world 1093

The Moose Town Museum

(...) flying along an overpass flanked by blue fiberglass waves that became iridescent as they caught the passing light.

I was in charge of looking after the 11-year-old boy my roommate usually babysits. I took him to Harrison, New York to see their Natural History Museum. Everything took a long time–much longer than it normally does in New York City. We made lots of transfers from the subway to Metro North and finally got to Harrison.

It was late afternoon. I looked at the Google Map app on my phone to see where the museum was and learned that it closed at 6pm. It was nearly 5pm. The boy was annoyed with me and said if he’d known that the museum closed so early that he never would have agreed to come. I reassured him that 45 minutes would be plenty of time to spend at the museum.

We rushed from the train platform down the ramp to the taxi stand. Taxis dropped people off, but as soon as passengers alighted the taxis would zoom away. They would not let us in. Someone then informed us that the taxis only accepted passengers on the other side of the street. We crossed over and entered a depot of some kind where people sat to wait for their connections and where snacks and coffee could be had. I asked an African man who was wearing a Metro-North uniform where the taxi queue was. He rolled his eyes at me, pointing out the door, and said, “Just follow the signs that say taxi.” A group of men had joined him and they all laughed at me, pointing to the scrolling LED sign that said “TACS” and other made-up foreign words for taxi. I, in turn, rolled my eyes at the group of men, which they found funny and suddenly we were all friends. The queue was long and no taxis seemed to be coming. The hope of making it to the museum before closing time grew dimmer.

Suddenly a passenger van rolled up. A lot of us loaded in. I sat in the very back next to a stranger. The boy sat in the row in front of me to the left. Just before the van took off a black lady rushed onto the van to grab a suitcase she’d left behind. She was wearing a lime colored blouse, which matched her lime and grey brocade suitcase. She was very apologetic.

The van took off and we were driving down a highway when I realized that the driver, a Hasidic man, didn’t know where I wanted to go. We were flying along an overpass flanked by blue fiberglass waves that became iridescent as they caught the passing light. These were the logo of the Moose Town Museum.

“This is where I need to go!” I called to the driver. This caused a bit of a commotion, as they had not planned on stopping here.

The driver managed to pull off the highway into a parking area and the boy and I scrambled over several large, middle-aged women in puffy coats. One woman fell out of the van trying to let me out. I apologized, but she was a good sport about it.

“We still have 45 minutes before the museum closes,” I informed the boy and he seemed satisfied. We walked through a boarding dock area over to the entrance. I opened a door to go inside but realized that it was the entrance to a restaurant; the main entrance was the next door over. Chagrined, I took the boy over and queued to go inside. Fortunately, this one was moving much more quickly.

Dream of the Drawing for Everything alchemies dream-like things: images and texts and films and sketches and philosophy and half-thoughts and visions and moments and fragments of all kinds. Resting and exploring here may deepen your relationship with the oneiric and, therefore, all apparent reality. Resting and exploring here may augment your psyche’s healing tendency—as Jung called it—through highlighting and delighting in humanity’s hallucinatory creations. (Without them, after all, neurologists assure us we would go starkers.) It is time there was a potentially infinite, intimate museum to what cannot be seen. Welcome to the museum.

Dream of the Drawing for Everything is some of the collaboration between artist Nuala Clarke & writer Crystal Gandrud. Our work arises out of what dances on the edges of perception and our collective attention gravitates to the dream-like nature of human experience. We have been in collaboration since 2010. Our merged practices of visual and textual art unfold on a continuum, as part of an interconnected series evolving over time. Both performed “Fair Shouldered One” (a book which is not a book) at the &Now Literary Festival in Paris, 2012 and installed “Between Spaces”, a Yeats inspired dreamscape at the Hamilton Gallery, Sligo, 2013. Most recently participated in the Find Arts Project in Castlebar, Ireland. Our public art installation of words and images printed on linen, “Woven Found”, hung on Castle Street. The project won the best commissioning practice award from Allianz Business to Arts, 2014.

Nuala Clarke

Nuala Clarke, visual artist, lives and works between Co. Mayo and New York City. Educated at the National College of Art and Design in Dublin, she moved to New York City in 1993. In September 2007, she received a fellowship to the Ballinglen Arts Foundation, Mayo and began returning to Ireland from NY to work every year. Clarke has been represented by Boltax Gallery, NY since 2005. Recent shows include, Amid a Space Between: Irish Artists in America at the SFMoMa Artists Gallery, San Francisco, (2012); to Tremble into Stillness, a WB Yeats related show at Hamilton Gallery, Sligo; RHA invited artist; and A drawing for Everything, Ballinglen Arts Foundation (2013). BLINK, a public art installation at the Westport Arts Festival, Co. Mayo (2014). Upcoming shows (2015): Impressions of Yeats, Hamilton Gallery, Sligo; Of this place, Sligo and Madrid.

Crystal Gandrud

Crystal Gandrud, writer, lives in New York City and Normandy, France. She holds an MFA, Creative Writing and a BFA, Classical Theatre. Recent publications include “Yeatsian: Numberless Dreamers,” The Encyclopedia Project, 2014, “Here,” Lost Magazine, and “Idiom: Woodbird Flies Early,” The Encyclopedia Project. Her dissertation, “Murdoch: the Mandala Maker,” was presented at Kingston University’s Iris Murdoch Conference (2006), London. At the most recent Murdoch Conference, she performed a multi-media excerpt from a work-in-progress entitled “The Forgotten Man,” inspired by Murdoch’s philosophical writings. She is under contract for a memoire entitled “Astonishment: A Litany of the Uncanny.”

Tell us your dreams. Dreams are accepted by the editorial staff on the basis of aesthetics. That said, there are certain topics that will not be considered. Extremely violent or pornographic dreams will not be accepted on any basis so please do not submit them.

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1) a title

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Please submit dreams in an attached word document only. If you, as the dreamer, are also a visual artist, you are invited to send one companion image in the form of an attached jpeg of a file size of no larger than 250k (no compressed files). If you are not a visual artist but feel a drawing you have done of the dream deepens the experience of it, please follow the guidelines for submission of an image above. In both cases, please specify if you are willing to publish the text without the image.