Every culture shares similar stories, romances, dramas, comedies, tragedies. The stories touch all of us because the same faces and situations haunt us all in our quest to live, love, acquire power, increase our humanity, defeat evil, master our own natures, and shape the world in which we live. As an artist, it is a privilege to feel the well within me that is filled with such stories and images. My nerve endings zing as I allow these stories and images to rise up to the surface, thrilling me as I discover the commonality of all other humans past and long dead, now alive, or not yet conceived, all living within myself.
Each human being has a well like this, subtly buried in his or her abdomen. Not all of us are aware of the well shielded by a window, its mirrored glass disguised amongst a myriad of distractions, duties, strivings and power plays taken seriously by us in our daily lives. And yet the mirror gives meaning and dimension to our struggles, hopes, and dreams.
Our children are all of the children who have ever been born, suffered illnesses or accidents, who have made us proud or touched our hearts with their accomplishments or innocent mistakes, loving gestures, or who have irritated or deeply impressed and amazed us by their endless energy, creative play, and youthful confidence. Plant life and animals rumble in our bellies, poking us, urging us to hear their deep, earthen voices.
Our souls are made of stories and images. Humans are stories and images. We create the world with our minds, our desires, our hopes, and our dreams. All together, we are one dreaming unit, complex, interwoven are these sleep-woven stories. Welling up in each and all of us is the dream of humanity. Let it be an awakened dream, in which we are all consciously entranced, creating together by using our common heritage and power, warriors and artists of the soul.