Carpe Diem, Sieze the Day

It was...Monday night, I think. I woke up bundled tightly in my bed linens, much like a newborn would be wrapped in a pink hospital blanket. My eyes were wide and though I knew I was tucked away safely in my room, no part of my fearful and tense body wanted to reach up and turn on my light.

What in the world could my dream have meant?

It went something like this:


Part 1--My brothers and I are wading in a muddy, brown, waste high portion of an African river. The endless desert land lies not 100 yards from our persons and various other swimmers dot the river all around us. The yellow-gray open sky rests above us with few sparce clouds drifting by like a feather dancing on the surface of a lake.

I turn around with a jerk to find 4 African rebel army commanders stomping towards us. They hold their guns chest-high, cocked and ready, and their faces are creased with the permenant grimaces left from days upon days of relentless anger. Upon seeing them, I motion to my brothers to go under water and start swimming as fast as they can. I follow. When we can no longer hold our breath, we lift our timid heads slowly out of the water. Towering above us, with huge glaring eyes, stands the lead commander who without hesitation grabs me by the wrist and begins dragging me through the water.

Part 2--The next scene takes me to a dimly lit, 7X7 foot dorm room. The only light coming in is a small florescent light and the light seeping in from under the doorway. The door flings open and I am thrown into this empty and cold room. In fear, I crawl under one of the lofted iron bunk beds and pull my knees up to my chin. I look around my feet and I am surrounded by tiny puzzle pieces. Each one of them has either white, pale blue, flesh color, or all three carefully painted onto the thin cardboard surface. I slowly unwrap my clenched arms and start putting the pieces together. As I put the puzzle together, I continue to scoop up more and more pieces with my hands and while doing so, I whisper to myself over and over and over again, "Carpe diem, sieze the day...carpe diem, sieze the day..." As the puzzle begins to take shape, the pieces form a picture of the Virgin Mary. I keep putting the puzzle together in this trance, still repeated that phrase, "Carpe diem, sieze the day....carpe diem, sieze the day..." The door thrusts open and the hall light floods in. I squint towards the doorway and see the lead commander again. The next thing I see is him flinging this thing into the room and slam the door. I stand up quickly and look down at what has just been thrown onto the adjacent bunk bed. Then, much to my horror, staring up at me are the huge whites of a dead 10-year-old black boy's eyes. He is awfully skinny and his head is much larger than the twig of a body supporting it. His mouth is partially opened and his neck is tilted all the way back.

Then I woke up.

Patches of color

Patches of color. Monet was such a genius. He believed that when painting, the most important task was to not look at what you were painting, but rather observe...no...study the way that light reflected on surfaces, creating beautiful and unique patches of color on the surreal surface of a subject. In this way, your mind must disregard any preconceptions about "pond" or "daisy" or "tree" and instead see the shapes and arrangements of lights, darks, color, and texture.

I have applied this technique to my own art and it's amazing how humbling the experience is. Who knew that a pear was not only green, but rather a picturesque assortment of red, yellow, and purple?

And this got me thinking. I feel a deep need and want to apply this humbling technique on how I view every subject. Not just in painting. But in the way I treat people, the way I form opinions, and the way I choose to live. What if, instead of applying all of my preconceived notions about individuals and ideas, I sat back and observed...no...studied the way different cultures, environments, and situations shape people, form opinions, and arrange life? Sure, much like when I paint, I must leave room for my interpretation, but only after I have keenly observed the impressions and reflections of light on my subjects.