Half a lifetime ago, I painted. I called my online gallery Psychedelia Gothique. And along with the weird art, I wrote some weird stories. As I grew competent in in Photoshop I did much less painting. In retrospect, I never did enough painting to master the techniques that would allow me to become really good. So my artwork remained a combination of amateurish and unsettling that simply didn’t attract an audience. What good is creating a niche if you’re the only one in it?
We do what we can. I moved onto stone sculpture – a medium that suits me more than I could have ever imagined. For one thing – it requires a world of patience – which has never been my long suit. So naturally, I started writing novels around the same time — perhaps the one artform in the world that requires more patience and focus than stone sculpture. And …BONUS—it pays even less. Perhaps what I really am is a masochist.
At any rate – the Psychedelia Gothique aesthetic lives on. Although both the writing and the sculpture are less amateur and more fun than unsettling. So maybe I really am going the right direction after all.
When I was young, I used to regularly have flying dreams and they always made me feel excited about the coming day.
I stopped having those dreams somewhere in my 40s and moaned for years about not having them any more.
Not too long ago, I had another one! The first in decades. A cause for celebration, or so you’d think. This dream was, however, a far cry from those youthful dreams. Whereas I could once soar over the trees and telephone lines and cross a city or country in the blink of an eye, my most recent flying dream was more of a ‘levitation dream.’ And I really don’t need anyone to interpret it for me, because this dream wore its meaning on its sleeve.
My wife, Laura and I were guests in a huge mansion. Standing at the sink in the large – and very empty – communal washroom in some distant wing of the building, I looked down to see that my feet were no longer on the floor. I watched breathless in the mirror as I drew my knees up to my chest, then adjusted my altitude, so that I was fully a metre or more in the air. I could see my feet in the mirror above the sink. My heart jumped with joy. I did a careful spin before floating back down the hall to show Laura what I could do.
She cocked her head and said truthfully and bluntly, “It would have been faster to walk.” She turned and nodded at the rumpled state of the rather luxurious room. “ Then you can help me make the bed, so we can get dressed for the party.”
In my suit and tie as we walked down the long corridors of the house toward the party, I asked her, “Why aren’t you more impressed. Flying isn’t something everyone can do. In fact, it’s sort of a miracle. I can perform a miracle, and you don’t even seem to care.” I was seriously more curious than offended.
She scowled. “Well, it’s not much of a miracle. I mean, what can you really do with it? I don’t see you flying off to save any crashing passenger jets. And you made us late for the party. Everyone else is already here.”
We went up a short set of steps and walked into a large room, where people were sipping drinks and chatting. A caterer gave us drinks and hors d’oeuvres. It wasn’t long before I was itching to take flight again. I asked Laura, “do you think it would be okay if I showed them what I can do?”
She smiled indulgently and held my drink while I lifted my feet from the floor. I looked around for admiring glances, but no-one looked my way. So I flew over to a group of people I knew and did a couple of loop-de-loops. They made various polite noises of approval and went back to the conversation I had interrupted. I stood and listened for a minute before flying back to get my drink from Laura.
By this point, newcomers to the party were carving wide arcs around me, making faces and trying to keep their distance, as though I was a drunk who couldn’t resist doing somersaults in a business suit.
I said to Laura, “I am performing a miracle, here! Something none of these people can do. Why isn’t anyone impressed?”
She shrugged and suggested, “The caterers are keeping their distance. Maybe they’re just hungry. Or they’re afraid you’ll make them spill your drink.”
I came back to Earth and reclaimed my own drink with a sigh. Licking the sweetness of the alcohol off my lips made me yearn for something salty or savoury to counterbalance it.
“Yeah, I am too,” I said. “Let’s go find something to eat.”
***
So, now I’m here to let you know I’ve written some books. I don’t expect anyone to be impressed by that simple fact – but do hope, since it’s my life’s work, that some of you will read them and may be surprised by how good they are..
And now that you’re at the site–please have a look around. Along with the writing, you can check out my artwork and stories and might even find something as fun and exciting as a dream of flying.
If you’re into that sort of thing. And if you’re not…well, thanks for stopping by. Come again and I’ll do my best to make sure there’s new stuff to read and look at and think about. It’s definitely possible that you will have better luck next time! Or maybe my unique vision will simply grow on you. Or you’ll like somebody else’s work that I recommend. So stay, explore, come back, but above all have fun.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t plug my new book. It’s The Human Template in something much closer to its final form. It’s not available yet. The publisher is driving me crazy. I think Arctic Mage may be one of those ghost publishers. Anyway, they’d probably just blame the printer. We all know how that goes. In other words, please stand by. In the meantime, if you want to be crazy wonderful, you could go to Books2Read and pick up my first collection, Psychedelia Gothique