Barbara Strigel
I Dream I'm a Painting.
One night, several weeks into the pandemic, I dream that I'm a painting. I dream myself spreading out, becoming a square of yellow then a brushstroke of blue. It feels expansive, like swimming in the ocean. It is not unlike the suspended state that I find myself in during these days of quarantine. At no point in my life have I ever been more aware of time in the present tense. Without certainty about what will happen next, days go by and blend into each other. With the border closed, I cannot visit my children. There is a deeply unsettling awareness that the world has changed, and that in fact, it will never be the same, but somehow, there is also an openendedness to the days of staying put. I collage endlessly, improvising fragments of torn paper into balanced states of unity. My mind goes deep inside itself and loosens. I drift and settle in.