Seriously…in my dreams there were flowers everywhere. And since I don’t often remember my dreams, I wonder why this one? Because it was pleasant? Maybe because I’m surrounded by new life? Whatever the reason…the subconcious, intuitive part of me was telling stories about flowers. Which, on the whole, is not a bad thing.
And speaking of stories. I come from an odd family in that there aren’t a lot of stories. All those family stories that you pass around and down…the majority are missing in my family. There are three or four, but you quickly come to realize that there’s a mantra in my family culture and it is “everything is private” or as I like to call it….The Need to Know Principle Gone Awry. It has very often been a habit of mine to make up stories when there was no information given out, because I was constantly trying to understand what the heck was going on as a child. This probably contributed to my art because I make up stories about the characters constantly. On the other hand it also contributes to confusion, and a reputation for lying. lol. Because making up the “truth” around the context of your experience is a “lie” right? I’m pretty sure it is. But children have such a need to know that they will fill in the blanks. I always had this vision in my mind of a story keeper. When told “I don’t know” by someone in my family…I always wondered “who does know”? The answer seemed, all to often, to be no one. Or everyone but me. ha. So that’s the thought behind this journal page. There must be a story keeper and if there must be one…then I’m pretty sure mine looks like this. Ta Dah.