The first thing I can recall was the dull pitter patter of rain against my forehead; amidst the prairie of weeds of my home. The air smelt of lightly dewed grass and sounded of the distorted rustling of wind through grass. After a moment to orient myself, I gently ran my hand through my hair as I sat up and looked upon the plain ahead of me. The sight roused up emotions I'd forgotten, as a faint, homesick, longing smile came to my face.
Home.
For a brief moment I was happy, happier than I’d been in a long time. Though like all good things that happiness came to an end as I remembered why it was that I missed home… This was a dream. That single realization made me finally realize something about this recurring nightmare. It was a painting. My vivid recollection was but a washed-up watercolor rendition of sorts; tinted under a planet of grayed out teal blue no less. The skies were a muggy grey with no clear ending or beginning. The fields of grass were in actuality a singular blob of uniform greens with the occasional splotch of rustic gold mixed in. The once familiar oak tree that stood proudly in the middle was but a single stroke of brown with brownish green dabs for leaves.
The feeling of a summer's rain was reduced to simple implied lines amidst the painting. The noises likewise died away to the silence of my mind. It was as if, in one stroke, all the life had died away; covered under a layer of surreal impossibility. It was a reminder of the unobtainable. A bitter one at that.
Having said that, I supposed it was bittersweet in a way. The impressionistic painting left me with vague recollections of the many times I spent in that field. Unfortunately, the memories were as distant and unrecognizable as the oak tree in the painting that now lay before me. Only vague hints of what was and is. Though no matter how hard I squint no definitive outlines could be recalled only the vague emotion attached.
I'm unsure how long I simply sat there staring at the impressionistic painting of my home. It felt like several lifetimes, at others I was sure it was only a minute. Though I suppose it made sense. It was a dream after all, simply muddled with brush strokes of the past to make it feel grounded. The painting was only an imitation to recapture the feeling of that moment. A mimicry of sorts of that reality. It was never a true depiction.
That was a sobering realization to be sure and an oddly relieving one to boot. I felt as though a weight was removed off of my shoulders. A weight that had for so long kept me sitting and staring at this singular painting for so long, that I hadn't noticed the rest of the world around me. I was finally free to be able to stand up and give myself some perspective. It was then that I realized there was more than one painting. There was a whole gallery around me.
The paintings varied in depiction and styles. Many were of my past, of my memories. Many were similar to the field, impressionistic recalling of places and the feelings associated with them. On the other side were more of the realism side of art. People…No rather creatures, of the equestrian variant specifically, lining the walls and going about their day to day lives. On several occasions I could even spot myself, still stuck in this body. Sometimes as a filly, other times as a mare, other times still I was somewhere in between, but always in one of two distinct art styles. In the ones I was depicted alone, typically painted more sternly through strokes of faded blues, greys and purples all while the scenes were set in a more grounded, earthly, winter setting. While the other took almost the exact opposite approach; even border-lining romanticism in some respects. As these ones instead opted to use warmer pallets of red, white and gold, while not only depicting a setting of spring and summer but also depicting several creatures in my company, all of whom typically had a more pleasing look about them.
While both were far more grounded than the impressionistic renditions of my past, they still carried their own plethora of emotions about them. While less intense these emotions were often more understandable and grounded than those of the impressionistic ones. Ranging from joy filled, merry, revelry to lonely outings. None of them felt disconnected from one another either despite their contrasting feelings. I’m unsure quite how to put it into words but the dream-based paintings made me feel as though they were all connected, like a series of paintings unified by a singular subject. In which case I suppose one could say the unifying subject was myself. Though I can't help but feel that interpretation was wrong and that the actual subject matter that unified them was something I had yet to quite grasp.
It was like a puzzle that was missing several crucial pieces that would make the full image clear. I could feel my head start to wrack itself for an answer between the sea of paintings. With no answer given upon face valley however I trudged on. I suppose I naively hoped one of them might make the puzzle fall into place.
Though as I continued to follow along the corridor of paintings, for what felt like an eternity, I eventually stumbled across an unremarkable stairwell. It was a dull plaster white of unremarkable make. The walls being neatly evenly cut rectangles and the stairs being similarly cut though on a smaller scale. The sight was odd to say the least, as up until that point the walls around me, while also white, were more eggshell in color and made of a different material though one I don't know the name of. It made the stairs stick out like a sore tacky thumb compared to the elegance of the rest of the gallery. Most bizarrely however was where the stairwell led…
As I approached the top of the stairwell, I reached a wooden flat. More specifically what laid in front of me was the front deck of a small ship. One too impossibly small to house the endless number of paintings that lay below. Having said that, the ship's impossible dimensions were far from the most shocking sight to greet me topside. That honor went to the bizarre surroundings instead. The first, and most glaring issue, was that the ship lay floating on the wrong side of the water. The ship floated upside down, beneath the waves. My ‘sky’ being the inky depth of the ocean and the ‘floor’ being the underside of the waves above with the muggy sky just beyond that. Stranger still was the fact I need not breathe down here; I couldn't even feel the familiar resistance of water as I moved. It was absolutely surreal in the strangest way possible. More so than even the paintings below. If not for the visual disparity I’d have no way of telling the situation I found myself in.
Above? or rather what ever the belly of my ship was touching was the absolute bottom of thee ocean. THough not in a visual sense, it was just one of those git feeling things you get when in a dream. Like gazing at it I just knew my ship was resting firmly on the deepest parts of the ocean.
Below, or rather above? Whatever was opposite my ships belly, was the surface of the water was an expanse of grey cloud, remnants from a passing storm if I had to guess. They idly lingered overhead dipping what little rain they had left as they waited for the transitory wind to blow them away. All the while beams of golden light occasionally broke through their moody demeanor, Illuminating the shaky waves into dulled azure blue.
So enchanting was the odd image that I couldn't help but approach the edge of the ship to get a closer look. To my shock however the situation somehow became even more bizarre. As on closer inspection the water's surface was full of images. No pictures? Maybe Videos? I’m not quite sure what to call it. It was like watching a video that had been heavily degraded and further obscured by the masking of the water’s surface. Though I could tell it was…something, I have no idea what due to the heavy degradation and obscure meant of the images.
I squinted at the fuzzy image for hours trying to piece it together. The images however changed, or maybe shifted is a better word, too rapidly for me to make sense of. In turn I leaned forward to try and make more sense of it all.
Still too blurry.
So, I brought my face down to just above the water surface; till my nose kissed it.
Blurry still.
Then, as if acting on natural born curiosity, my head pushed past the surface of the waves.