art room

I had a dream that disoriented me for the rest of the day. I woke up in what I thought was my room. This often happens. I'm not really awake yet, it's not my real room--it was a large gymnasium type room with high ceilings--but I think for a second that I'm actually awake and that it is my room. You know what I'm talking about. 

My bed was in the center. I'm not quite sure but I think it was more like a yo, a Korean style mat bed. I looked around my room which had been completely transformed into a site specific installation piece. I had painted the walls and made sculptural elements that bulged out out the floor and walls. Piece of burlap were layered and painted over in a messy way with white paint. Crazy writing covered the walls, things I can't quite remember, but they were juvenile scribblings with my name repeated over and over. There were burns in the sculptures and the whole room looked like the disturbed creations of a mentally ill artist--like someone who had been locked in a large studio, and this was the result of months of solitude. It looked like the kind of art piece I'd say is total crap, but other people might think it's deep because it's big or red, or depressing. 

I was at first I was a bit impressed, then suddenly I was terrified. I hadn't remembered staying up all night and doing any of this to my room. What was worse was I realized I was a kid again. After some time of trying to tell adults that something crazy had happened to me and my room I gathered that I was at a boarding school for creative and performing arts. I was an art major. I spent the morning trying to explain that I wasn't crazy, that I was very scared, and I tried to get an adult to look at the work that had been done. Finally, I had two women come, but they didn't really look at the room, we were in the elevator and saw the room through the reflection in a mirror--through a window into my room, one I never knew was there. They looked at the room for like three seconds and then turned and walked away. 

I was disoriented and couldn't find my bedroom again. I decided to go to the main office. I wanted to get someone to help me, I wanted to talk to someone in the Residential Life Department. I asked the woman at the desk who was in Res. Life, and she wanted to know why I needed to talk to someone so important. I didn't have an appointment, I was just a lowly student. I lost it. I started getting angry. 

Finally I said that I have a problem and I want to talk to them about. Mrs. Cornblatt, my 4th grade teacher, was there. I ruined her carnations. Her and her husband had just planted a new tree or something and her husband sent her flowers because of this lovely event. I wanted to destroy something. I wanted her to understand that she needed to take me seriously. My mother sent me some potted roses and someone else sent me some flowers because they knew I was under some stress. A woman sitting in the cubicle next to Mrs. Cornblatt turned my flowers into a flower arrangement with a radio and we got some soup and went upstairs. 

Finally someone was going to look and listen to me. By this point they had painted my room over. It was now much smaller than before. It had dark navy walls and had ugly clouds on it. Everything about what had previously happened to my room was being kept a secret. Up to this point I kept thinking I was crazy. I didn't remember why I did it or doing it at all. I was ashamed and devastated. Going over to the elevator with my tray of chowder and my flowers I thought to myself, I just don't want to be that girl. You know that crazy one. Then I started coming up with a theory that I must have been drugged. And I realized that maybe I hadn't done all that crazy stuff. Someone used my hand, or copied my signature all over. I was then convinced. They drugged me. While eating soup--I'm sure it was like a lobster bisque from Duke's in Seattle, we caught a guy taking photos of us. I put the bowl in front of my face. It was the woman's brother or something.

Then he was down in the school yard. I started banging on the window and saying "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" the other kids joined in and we were cursing. The man retreated into the school building and I felt like finally something would b done. He drugged me and he was a perv! And all the kids knew, and the lady knew it was her crazy brother. Then I woke up... I rolled over thinking that I meant to go back to something I was just doing--what? what was it? ...oh, the lobster bisque. I was so disappointed waking up that after all that stress I couldn't finish the lobster bisque.

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