I had a dream last night, so vivid that I can’t shake it. I found myself with two others, painting at individual easels, when all of a sudden; a large stag came bursting through the side glass doors of the cabin that we were in. It fell to the floor, dying, with its blood slowly spilling across the wood paneling, as if its throat had been slit. Then a vendor of from my work, who is a hunter, appeared. He said that we had to honor the fallen stag, by painting with his blood. So we all reached down, dipping our fingers into its blood, and began to feverishly paint on our canvases before the beast exhausted its last breath.
Now at this point, the other’s paintings became some truly darker, twisted images, but oddly enough I found myself painting a playful child, representing an image of hope in my mind, all in the blood of this animal.
Chilling dream. Very surreal. I’m taking it to mean that I should get back to painting, and just that Hannibal the TV series really had some lasting impressions on me. But that dream, it was so freaky, and there’s probably something deeper in it all.
