, Kim Leitel.

When I was ready to paste new stamps on the envelope, I began looking at the stamps which Kim had originally put on the envelope. There were five large stamps which were peculiar in a number of ways. First, they weren't in the upper right corner of the envelope, but were across the top of the envelope. Second, they were all upside down. And third, they were all markedly crooked, and not arranged in perpendicular order.

Obviously Kim had arranged the stamps that way for a reason, as if she had been trying to convey a message. The arrangement actually seemed rather artistic and the crookedness of the stamps gave them a sense of flow, while their being upside down attracted the eye to them.

The stamps were most interesting, however, because they all had pictures of beautiful paintings on them. At least two appeared to be by Renoir and one by Pablo Picasso. One Renoir painting showed the head of a woman wearing a black hat or bonnet. The background was a darkish red and the entire painting was rather dark. However, the face of the woman herself was brightly highlighted and gave the painting an overall cheerful feeling.

The second painting by Renoir seemed to be of five tall people walking on a beach. In a way the five people seemed to mirror the five stamps. It was a pleasant scene.

The painting by Picasso was very abstract and mostly blue in hue. It appeared to consist of many intertwining lines which formed the image of a woman. Some other faces of women also appeared to be on the side and bottom of the painting. It was an appealing painting.

After looking over the stamps, I actually hated to put new stamps over them. Finally, I decided I could paste the new stamps next to the old stamps; perhaps the final result would resemble a collage.

I began pasting near the Picasso stamp. I thought I could cover up some parts of the Picasso stamp with my new stamp; I even noticed Kim had already covered a small part of the Picasso stamp with a neighboring stamp. I didn't want to cover the faces of the women which were at the bottom and top of the Picasso stamp.

My ex-wife Louise was sitting across from me and I was helping her by putting stamps on some old envelopes for her. I also had a law book in front of me and for some reason was pasting some stamps in the law book.

Louise began talking about a piece of real property which she was trying to buy in Germany as an investment. Apparently she had already sent a check to Germany for the property, but now she was concerned the seller was trying to renege on the deal. I asked her if she had had a written contract and she indicated she hadn't. When I asked her if she had received a written offer of the sale, she told me she had. I concluded that the written offer and the check constituted a valid contract and I thought she should be able to sue the seller if he didn't deliver the property to her. I said, "Sue him."

I figured she ought to be able to make $25,000 if she sued. That ought to appease her.

While we had talked, I had pasted some stamps in the law book, but realized that I had put them on the page dealing with jurisdictions in Germany and that Louise might need to use that page. So I pulled the stamps back out; unfortunately some of the writing of the page also came off.

While pasting stamps, I had to pull some back off, thereby tearing some of them slightly. I tried to repair the damage.

I recalled having recently heard of a man who had sent a letter containing a bomb to his girlfriend, but the bomb had exploded at the post office and the man had afterwards been arrested and convicted in federal court. I wondered how any evidence against the man had been found if the letter had exploded and destroyed itself.

Accepting that I am an artist has been extremely difficult for me. Especially when I compare myself to someone like Picasso. Yet accept it I must.

Dream of: 04 October 1991 "Art And Opera"

As I was driving a car on a road running through a flat, unpopulated area which appeared to be in northern Ohio, I suddenly realized I had hit an animal, probably a rabbit, which escaped into the weeds. Then, realizing I had also hit a second animal, I stopped the car to see if I could find it. I waded into the weeds next to the road, noticing an inordinate amount of garbage scattered about, probably from the white frame house which I could see nearby. I saw a copper pot which I thought about taking, but didn't. Since I couldn't find the rabbit, I turned to leave.


I found myself in the front room of the house at which I had just been looking, and I realized George Musser (an acquaintance from my old home town of Portsmouth, Ohio) lived there. That seemed strange because I remembered I had just left from another house where Musser lived. I saw Musser and spoke to him. I told him I liked the house out there in the country. I was silently hoping Musser might invite me to stay for several days.

I sat down in the living room and noticed a large, black video cassette recorder. I pushed a button which said "Flush," and realized the button was for flushing the toilet. Musser told me I shouldn't do that, and I asked him if the toilet flushed every time the button was pushed.

I thought I could live there. I could bring my foreign video cassettes there.

I realized at least two women were in the room. No one spoke to me, but I knew the women were opera singers, and were friends of Musser. Musser was an aficionado of the opera, and women opera singers always wanted to be with him. That impressed me. How I would like to live with people who loved the opera. I was sure I could develop my taste for the opera. I remembered I had recently been thinking of studying sciences, but I really believed studying opera would be better.

I remembered that Ramo (another old friend from Portsmouth) was a friend of Musser's. I figured if I lived there, I would see a lot of Ramo. Suddenly I saw Ramo seated next to me. Neither he nor I was wearing a shirt, and I wanted to wrestle a little with him. I saw that he appeared to be more muscular than I, and I thought about how the heroes in operas were generally muscular. I thought I needed to exercise more to develop my muscles to be more like the opera heroes.

I put my arms around Ramo and wrestled a little with him. I felt spiritually close to him and I wanted to say, "I love you."

But I didn't.

I could see Musser preparing something in the kitchen.

Someone turned on a television on which an opera was playing. I was pleased when I heard the music and realized it was from the opera Carmen by Bizet. I also recognized the woman who was singing. She had black hair, was thin, and attractive. She also was a friend of Musser's and lived in another house of Musser's which I had also visited recently.

As I listened, I realized I didn't understand all the words of the opera. I thought it would probably be necessary to hear it 20 times before I would understand it well. Nevertheless I began singing along. My voice was high like a woman's.


I was sitting in the living room when I realized six men all dressed the same in pin-striped suits had walked in and sat down. A woman and a boy were sitting next to one blond man. They all were in good shape. Each one was an artist and each had an exhibit of their paintings, all six in different styles.

I felt like crying for joy when I saw the art work. I thought of Pablo Picasso and Salvador Dali. It seemed to me that I was actually the real artist. I had been living in a cabin struggling with the meaning of art and opera. I had thought of studying science, but now I saw that the study of science had merely been an attempt to earn money. The real source was in opera.

Time has frazzled and I still haven't produced the art which I have felt destined to produce. Yet I still have time.

Dream of: 01 April 1993 "Art Posters"

I was in a second-hand store. Two rather attractive, black women (in their early 20s) had just placed a bunch of used books on a shelf. I began looking through the books to see if I was interested in anything. I didn't see anything intriguing, but I was surprised to see a rather large stack of nudie magazines. I didn't know such magazines were sold in that store. I wasn't interested in the magazines.

I also noticed some paperback novels with rather erotic covers, but I wasn't interested. As I walked to the front of the store to leave, I noticed some art posters. They were over a meter long and less than a meter high, and had black metal frames around them. It looked as if they were all the same abstract painting by Pablo Picasso. I picked up one and looked at it. I thought about buying one, but then decided against it. I went ahead and left.

Total dedication is the only thing that can save me.

Dream of: 27 June 2003 "Picasso"

My father, my mother, my sister, other members of my family and I were walking through the downtown area of an unfamiliar town. My sister had a baby with her, less than a year old, wrapped in a white blanket. One of the other members of my family was carrying the baby. We all passed by a movie theater where a movie entitled Picasso about the life of Pablo Picasso was going to be shown. Since we had some time to pass, I suggested we see the movie, and we all walked inside.

Since the movie hadn't yet started, we all took seats in the lobby. Other people showed up and the lobby was soon thronging with people. Most people seemed to be dressed in black. When the doors to the movie were finally open, the rest of my family and I stood up. We had to walk up a short flight of steps, and as I headed up, my sister slipped her arm through mine. I was surprised; she usually didn't want to be close to me; maybe her attitude toward me was beginning to thaw.

We all walked into the long movie room. I headed toward the front, trying to direct the others to follow me. We passed a dining section where chairs and tables had been set up as if in a restaurant, then continued on down to the rows of seats. Plenty of seats were still available, but they were filling up fast. I found a row of empty seats and sat down in one, indicating to the others that they should join me in that row. No sooner had I sat down, however, than I saw that our view was partially blocked by a raised platform in front of the stage. We would have to move a little farther back where the platform wouldn't block our view.

All that matters now is that, when I am dead, I will have left behind behind a readable record of my existence.

 Dream of: 25 October 2010 "Eight-Track Tapes"

I was in a domed stadium, about 5 p.m., when I met a fellow who worked there. When I found out he had been excavating in an area under the floor of the stadium, I told him I had been down there under the floor years ago. When he asked me when I had been down there, I thought back, and although I wasn't sure I was correct, I finally said, "1972." 

I told the fellow I had discovered a huge cave under the stadium's floor. He apparently hadn't yet discovered the cave, and I was unsure he believed what I was telling him. I knew, however, that I was now interested in joining the fellow in his excavations.

As we talked, I noticed a bunch of stuff lying over to the side and I recalled that I had recently been working in the stadium and I had brought all this stuff in there. Among the items were three or four two-drawer wooden file cabinets filled with all kinds of papers and files. A bunch of coins were also lying amidst the stuff. When I told the fellow that the coins belonged to me, I knew he must be dubious as he watched me scoop up some of the silver coins and copper pennies and stuff them in my pocket.

I suddenly remembered I was supposed to go on a little trip with my uncle Liston (1928-1996) that very evening. He was supposed to pick me up there at the stadium. I looked at my watch and saw that it was already almost 6 p.m. and that the stadium was starting to fill up with people in the bleachers. I also noticed I had an ink-stamp on my hand so I could leave the stadium and come back in.

I wanted to take all my possessions with me when I left. I thought all my things would be carted off and disposed of if I didn't take them. I realized, however, that I had too much stuff and I probably wouldn't be able to take it all. I quickly began looking through the file cabinets, trying to figure out what was in them. The cabinets seemed to contain stuff which I had collected over the years and which I didn't want to lose. I saw a file for Neil Young and also a picture of Young. I then saw a couple old eight-track tapes. One said "Matisse" and the other said "Picasso" on the front. Both tapes had colorful pictures on the fronts which I thought had been painted by Henri Matisse and Pablo Picasso. At the same time, I thought the "Picasso" tape might be by a band named "Picasso." I was sure I wanted to keep those tapes.

I began thinking I might have to postpone my trip so I would have time to haul all my stuff out of the stadium. I feared someone would take everything if I left it there overnight. I wasn't sure what I was going to do.

 How could I have forgotten that art is my reason for living? I still have time to remember.


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