07/12/1998 Awake!

Dreams

This blog is copied from The Journal of Dreams. One of seven journals to be published after the painting’s release. The Journal of Dreams begins in July 1998 after awakening from deep sleep July 13Th, 1998 and realizing night was filled with dreams of The Revelation Painting.

July 12Th, 1998

Today is my mother, Mary Ann’s birthday. She seemed somewhat sad earlier on the telephone talking about a project she was working on and asked for my help.  I obliged knowing it would be a futile effort this time as it had been for the past 10 years. She had been tied up working feverishly on Spindletop, Texas and her belief our family was the original owner of that land. Although we had been down the road to Spindletop many times in the past, I felt obligated to help her, to give her hope in her desolate life deep in the West Virginia mountains.

Mary Ann

She is a very skillful, self-taught painter but has lost her desire to paint in the past years becoming consumed by isolation and depression. I remembered her telling me once that when my youngest sister left home, she would have no reason to continue life. My sister had moved out some time before. When my mother said that, I gazed deeply into her blue eyes for any sign of untruth and it was not there. She was telling me that she would die of loneliness whether from a broken heart or suicide, it was clear that she was serious.

Whether the Spindletop endeavor was a delusion or not, Mary Ann was my mother and not only did I know what she meant by stating she would have no reason to continue life, I knew that making Spindletop would create a kind of child in the house she so longed for and it would ultimately save her life. Nearly everyday I called her and talked about Spindletop and the information I had found in the libraries, Internet, and other sources. I kept her busy and that kept her alive.

There were three things that would fire up passion in my mother; Spindletop, talking about her paintings, and asking her to relive the story of her death when she was twelve years old. We had talked about Spindletop for months, then months became years, and for some reason, perhaps because it was her birthday, today the topic was shifted to “the story” of her death at twelve. Although I had heard the story many times growing up, each time it was retold and relived was like the first time.

This is the seed of The Revelation Painting and I am convinced of that beyond any doubt. When Mary Ann told the story of her death in such artistic detail and emotion it was like I had been beside her and saw every detail. I asked my mother to tell me the story and she eagerly agreed. Her voice softened as she began to remember, like the humble and respect of being given another chance at life. Her voice was as it had been when I was a child and she was about to tell me something about life that demanded full attention. She began to speak.

“It happened when I was twelve years old. I was laying beside my mom in the bed when all the sudden I felt like I couldn’t breathe. No air would move in or out, I was suffocating! I tried to move and I couldn’t, I tried to yell out to my mother and I couldn’t. I was going to die and I knew it. I was afraid and began to panic. My heart was pounding, my eyes were wide open and just when I thought I could not take it anymore a feeling of calm came over me. My eyes closed and I didn’t have to breathe any longer.

The room became bright. I sat up and I looked for the source of the light to find shiny, golden stairs at the foot of the bed, illuminated and so clean. The stairs were long, so long that I couldn’t see the top of them. Something made me go to them, I had to see where they went and I knew I was supposed to walk up them. Upon stepping on them and walking up it was like I didn’t have to try, almost like floating. My feet touched them but I didn’t breathe hard, I don’t think I had to breathe anymore.

When I got to the top, there was a man dressed all in white standing before a beautiful pearl gate. His skin was golden. Not a white man, not a black man but something between like golden brown. He had piercing green eyes but his face was friendly, I knew he would not hurt me, he glowed of love and peace. The gate was closed but I could see through. The floor was shiny like glass and the glare of the shine was so brilliant I could not see if it was translucent or any color, it was just so shiny clean like the glare on glass.

All of the sudden the man said: “Where have you been?” in a startling voice! I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what he meant, I hadn’t been anywhere. I didn’t answer, he opened the gate and said in a hurried voice: “Hurry up, he’s been waiting for you!” I felt as though I had to hurry and stepped through the gate. He said: “You shouldn’t keep him waiting.” I remember thinking: “Who?”, but then my attention was drawn to so many people to my right side dressed all in white. A feeling of love, warmth and happiness overwhelmed me.

I tried to see their faces and although I knew them, I couldn’t see their faces. I knew that they loved me and were happy to see me. Hundreds of people and I could feel their love. I don’t know how long I stood there when the man said: “Come this way, he is waiting.” We walked to a door which I was compelled to push open and when I did, the brightest light I had ever seen nearly blinded me. I knew that if I wasn’t supposed to be there the light would have blinded me and I wasn’t afraid.

There was a man…something like a man I think. The light was so bright I was unable to make him out. His face was so bright it was impossible to see his eyes, or nose or mouth. Suddenly he began to speak and it was like thunder! I still was not scared though. His voice spoke every language at the same time but I was able to hear my language. It sounded like a creek flowing, like bubbles on the rocks…ploop, plop, doop, doop. He said: “Where have you been, I have been waiting for you?”

I told him I was with my family, my mother and he said it was my time now, I had to come with him. Feeling afraid I told him I wanted to go back to my mother and he said I had been bad. It was time for me to come with him. I tried to think how I had been bad and couldn’t think of what I had done but somehow know I had done something. I started to cry and pleaded with him to let me go back to my family. He said: “I will let you go but remember I will come for you like a thief in the night, you will not know when!”

He continued to say not to tell anyone about this until I was 18 years old. He said: “You will have three chances.” I started to ask what he meant by “three chances” and his voice became very loud and he said: “Run, run now before I change my mind!” All I thought was to run and run fast! As I was running through the door he said: “You will have three chances” and started to laugh. I continued to run through the door, past all the people and down the stairs back to the bed lying beside my mother and I didn’t tell anyone what happened.

When I try to remember back to what happened after I made it back to the bed I can’t remember anything. You are the first I told about it and I was much older than 18 before I told the story. When you were a baby and I looked in your eyes, I knew you were different. Your eyes scared me, but I don’t know why, like a bottomless pit. I don’t know what the dream meant but I know that you are different and you always have been. I knew it since the day you were born and I looked at your eyes.”

In West Virginia millions of stars light the sky at night. Within them lives imagination and something comforting. Oddly enough Mary Ann lives where a creek babbles the words only she can hear. She doesn’t talk about what she hears at night in those dark, dark mountains of West Virginia where the absolute sounds of silence are often times as loud as thunder and the thunder drowns out the sounds of life and the living. Sometimes when I visit, in the middle of the night she says: “Let’s go outside and lay on the picnic table and look at the stars.”

Mary Ann is changing, or maybe she changed long ago. When a child leaves home for a time and returns everything is different. I never realized that during star-gazing with my mother there are voices within a creek flowing less than 20 feet away. West Virginia is known as “almost heaven” oddly enough. I can’t say that I have ever heard the voice of God talking to me in all languages through the bubbling and babbling crystal clear waters or that I ever realized it was just us three; Mary Ann, me and God.

Little do I know why my mother fears my eyes, it is disturbing. Her cracking voice of memory tells me that the fear of God she has within her is tied to the piercing, green eyes of the gatekeeper at the top of the stairs the day she almost lost her life.  It makes perfect sense to me. I have a feeling my eyes remind her of him and she struggles with mixed emotions of fear and love. Somewhere along the line I realized that I am one of the three chances she was offered in lieu of life, and that this painting is what she molded me my entire life for through the story of heaven and God, art and imagination.

Could it be that my mother was spared to become the messenger and her destiny was changed for the greater good of the world?  Everyone ponders existence, especially their own and when trying to see what my mother’s existence was for, I see The Revelation Painting.  When I ponder my own existence, I see the massive painting, and feel the warmth of light and energy, and know that I am one of the “three chances”.  Although still unsure of the three chances and what it truly means, I am sure that I am a valuable part of it.  There are five children, 3 sisters and 1 brother.  Three of us were born one year apart, the others some time later.  Could it be that the 3 born a year apart are the chances?  Time will tell.

July 13Th, 1998  …to be continued…

Addendum:  Mary Ann died in 2006.  She walked the stairs and once again met the Gatekeeper and this time she did not come back.

The Journal of Dreams 02/10/2010

Religion is a big thing in America and other parts of the world.  I am wondering seriously about intuition and Truth-The Hemorrhage of Pigs!  If I remove the idea from the painting, I will have lost a vital piece and ultimately the battle of good and evil will be lost as well.  The hemorrhage design is remarkable and will stun the audience but is it worth the controversy and since this is a religious painting, will I lose a major part of the audience?

The hemorrhage didn’t come about until September 2009 which I found odd.  It came from the H1N1 scare and other factors about the economic state of America.  Seeing it as a message sent from a greater source than myself, I was sure it was supposed to illuminate the events of the world, the social injustices, plans for the future and maybe even foretell the time of the apocalypse.  Could it have been that way, or is it that way?  What if I chose not to share these messages?

Could a person know the end of time?

There is a story within the hemorrhage that I have not told yet.  It is about the layout created 12 years ago and the similarities of the layout of the world recently uncovered in December 2009.  It was terrifying and remains that way.  It is a story of time passed, current time and end time.  According to the layout of the painting, we are  in Scene VI.  There are only 7 scenes in the painting.  Scene VI is Babylon (The Great Whore).

Somewhere in the bible it states that at the end of time sons and daughter will become prophets.  I do not think of myself as a prophet only a messenger being able to see into this painting and its true meaning which happens not to be Revelation as it seems but a true revelation of what has happened, is happening, and what is to come.  When I first became aware of what I saw, I wondered why I would continue the painting as my first instinct was to run for my life, literally.

It did not take long to realize there is nowhere to run to and no place to hide…or is there?

The Journal of Dreams 01/31/2010 Experiment

Today has been filled with crushing rainbow quartz.  It has been a hard job but very good for anger management!  There is a lot of white powder residual I will have to sift out.  The goal is to leave only the sparkling shards.  Remarkably I have not received any cuts on my fingers yet which was an expectation since it is like glass once it is broken up.

The effect is not what I imagined.  I wanted all the colors of the rainbow to easily be seen.  This is not astounding and dramatic.  By adding hologram glitter, the effect is almost there but if I have to use the hologram glitter to get the effect, what is the point of crushing the rainbow quartz?  The effect of rainbow quartz is definitely best see by leaving it intact.

Ideally I need a sheet of rainbow quartz fiber optically lit from the back illuminating the rainbow by movement of the lights.  The sheet of quartz would have to be so thin that the weight of itself would break it.  I wonder what the price of a 48″ x 48″ piece would be?  I am still unsure if that would be the effect I am dreaming of.  I think I will look for hologram flakes, if there is such a thing.

I have to sit down and quietly imagine how to separate the sparkle of God from the “sea of glass-like fine crystal” in front of the throne since both are similar in appearance.  This is going to be another hard section to create.  Even though I anticipated glitches here and there, this section of the painting is extremely complicated and requires true imagination.

The Journal of Dreams 01/22/2010

Da Vinci was a brilliant man and a trickster apparently.  I think he spent a lot of time amusing himself.  Definitely he was ahead of his time.  That is what I am wondering about today.  Why are some people “ahead” of their times?  There is a simple philosophy I discovered some time ago when I tried to understand the who, what, when, where and how of us as human beings.  What I came up with was that we are products of all of our interactions and experiences.  How could we be more than that if we never experienced it or learned it?  In DaVinci’s case it was imagination which allowed him to cross the boundaries of technology, to create flying machines in his mind and apply them to paper.  Of course he had to have some understanding of flight and gravity as well as other understanding of the things he built.

What about poets who write about things they have not experienced and the use of words that they never have used and do not know what they mean?  Where did that come from?  I wonder about the transition between life and death.  Just because we do not physically see a body anymore when someone dies, does that mean that they are not here with us?  What I have learned as a trauma nurse is that a body is a heavy burden to carry.  It only houses our spirit and our soul.  Even from the day we are born, this physical body is heavy for us regardless of its weight.  Imagine if your spirit was a fleeting light which darted from place to place too fast for the human eye to catch it?  It seems right when talking about the bright light of God and that we were created in his image doesn’t it?  Haven’t you ever seen something from the corner of your eye only to turn and it is gone?

What if that is a spirit that our physical bodies aren’t fast enough to keep up with and that our physical brains chalk up to impossible because it does not have the capability to understand it, something like a self-preservation mode.  If it seems illogical, then the brain rejects it.  What is that we see from the corner of our eye?  Also, if you have ever noticed that when you are extremely tired, it is then that those things become more clear.  Sometimes when I am exhausted, when I wake up for the first few minutes when I move my arms, it is like a trail of arms because the mind cannot keep up with the movement.  It is like drawing a picture which changes ever so slightly on the page corners of a book.  When you fold the pages back and let it flip, it creates a movie.

Our brain may be fast enough when it is rested, but what when it is tired?  Do we see the individual pieces which make the whole picture?  How do I not know at this very moment, that there aren’t spirits surrounding me watching me work?  Just because I cannot see it, it does not mean that it isn’t so.  How do we know that DaVinci didn’t sketch those flying machines through a guided hand of a spirit?  We do not.  Often times people say I think too much.  They are only seeing the waking part of my thinking.  If they saw the sleeping part of my thinking (my dreams), they would wonder how I survive at all!  How do we know that we are not someone reincarnated?  How do we know that we do not come back over and over just to experience all the things we didn’t understand the first time around?  Where does Deja vu come from?

Circle of Seven

 Would it be marvelous to save this old and weary soul?

 Shadows dance aimlessly toward its demise. Visionless of what we have and limitless in belief it will never end, we seem to anticipate a brighter explosion of tomorrow through darkness of yesterday’s eyes.

 Mumbling voices echo, hit their knees for the first time. Prayer trickles through empty corridors as a soul begs to be set free. Physical limitations crushing, override the spirit. So it creeps in, this thing called destiny.

 No sadness lingers at lifetime’s edge, no mystery unraveled, or story to tell. Only the tempting call of affirmation and worth when ones standing are left behind, as the soul rises from its heavy shell.

 Shadows move closer to graciously accept, the soul dances weightless within the heaven-bound circle of seven. Rejoicing tears splash on earth mimicking soft rain as the old, weary soul travels gently toward heaven.

The Journal of Dreams 01/07/2010

The black swirls are dry enough to highlight with Interference Blue but I can not find it.  Interference Blue is a white powder that when disturbed turns metallic blue.  For me it seems a color associated with heaven.  Tonight my daughter and I are heading to the craft store, I will look for it there.  In the interim, I will apply the human or synthetic hair to the black horse.  I can’t find that either…frustrating.  Out into the great wide open to find what I need…

We are back after roaming the entire city!  I found a synthetic black hair with silver in it, 18″ in length.  The human hair at that place was outrageous!  When applying synthetic hair you always have to be aware of heat applied.  I usually blow-dry the hair after applying sealer.  The distance is critical or the hair will try to turn into an afro as it shrinks.  I bought human red and blond hair for the red and pale horses.  They are in the distance and the hair can be much shorter.

This hair is different from what I am used to working with.  Usually I work with hair on a track,  This hair is one continuous 36″ piece that requires cutting in the middle.  It is crazy because I absolutely cannot stand for the hair to get stuck to my hands.  It sets off a panic within me as my fingers become intertwined with the binding hair.  After I work on this, I will write more this evening.  It is snowing out, so it is a perfect time to work on inside things.

The hair is in its place but I used far more than I wanted.  It covers the riders chest that I worked so hard on to make it look muscular and in correct anatomy…it was indeed a “pretty” chest.  The swirls within the horse’s body were created by mixing Yes paste (a thick, professional grade glue) and black acrylic paint.  I sealed them with hard wood floor polymer.  I suppose the evaporation of moisture from the glue made them shrink.  I would have liked the swirls to maintain their deep texture.

John, the carpenter said something very inspiring.  I was talking about the small army of black horses under the current horse and he said: “when they x-ray the painting, they will see all of those.  They always x-ray famous paintings”.  He must have been impressed.  I felt my cheeks flush up reminding me of the shyness I used to have before I grew distant and cold in my heart after becoming a nurse.  I should have done art all along, it is my true love.

I worked on the official website some more.  Updating the event board and coloring it is more appealing.  I placed clues to mysteries on some pages.  People keep calling me Sir, I suppose most people think I am a man and leaving it that way might just get me further faster.  The website allows 5 pages, so I purchased 5 extra for 10 total to make a store for prints and associated items.  I saw mugs, hats, t-shirts and all kinds of stuff which can be made.

Well, I work the next two days.  What it feels like is when you start to get the flu or a cold, when you feel achy and a little dizzy.  I’ve felt this way hundreds of times and know I am not getting sick, I am just tired.  This job ends on the 28th.  Twenty days and 12 shifts.  Imagine working a job where you count down the days until you leave several times a year, for years and years.  The gypsy in me misses the freeway I’ve traveled so many times.

I stand outside at work in the middle of the night smoking and listening to the freeway sounds and see the headlights calling me.  Sometimes I feel like just walking away and never looking back, then I stomp out my cigarette, take a deep breath and turn toward the door.  I pulled my shoulders back and say:  “One more year, just one more year.”  When I step through the doors and smell the “hospital smell”, I forget about my dreams…I am a dedicated little soldier.