Dream of Van Gogh

I visited a house where I used to live. In the dream, I stilled owned the house, but "couldn't afford to live there."

There I saw a group of people sitting around a table painting on a single canvas. This is quite a remarkable activity for a group to undertake together, but I didn't hear a lot of arguing. Of course, there was a dominant voice or two. I became part of the group.

When "finished", the canvas held a pretty good "copy" of a Van Gogh painting. Some of the details had been sacrificed, but if you didn't compare it to the original, side by side, it was amazingly good.

For some reason, I went away carrying the painting. It was foldable, tri-fold, in a cheap gold tone frame. As I unfolded it to admire it later, it was no longer a landscape, but a full body portrait of Van Gogh himself. I was SO proud of it. I wanted everyone to see it.

I was walking down the street. I came upon an old apartment building where I used to live when I was first married. I LOVE that building and would like to own it and totally rehabilitate it (in real life). I have dreamed of happy, diverse people living there, enjoying it's unique character.

In my dream, some cousins of my husband had refurbished the building. One of them was on the porch and invited me in to see her piano.

I admired the piano, then unfolded the painting. They exclaimed over the painting, murmuring how they could NEVER do that themselves. On the table, I noticed expensive "paint by number" kits, and realized that they did long to pursue painting, but lacked confidence.

I told them they COULD explore painting with more freedom, and that I could coach them. I could see the interest in their eyes, even as they denied their ability and desire.

As we admired the Van Gogh portrait and exclaimed over how a group had managed to work together to accomplish it, I realized that there were empty spots around the image, where the man didn't blend into the background. I commented on this and took a soft rag and began to blend. I didn't want to change much, just fill in the empty spots. At one point, especially around the ear, I really wanted to make it more unified.

As I blended, suddenly, the image began to squirm under my administrations. He had become a living man! He seemed to really try to submit to my grooming, but as the cloth became muddier and muddier from my efforts, he became more and more irritated, and finally stood up to defend himself.

I told him I was just trying to blend the rough spots, but he would have none of it.

He stalked away, very unhappy.

Later, I saw my dream "self" as a frustrated amateur "therapist" whose "patient" had committed suicide. I was very sad and frustrated, feeling such a failure.

As I began to ponder the path that had led to the tragedy, I realized that he, too, at one point had been a "people fixer" and had realized it was a pointless job. He himself had not wanted to be "fixed", and had finally escaped all efforts to "fix" him.

Then, my dream"self" realized that fixing and being fixed is not a happy fruitful, happy activity. She did not know where to go from there, or what her purpose was, but discerned that God was the one in charge of her path, and the path of those she longed to "fix" as well.

She would no longer equate "fixing people" with success, or "blending" with unity. Perhaps it was time for Cézanne's "man with the club" to do his job and tell the artist when the painting was "finished" and let God and the"painting himself" take care of the finishing touches.

May 20, 2002
Robyn Bray