Dream poem 113:  Bauhaus in the Halls of Versailles
She fumbles putting on an earring it is a complicated piece of jewellery in separate elements the Bauhaus symbols of, square, triangle, circle. They lock together to create a single sculptural piece in the style of the Russian Constructivist, El Lissitzky.
It is the final test She is feeling uncomfortable. Working in groups, it has been a three day test. In their team is a bully and a misogynist. It is just like the halls of Versailles.

image 1: The Hall of Mirrors, Gallerie des Glaces, Versailles Image 2: El Lissitzky, Proun A-2
Double Poignard Red Rage
The falling feeling Of dizzy connectedness And the snip, snip, snipping Of the tiny cuticle scissors.
Small enough to hide in my hand Instrument Of impotent rage Inexpressible anger Frustration Shame.
Sent to my room for some Post-Victorian infringement Completely incomprehensible.
What do these bloody parents want? Really? My 3 year old self has no idea.
Once again Tucked under her arm Fighting Thrown onto my bed Door slammed I rip books Scribble in them, throw them.
But now I have the scissors Its tiny blades Don’t make hacking rents That I want to see They make sparrow pecks On the duvet.
Peck, peck, peck Goes the tiny beak It is not enough Peck, peck, peck, peck, peck, peck.
A small cumulus of feathers floats to the carpet under my bed Appear in drifts of snow But it is not enough To contain my universe of pure Red rage.
Not enough to express my galaxy of shame.
Not even touching the vast depths of the oceans of my frustration.

My tiny hand is left with…
Dream poem 111 How Not to Teach
At art college A student is expecting me to say something constructive about his painting.
It looks something like this Half figure, a guitar, a chain link fence and sky.
I say to him The fence needs to be more in front of the figure So it can cast a shadow on the form The sky needs to start darker at the very top And get lighter where it is near the sun And get darker again where it hits the horizon.
He thinks about it for a moment And agrees.

Dream poem 108:  Magic Cup of Tea
A North Korean communist girl very smiley and happy can magically produce cups of tea from thin air when she drinks.
When I try it the cup appears but with only a teaspoon of tea in the bottom she drinks it anyway.

Dream poem 109 a Turner Storm
The sea is tremendously wild and so, so strong. All around the swells are destroying shops, the tide is tsunami.
The semi-dark sky is Turnered with storm clouds.
I am living on the dockside. There are houses on the pier right out into the ocean.
The plunging of the waves, crashing on the docks and then sucking back down into the deeps.
Dream poem 110 He is Not There
An old house It is terribly haunted each room is filled by memories and spirits it is acutely overwhelming  in this museum house I hold hands with my love  all the way round.
On the way home I lose him in a crowd I cannot find him I wait he is not there I retrace my steps he is not there I am distraught.
Mirror Land: Response to Gaffney's 'The Good, The bad and The Ugly' sculpture.
Lone girl at an Irish Zoo, how she has set herself apart. She is on a table which rests on a mirror.
Claude Glass, a Black Mirror, used for painting landscapes in the 18th C. Are the landscapes memory landscapes? Or Ingold Taskscapes? 1965 treetop canopy, a park with a cenotaph. A lot of sky, populated by trees.
This hand mirror is Cleopatra’s Obsidian highly polished mirror.
Not a true reflector black stone of magnetic depth A wonder.
The magnetic depth of prismatic black flecked with quartz. The contemplative depth is much more about soul space. A  Psychological fingerprint.
Because it is not a true reflection It gives space for infinity Mirror To look in it is to gaze on the infinite, the sublime. Not Newman’s sublime although I think I understand the Abstract Expressionism’s love of black. Ad Reinhardt, Malevich, Rauschenberg and its opposite Robert Ryman’s white, or the gold infinity of Agnes Martin. The infinite an…