Six Hours

First it was a dream. Then it was a doodle.


Now it is a painting.

Six Hours, 18" x 24", acrylic, metallic glaze and marker on canvas

The unforgettable dream went something like this. I observed a somewhat slumped, round figure on a hostile planet. The sky was a beautiful pink, but it was bitterly cold and the winds severe. An amazing stellar phenomenon was visible, though it appeared to be day time. My mind tried to interpret the figure as an elderly woman battling the elements, but I am not even sure that was the case. I could not see her face. She was wrapped in the most beautiful fabric, the fabric seemed to have a universe on it. There was something on her back, what was that? A backpack? An oxygen tank? Wings? She was muttering something that I could barely hear against the wind. "Six hours. Six hours." Though I could not see myself in the dream, I asked her what "six hours" meant. Her answer came more as intuition, rather than audibly.

She had much to accomplish, she had to stay focused even though she felt crushing fatigue. She reminded herself that she could not entertain sadness for six hours. In six hours she would be able to succumb to the fatigue and sadness. "What sadness?" I asked. Again, intuition. Her lover had abandoned her, and she had to keep moving forward. Then I could almost hear, "You gotta do what you gotta do."

The message seems clear. A reminder of the indomitable strength of women. Women are amazing, they keep moving forward under the most debilitating of circumstances, always keeping a brave face.