Last spring I agreed to go get hypnotized in Brooklyn with a friend… We ventured IKEA deep and laid on the floor of the warehouse by the river.
The hypnotist led us under with what felt like guided meditation. Familiar. It was like a waking dream, not just aware of my body or my presence but fully inhabiting, stretching and waking limbs.
I looked down and saw my own legs, walking down my own tenement steps in my own hand me down keds. Each step came a breath closer to the bottom. A guiding voice suggested the bottom lay a place of inner peace. My steps submerged cerulean waters. I gave in, stretched out, clothed, and drifted in vast blue nothing under golden skies. Then I went under, plummeting joyously with vigor. There was me, pale purple skinned with the longest black hair, swirling with the currents. Mossy plants grazed me, swampy sanctuary. A giant squid swim by and I grabbed it like a trolley rail to dive into a tentacle embrace. My keds were back as I roamed the blank white space of the matrix unloaded, the blank white space of the creative block. Objects emerge in the program; giant clocks of pressure, the harrowing desk of my office, peoples remarks that make me recoil. I shove them into a tarp sack like the Grinch and it turns to dust. Magenta light bursts from my hand as my skin goes opal.
I am transported back to the street en route to the Art warehouse by the river. The crosswalk goes red and I wait.
It goes green, I create.
Painting I did in 2018 after this hypnotic Brooklyn excursion, with its story written along the sides
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