"...Y los sueños, sueños son"
When I saw @shaka's picture, I was so tired. I literally fell asleep on the snow field. It was a very brief moment. I don't think I dreamed, but I woke up with the idea of looking for statues. However, statues are, by material definition, heavy, and the feeling I retained (like a sort of warm spot on my chest) was one of lightness. While that was happening, a verse by Pedro Calderón de La Barca came to my mind "...and dreams are dreams".
Then I saw it, it was the photograph described as a sad clown. But I was not seeing a clown, I was seeing a child.
This is the photo provided by @shaka for this round. In my dream or in my collage, the mountains stacked up almost like a tower that is lost in the fog.
I was seeing a child lost in some vague turn of the dream
He was a child lost in some vague turn of the dream. The idea is strangely chilling. It's what I take away from the cold of the snowy field.
The scenery @shaka is beautiful. I have built a dream there that unsettles me. I did not dream it. I didn't exactly dream it.
I would love to be able to write a Borgean phrase. Something like "I owe to the conjunction of a photograph and the memory of a verse of Calderón ..." I feel like that's where I could start a good fantasy story.
For the moment, this story will remain as unfinished as the meaning of this image is for me.
Writing on the wings of the stone birds
Dreams, even those terrible ones that throw us deep into the most solid rocks, can fly.
Dreams are birds and sometimes they are stone birds that stare at us from the other side of things.
There is a star like a passage or a tunnel. I don't know.
Maybe it's just there and it's not worth clinging to any sense.
I put some paint on the cap, some on the cheek. The child languishes in the cold for some time now.
I wrote Calderon's verse on paper wings for his dream to fly and, who knows, maybe he can fly away from the cold.
Yo sueño que estoy aquí
destas prisiones cargado,
y soñé que en otro estado
más lisonjero me ví.
¿Qué es la vida? Un frenesí.
¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión,
una sombra, una ficción,
y el mayor bien es pequeño:
que toda la vida es sueño,
y los sueños, sueños son.
(La vida es sueño. Pedro Calderón de La Barca)
Artist friends, I highly recommend that you participate in the weekly Let's Make a Collage rounds. Round 68 is currently running. You can see the rules here
@Quantumg, ¿dónde estás?