The Artist’s Dream :A Note from the Artist’s Journal
When I was a boy and lived in my parents basement I had a ritual, it consisted of lighting candles turning off all the lights and listening to records. I use to listen to the works of great artists and poets and let their imagery take me places I had yet to go. I dreamed of living the experiences they sung about, being the places they had gone, seeing what they had sung and loving who they had loved. Tonight I relived the experience. It just so happened I had been given a a candle, it was raining outside and had been a “somber” day. I was in no mood for the distractions of TV or movie. I guess I wanted my imagination to fly freely. I had a Leonard Cohen album that I hadn’t listened too in sometime. With out thinking I put it on to enjoy some tranquility. As I sat there with my child and dog, I was taken back to that place I had lived in on so many nights before. I was taken on a similar journey I had been taken on before many years ago. This time it was some how backwards. As I listen I remembered the places I had journeyed too and from, I remembered the people I had met, the stories we had “sung” , the things we believed we might be. One side of the record ended I put on the other. I thought of the girl who had introduced me to this album. I wondered where she lived now and where her journey had taken her. I remembered how free she was how she had shown me I too could be free. I remembered the gifts of music we shared, I remember the love. It touched my soul and I wept openly. I was thankful I could give these songs to my child. When the next side of the record was over I found Neil Young’s “Harvest”, It took me to being a little older I remember a drive in the river valley with a guy I barely knew it was the first time I had heard the album. I had lost my lover and my dear friend, as both had moved. I will always remember the yellows and reds that hung on the trees as we rounded the bend. I can see the image clearly to this day. I remember wondering what life experience it would take to write words with such meaning. I remember thinking the guy who was driving me was a true poet, I wonder if he ever filled his books with verse and if he did whether he stopped. The next songs I played where from Janes Addiction, I skipped the ones I would have heard in the club and went straight for the ones who reminded me of an angel I had chased for years. We had loved each other when I think of her now a chill runs down my spine. In truth we had loved each other since we where children. I thought of all the times I had “tried” to be the artist I believed would keep her. Our love affair ended like so many of the songs I had just listened to. Tragedy. Tonight I realized my life’s journey had mirrored the stories I had read and dreamed of from a very young age. I looked back from the present and realized the stories of the lives of the people I had admired where much like mine. I had always thought they lived in mansions and rolled in limousine. When I was young I had never thought about the difficulties of their true life’s journey. The ritual tonight was the same but different instead of going to all the places I wanted to go I went back to all the places I had been. Saddened by the losses I had suffered I was comforted by the knowledge I was the man I had dreamed of and had taken the journey I had believed I had said I would. The road looked far different than I had believed so did the destination. I leave these words of poetry like those who came before me for someone to read on an autumns evening who dreams of things beyond them. There are still places greater than you and I have dreamed. I hope these words prove it.