Usually inspired by my natural surroundings, I found this winter cold and dry and for a while unwilling to give me fodder for my art. As the temperatures dropped and the village cleared out, I turned inward. I hibernated. I spent many more hours beneath my fluffy duvet, wrapped up in my dreams. In the absence of feathers or flowers, I collected my dreams to chart a path through the new year. My world shrank to the size of my bedroom and it is there that I began to map the private, small, and still imagined worlds of others.

Bedside Project

Fabric scraps, leather scraps, embroidery thread, wood, casein paint, pen, watercolor, paper

Books, candles, keys; letters half-written, half-read; lamp in the top left corner; spare change. What is the arrangement of your bedside table? What objects surround you in the most intimate and vulnerable hours? How do you depart from and return to your waking life day after day? In an effort to reach out to friends far away during a period of deep “wintersleep,” these are the questions I asked. Notice the patterns, the nuances, the stories told of lives lived in these different parts of the world. I invite you to have a glimpse into private life — a thing both wholly individual and yet positively universal. Take hold of the leather tab and peek into another’s nightstand.

Dream Pillows

Fabric, fabric spray paint, cardstock stencils, piping, bias tape, embroidery thread, stuffing

Between the old and new year there exists a two-week period of transition. Traditionally beginning on Christmas Eve and spanning to Three Kings Day, these twelve nights, I was told, are prophetic. A German custom for this period known as die Raunächte involves writing down your dreams each night. Dreams from the first night foreshadow the events of January; the twelfth night the events of December for the following year. Dream Pillows is my own personal prophetic dream calendar for 2012. Listen for a sentence corresponding to each of the twelve icons I stenciled on the pillows and follow the sequence of dreams tumbling down, falling as we fall asleep. 

#7: walla walla, washington: tissue, earl grey tea, buddha’s brain (book), old blue moon, journal, back massager, harmonica, head massager, grapefruit candle, lighter, alarm clock, lamp.

#8: langhorne creek, australia: alarm clock, lamp, water bottle, unwritten postcards, valentine’s day card, coins.

#9: noyers sur serein, france: library reading lamp, magazines, yellow rock, dhammapada, buddhist i-ching, if on a winter’s night a traveler, folding clock, glasses, brass ashtray, tea canister, bud vase, mother of pearl shell candle holder.

#10: berkeley, california: books, rose-water spray, leftover yarn, cream jar, knitting patterns, heath vase from mama, benadryl, owl candle from providence, terra cotta bowls with lemon blossoms, paired fox candle sticks, water glass, cow candle stick holder, valerian capsules, broken cow horn.

#12: san francisco, california: alarm clock, address book, book of myths, coins, clover zip case, egg-shaped container, pills, photos in folding frame, furry antler skull, box.

I. Dream Pillows:

Between the old and new year there exists a two-week period of transition. Traditionally beginning on Christmas Eve and spanning to Three Kings Day, these twelve nights, I was told, are prophetic. A German custom for this period known as die Raunächte involves writing down your dreams each night. Dreams from the first night foreshadow the events of January; the twelfth night the events of December for the following year. Dream Pillows is my own personal prophetic dream calendar for 2012. Listen for a sentence corresponding to each of the twelve icons I stenciled on the pillows and follow the sequence of dreams tumbling down, falling as we fall asleep.

II. Bedside Project:

Books, candles, keys; letters half-written, half-read; lamp in the top left corner; spare change. What is the arrangement of your bedside table? What objects surround you in the most intimate and vulnerable hours? How do you depart from and return to your waking life day after day? In an effort to reach out to friends far away during a period of deep “wintersleep,” these are the questions I asked. Notice the patterns, the nuances, the stories told of lives lived in these different parts of the world. I invite you to have a glimpse into private life—a thing both wholly individual and yet positively universal. Take hold of the leather tab and peek into another’s nightstand.

rooibos vanilla

earl grey

english breakfast

green mate 

cinnamon orange

verveine

i’ve worn holes into all my wool socks

the yarn is unraveling as my time here unwinds

printed on old tea bags, knitted rows rise like tire tracks or towering wheat stalks 

#2: new york, new york: “orange notebook, black pen, two letters requiring attention… a sheet of postage stamps (chinese lunar new year themed)” on stool.

#3: walla walla, washington: wine, mason jar water glass, red rose in old wine bottle, literature, candle, cream.

#4: paris, france: tissues, french lit, headphones, journal, notebook, pens + pencils.

#5: portland, oregon: candle, rocks, cross, tiles, essential oil, water, glasses, tea cup, hair clips, an earring, contacts case, glasses.

#6: seattle, washington: small potted conifer, fake flower bunch in glass, tv remote, keys, cold drops, water glass, headphones, papers, cards, chapstick.

#1: noyers sur serein. hidden objects: grandmother’s ring, gouache paints, a godmother’s heart-shaped pendant.

night dreams and day dreams sprout from objects and images, memories and emotions.

this is what fills the surface and shelf and cubby of my bedside table, the objects with which i surround myself in these most vulnerable and intimate hours of sleep.

nighttime reveals the upturned underbelly of my habits, wishes, and regrets.

with a glass of rosé in hand she reflected on the year

and remembered the tales of golden rabbit.

january came and with it memories of a snowy childhood.

but even february brought no real, bright flakes.

in her ice cold misery she could not see the glückspilz before her, but

her tears blurred the toadstool’s white spots into snowfall at last.