Male.
writer/collaborative artist, born 1957
I’m looking up at a building. sort of a large squarish
Mediterranean-or-Moroccan-style warehouse – (I take it as a
warehouse) – with a smooth, chalky surface. It has a
crumbly textural quality that reminds me of Cheshire or
Wensleydale cheese – a similar sort of blonde or sandy pale
terracotta type colour; but it’s difficult to tell in the
light, which is a bit dusky. The building doesn’t have
conventional windows or glazing; instead there are three
rows of large squarish portals spaced at regular intervals
along what must be each of the three floors within the
structure.
Where I am or what I’m doing in this place is unclear.
Nothing is happening in particular. Everything is very
still. From the angle at which I’m viewing the structure,
two of the facades are visible; one in light and the other
in shadow. I’m standing maybe 20 or 30 meters away; but
I’ve never been much good at judging distances so that
estimate may be unreliable. Also I have the impression
there’s a river nearby, although I’m unable to call to mind
any evidence that would support this assertion. I may just
be imagining it.
The stillness of the scene is broken suddenly by a
commotion and clatterring from inside the building
somewhere on an upper floor. The sound is disturbing and
alarming. Next thing a horse comes hurtling out of an upper
portal at a considerable gallop and plummets.
I think, I sense, that the horse ‘plummets’. The dream ends
in mid-air in an ambiguous mood of ‘exhilirated despair’
that contains intimations of both catastrophe and joyous
wreckless abandon.