Well its going on day three I'm still sick gonna have to break down and go to the doc. The dreams keep coming. Last night it was a dream akin to the childhood story of Little Red Riding Hood only the big bad wolf in my dream was Donald Trump. In this dream I was looking for my grandmother's house. I wanted to see her. In the dream I am my present age, late 30's. My grandmother has long since departed from the Earth but in my dream she is still alive and in her bedroom. Her light is on. I am driving my car at night and I see the light on in her bedroom  so I stop and park my car and bound to the door to see her. When open the door to the house the interior of the house has completely changed. I am greeted by a receptionist in a fancy art deco sort of reception area. The decor is elegant. Beautiful lighting lines the interior hallway. There are expensive carpets and fresh flowers, I feel like I am in some sort of fancy hotel or overdone Architectural Digest home. The polished receptionist leads me to my grandmother's bedroom except it is completely different from what it looked like when I was a child. The room was now refurbished withh a huge glass window and balcony that overlooked a manmade lake that was never there in the past. There were gigantic flower arrangements with lillys in the room. Indian Carpets, deco lighting, expensive furniture,  sparkling glass tables and in the center of the room is Donald Trump lying in a king size bed with velvet covers. He is wearing a smoking jacket and smoking a cigar. Donald says, bet you can't believe what I did with your grandmother's house. Isn't it elegant beautiful ideal wonderful outrageous perfect? I said yes it is beautiful but I liked the old way better with the scuffed wood floors, the peeling rose Victorian wallpaper, the potbelly stove in the kitchen, the old iron beds with the handmade quilts and the gingerbread clock, the smell of fireplace smoke. That stuff was real, it felt real. This new decor just feels like a cushy pair of slippers for your entire body. Nothing here has a history or feels real. But I admit it is beautiful. Donald said, you know, you could train me to be a real man if you wanted to. I responded, Donald no one can train you even if it is your most dearest fantasy that a woman could train you, you would never let it happen, you can't. Donald smiled and said to me, you know I could do things for you if you would let me. I could help you advance your career. For some reason this excited me, tempted me. I said, really?, that would be great, I could start by designing some really cool sculptures for your wall. I temporarily forgot about my visit to my grandmother as I thought about the possibilities of creating art for Donald Trump...No said Donald, I already have an art company who supplies my artwork. They are highly specialized and only work with the hottest artists. I realized at that point that it was the same way with him and art as it was with his overdone decorating of my grandmother's house. Its not art to him unless its a name. So therefore he has no understanding of art at all, its just a topical thing to him. Like it is with a lot of people. Its' stupid and useless and who would want it unless it was worth something monetarily. He didn't have the guts to have his own taste. Donald said, you know what your talent is, you are a singer you have great musical talent, I'm going to make you a star. Donald, I have no musical talent at all. I said. People pay me not to sing. I am an artist. Donald went about his way to organize my singing career. I could see that I would have to fit into his universe not the other way around. He was the master of his universe. There were never any concessions made, no allowances, no bend. You must fit his plan, like some sort of God he was...I never get to see my grandmother because Donald Trump and his plans got in my way. I couldn't even find her because of all the additions he made to her house. But somewhere in the maze was someone I loved and I couldn't find her. This new house was filled with ambition.

Anyway that's the dream, got to get eat something. I'm starving!

right sister raya

www.sisterrraya.com

outsider self-taught artist