Dreaming of Architecture
15/1/04 22:43![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eredienI would like to relate two things to you: I now have a plum pudding mold, and I dream in architecture.
Mostly I think I've always been inclined to dream in architecture.
But the tendency has only gotten more pronounced over the years--only the settings become changed or modified.
For about two years now I've been dreaming a version of something--possibly an alternative Bryn Mawr dreamscape, though honestly I've no idea--that includes marvelous, dangerous structures like the House Where you Can Fly and the Aboveground Train Platform of Concrete. They're all quite abstract structures. Once I dreamed about a concrete Erdman set partially into the side of a hill--my dorm room in it was all done up in yellow eyelet lace.
I dreamed another bit of it last night; detailed and amazing. I was--for some reason--giving perhaps my sister a tour of this area, when suddenely a plane landed on the grassy clearing. I looked past it and saw a house, wooden and framed, on a slope, and headed up towards it, heedless of protests from people who were of little consequence anymore: I only wanted to see the house.
Wandered around for a while, being enchanted by the play of light over corrugated aluminum on the ground floor, and headed up the rampstairs. I say rampstairs because it was neither ramp, nor stair--the look was like a mayan temple with each "level" or "stair" only projecting back about an inch from the next--footing, but not much. It was done all in bricks the color and type of those in the Market East train station (large glazed vibrant bricks in deep jewel tones make an amazing and perplexing mural). It also had a handle, brushed tublar aluminum alloy, going up the exact middle. There were apartments up there, and a plant-shelf that was being taken up by wall-fishbowls in which all the tenants were communally raising betta fish. One sign, tacked upon the wall in yellow, said "Please remember: Saturday at 3 pm is the fishbowl cleaning and fish races."
I headed back downstairs, and the stairs--set with a clever weight mechansim--transformed themselves as I stepped onto them, and the bricks shifted like a puzzle until they settled, with a ceramic clank, into the form of a giant ceramic tree grove; I'd been forced by the same mechanism which moved the tree down to the root, and leaned with my back against a ceramic root on the grass.
Falling asleep in the warm sunlight of the dream, I woke to 6 am light.
Mostly I think I've always been inclined to dream in architecture.
But the tendency has only gotten more pronounced over the years--only the settings become changed or modified.
For about two years now I've been dreaming a version of something--possibly an alternative Bryn Mawr dreamscape, though honestly I've no idea--that includes marvelous, dangerous structures like the House Where you Can Fly and the Aboveground Train Platform of Concrete. They're all quite abstract structures. Once I dreamed about a concrete Erdman set partially into the side of a hill--my dorm room in it was all done up in yellow eyelet lace.
I dreamed another bit of it last night; detailed and amazing. I was--for some reason--giving perhaps my sister a tour of this area, when suddenely a plane landed on the grassy clearing. I looked past it and saw a house, wooden and framed, on a slope, and headed up towards it, heedless of protests from people who were of little consequence anymore: I only wanted to see the house.
Wandered around for a while, being enchanted by the play of light over corrugated aluminum on the ground floor, and headed up the rampstairs. I say rampstairs because it was neither ramp, nor stair--the look was like a mayan temple with each "level" or "stair" only projecting back about an inch from the next--footing, but not much. It was done all in bricks the color and type of those in the Market East train station (large glazed vibrant bricks in deep jewel tones make an amazing and perplexing mural). It also had a handle, brushed tublar aluminum alloy, going up the exact middle. There were apartments up there, and a plant-shelf that was being taken up by wall-fishbowls in which all the tenants were communally raising betta fish. One sign, tacked upon the wall in yellow, said "Please remember: Saturday at 3 pm is the fishbowl cleaning and fish races."
I headed back downstairs, and the stairs--set with a clever weight mechansim--transformed themselves as I stepped onto them, and the bricks shifted like a puzzle until they settled, with a ceramic clank, into the form of a giant ceramic tree grove; I'd been forced by the same mechanism which moved the tree down to the root, and leaned with my back against a ceramic root on the grass.
Falling asleep in the warm sunlight of the dream, I woke to 6 am light.
(no subject)
16/1/04 10:51 (UTC)-Astarloa