“Dreams are the touchstones of our character.” Henry David Thoreau

WAFFLING DREAMS

IN HER YOUNGER DAYS: FROM MY JOURNALS, 2 DECEMBER, THURSDAY 1982

Dream: First on the street w/portfolio (broken) of my drawings—stand transfixed in front of a large sidewalk stand where man is making Belgian Waffles—elaborate display—i ask the woman for “one of those creations the cook has just made”—w/out question she hands me something entirely different—When i refuse she insists i explain what i want even though it’s right in front of me—finally i settle for something else—I’m over loaded w/the portfolio which i put down & drawings start to scatter—i put down my leather feed bag to retrieve the drawings—the oversize confection i have in my hand drops to the sidewalk—in a mild rage i return to the stand (the woman has been waiting for me to pay)—Slap! i slam it back on the counter—arms wrapped around the broken portfolio of drawings i start to leave then remember instantly i left my leather bag behind—i turn to run—see it’s being held by a woman who looks dressed as a hotel chamber maid—the bag has a tag w/a number on it but she lets me have it w/out proof of I.D. — Next find myself in a huge downtown building—elegant—a building where money is made, traded etc—i really only want to pass through but the elevator [goes to the] top floor—luxurious office space—in the dream i believe it to be Bache & Co—Suited, elegant men glide over deep carpets & every background sound is muffled until i pass near one of those men—he says to his female companion in a lowered voice meant for me to hear:

“Look at that artist, isn’t she absurd?”

I [walked] up to him & said: “Thank you sir, for noticing that i am an artist, however i am not absurd”—Still lugging the broken portfolio of drawings i go into what looks like a combined office reception area & hotel desk—i ask for directions out of the building—a woman behind a desk (mail pigeon holes on a wall behind her) says something unintelligible but hands me a room key w/number on it—also a receipt to pay a certain amount—can’t quite remember—maybe $72—Exasperated—i run to catch the elevator’—Doors close—a bank of maybe 5 or 6 elevators against a wall—Deco-gold—like in Rockefeller Center—i’m intrigued by some symbols on the elevator doors but concerned as well w/getting into one before [the] doors close (Handles were on the outside to pull doors open)—Finally doors open in front of me & i step into an elevator that has been in dreams long past—a giant room—furnished—people in it i notice are mostly black—there are round cushions—some people stand—[a] few are seated in groups—when i step onto the elevator—(this time w/out portfolio)—the passengers stop to look up then return to their conversations or vacant stares—This elevator was as big as a living room—it surprised me at first but i was reassured to see the doors close & feel the descent—i walked past a woman sitting down. She said: “Well, hello Linda—what are you doing here?”—i looked down—a young black woman missing most of her teeth—i could not place her—but she knew me—said her name was “Roberta, you know, Reggie’s friend.”—Oh yes, but what had happened to her teeth?—Soon i was back up on the top floor—back at Bache but w/out the broken portfolio of drawings—i walked directly into the president’s office—you must get rid of those paintings i told him—pointing to the works on the wall—thickly impastoed abstract florals hung on plastered walls, reminiscent of a Greek villa—he was, in fact, a man w/an accent I took to be Greek & first he was very cool & correct w/me—never asking to see my work but listening intently as I described their beauty.

We walked together around his huge handsomely furnished office—he was warming to my proposal of selling my work. In the last scene, just before i woke he went over to a couch in his office—sat down easily, crossed his legs (he was in an elegant white suit) and patted the cushion—motioning for me to sit down—there was no lascivious intent in this gesture & i felt very comfortable plopping down near him—noticing even a few worn spots on this elegant sofa—(also white) making me feel very relaxed—at ease—& ready to discuss his patronage. Dream ends.