storyrainthejournal: (in dreams)
In L.A., I run into my friend D, who I've known for oh so very many years, but he looks like he looked when I first met him; he's holding a very lovely little babe, the child of other friends of ours; he takes me and a posse of other folks to visit this artist, who has a sort of touring installation set up. It starts in an old trailer, of Silver Stream extraction. Here, in decrepit environs, he has a bunch of freezers with glass doors set up. There is much thick frost surrounding little acquarium pieces in which odd things like half-decomposed foods, meat, veggies, soggy bread, have been arted up and then frozen. It's very strangely beautiful, but what I say, when one particularly large, magnificent acquarium of frozen foodly art is taken out to display, is "jeez, don't let it defrost." (ants crawling on it already, apparently impervious to the freeze-iness, and I can only imagine the smell should melt occur)

This is only the beginning of the art of this mysterious man (he looks like a skinny santa in soberly-toned day off clothes); in the trailer we also see all these clothes he's handmade, in fashions as strange and strangely beautiful as the frozen art. Then we discover that the trailer is only the front of a large, rambling complex, rather like an ultra expensive hotel in another, somewhat grotty and freakish, dimension. There is a ladies room, large and tiled in small square blue tiles, peeling, and distressed, giving the feeling that the room once used to be a pool, long ago. The light sconces are half submerged in the walls. What seems an automaton of a woman rests in a crab like position at one wall; she looks exotic and barbaric, and seems to have a malfunction, as she periodically shudders and jerks as if her servos were fucked. Then she crabs across the floor to a large round divan. As she does, her toe rings get caught in my pinky ring and in the process of getting us seperated, she reveals herself to be, in fact, a performer pretending to be a messed up automaton. She smiles, somewhat abashedly and conspiratorially at me and my companions.

Then there is a hall at the end of which is a set of windows, that appear to be very small because a parrot perches on the sill and fills the window, but as we get closer, we see it is a giant parrot, giant and green and part of a flock of other giant parrots. There are other performers, all very artfully made up as strange beings and things.

In the course of all of this I am thinking about how I will write about if for lj (as I sometimes do when out in the actual world seeing actual things); I even do a series of illustrations of all of the above, which come out very well, considering I can't draw at all.

Last, we return to the trailer where the artist has tables set up with materials similar to those he uses (soggy breads, soaking and unidentifed bits of sealife, crystals, pigments made from god knows what...) and we all attempt some art. I very intently squish balls of softened sealife of some sort into a paste/pigment and work them onto a rough peach and gold crystal, but it's not a success...

However, it was a hugely entertaining dream.


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