I’ve been given the opportunity to live rent-free in very special and unique house. I’ve just moved in, and am having my first look at it. The first room I see is a large sleeping loft, at a great height above the floor below. It is big enough to be a private living area, and the edge has a low railing, only about 18 inches high. This makes for a very open feeling, but is also a bit scary, as it’s a long way down. There’s a Japanese style low table near the rail, and I feel right at home. The furnishings and art objects that are everywhere make it clear that a powerful and prolific artist lived here a long time. Everything is as it was, and it’s all there for me to enjoy.
The view from the rail is of a very tall and richly sculptured fireplace wall rising from the room below. There aren’t many windows, and the feeling is very rich and dark, very interior/internal, with lots of velvety maroon wall covering. It’s like a cathedral of the inner life. At some point, I find myself on the lower floor, without knowing how I got there. There is a huge table littered with evidence of the artist’s creativity. Every detail is unusual and fascinating. Every piece of furniture is unique; every object out of the ordinary.
I wander out the door and see a hillside yard filled with amazing stone sculptures. They are mostly male figures embedded in a kind of cubist yet organic matrix, very complex and detailed, but not classically realistic. They have their own kind of detail, which is about how the jumble of forms is articulated. Most of the figures have a very small figure arising from the abdomen. These are birth-giving males. On the whole, the pieces present the appearance of richly detailed boulders between 3 and 5 feet high, organically set about the hillside. There are a lot of them, clearly representing a major accomplishment. I see that the artist was primarily a sculptor, thinking in 3 dimensions, and moved by Form. I reflect that his work is the closest I’ve seen to my own vision.
I walk around to a kind of roof deck, which seems to have an alarming downward slope, and see that the house is built on a very steep hillside with the sculpture yard above, and mostly a sheer drop below, overlooking a panoramic view of hills unfamiliar to me. I realize I don’t know where I am, and find this very disorienting and bothersome. On the left is a kind of coastal area, and I see a bridge. I wonder if the bridge will prove recognizable, and tell me where I am, but it is unfamiliar. Then, I see several other bridges in that area. Looking to the right, I see a smoky, smog stained horizon and wonder if I am near Los Angeles. The feeling of sudden and unknown relocation is quite disorienting.
I’m walking back up to the road with some people when an old caretaker woman appears. I ask her where we are, and she gives the name of a beach community near Los Angeles. I realize she’ll be around, but she keeps to herself.
Later, I return to the house and explore it more thoroughly. At one point, I’m in the upper story examining the massive and unusual roof trusses. I realize the artist designed and built this place, and it is very solid. At another point, Daddy is there, and I talk about the artist. He says he knew the guy. I’m incredulous, “You knew him?” Then, my mother is there, and we roll her wheelchair out onto the roof deck to see the view. She then rolls herself right over to the edge to get a better look. This makes me nervous, because it’s a big drop, and the parapet is low. I am concerned for her safety, and double check that she has set the brakes on her chair. The view is truly breathtaking.
Later, we are walking on the grounds below the house, and I come across a bundle of incense sticks which have been lit en masse previously, and are mostly burnt. I pick it up and ask for a match. Someone wonders if it lighting the incense would be disrespectful to the place’s history, but I say I think it’s a good idea. A match is produced and lit, and I hold the bundle to the flame, but it doesn’t last long enough and only a few sticks are lit.
Interpretation: The artist I was is dead, but I have inherited his legacy, which is rich. The sculptures of birth-giving males indicate I’m birthing a new incarnation of my work, and may suggest that sculpture would be a fertile medium for me.