|7"x5" oil and acrylic on board|
When I was very young--preschool/kindergarten age--once or twice a month for about two years I would relive a very abstract, but very traumatic recurring nightmare. My dream would begin with me, in bed, the house very dark. I would hear the wind howling outside, making the house creak, the windows shake. In an instant time blurred into an abstract movement, all of the trees surrounding my home would grow in enormous size and then succumb to the wind, collapsing onto the house and demolishing it in a cold tangle of twisted debris and tree limbs. I would then manage to crawl out of what must have been my bed, crying, calling for my mom, but hearing nothing in return, not even the wind. I then became overwhelmed with an intense feeling of guilt, and would eventually give up looking for any signs of life between the mess of what was once my house, bawling "I'm sorry" over and over again until I would be woken up by my mom, who would later on tell me she would wake up hearing me crying "I'm sorry" repeatedly in the middle of the night.