Tricks of the Mind: 2008 Archives

I often feel like my dreams are trying to tell me something. Not ominous messages from the deep unknown or anything so mystical, but simply insights from my subconscious mind. I'll have arguments over religion, lose my job, find out a loved one has died... little, emotional pushes to prepare me for inevitable future events.

And this morning I had one of those dreams, perhaps inspired by this recent sketch. In my dream I was walking through an unfamiliar and lavish apartment, filled with sketchbooks and unfinished paintings. And I understood that these pieces were all mine from many years ago, but all I could think as I looked at them was "I could never paint that." I became very frustrated flipping through half-finished works, each grander and more ambitious than the last. And I knew I could never finish them and I kept thinking, "How did I ever start this?" I woke up depressed. I often say this to myself, that I was a better painter 15 years ago than I am now. That I was a more creative artist. No one agrees with me - I think this is just one of my own particular angsts.

And it wasn't until a half an hour later that I finally understood what the real message was. I was thinking of the last painting I had looked at in my dream: an 1820s table surrounded by laughing guests, each person based on myself and horrible people I once knew (the frivolous and petty upper class of Regency London being an astute visualization of the villains of my own social past). And it abruptly occurred to me that I *could* paint it, if I wanted to. It would just require a lot more time and preparation than I'm accustomed to.

It was in that lucid moment that I realized that I am constantly sabotaging myself with inhibitions. I never try anything too big or too ambitious. A mental block far below even my conscious thought process just crosses those ideas out and says: "No, that's too hard for me." In drawing my comic I have often found myself forced to draw things because the story calls for it - difficult angles, buildings, trees, cars (*shudder*). And I do it because I have to. And it's painful and I fail a lot. But in the end I do it anyway.

And that's what's different between the artist I am now and the one I was when I was younger and couldn't draw worth crap. I never told myself no. I think that's a pretty damn brilliant insight. Way to go, subconscious. You deserve a cake.

I often find myself watching my brain at work, puzzling over its various quirks. Note that I say *it*. Julia Sweeney mentioned something of the kind in Letting Go Of God, that we seem perversely incapable of viewing these innerworkings as being ourselves. My brain is a little machine, it isn't me. Except that it is. And I am afraid that I am not possessed of a sleek and efficient device like my MacBook laptop. No, my brain unfortunately more closely resembles a particularly badly-designed Rube Goldberg contraption, clicking away with little marbles and dominoes flying every which way. Kinda interesting if you are into the whole steampunk world, but not terribly useful if you are trying to take an exam on Etruscan politics or recall all the Roman emperors in order.

One of the things that most amuses me is my word recall. I have a pretty extensive vocabulary due to the many, many books I have read over the years. But it's not very accessible, as each word requires a tiny brain hamster to crawl through a maze, down a zigzag ramp, ride an elevator up, and then swing through the air to the correct elevated platform and ring the red bell. The yellow bell means the hamster gets flattened by a large Monty Python foot, and - alas - my brain hamsters are not too bright and I have lost many of them to the foot, resulting in me standing slack-jawed in the middle of a conversation and completely at a loss for words.

But, thankfully (I guess), I can usually manage to retrieve a word from this process. Most often not the right word, but a word nonetheless. And it's generally a word that is pretty close to almost being what I wanted, so if I send the hamster back a few times more I can sometimes find the RIGHT ONE. I wrote down some examples from today.

Searching...
1) dog-tagged. NO
2) dog-earred. NO
3) ear-marked. YES!

Searching...
1) black list. NO
2) white wash. NO
3) blackmailed. YES!

As I'm sure you can see, this means that most conversations with me can be quite entertaining as I dance around (sometimes quite literally) trying to find the right word. And then a hamster dies and it all comes to a painful, stuttering halt.

This is why I prefer to use email. And why I never answer my phone (sorry, Mom and Dad!).