THERE was giggling and light conversation at a recent gathering of women hosted by the artist Joan Son in her sunny studio here. But the mood became solemn when the discussion turned to the significance of a dark cat lying on a dark floor, a Christmas tree trimmed in gold and a deranged woman with flowing hair running on a secluded beach.
The images had come to the women in their dreams, which they recounted seated in a circle, using hushed tones as if telling tales around a campfire. The dreams were vivid, yet cryptic, and the group asked probing questions to help the dreamer find meaning in the jumble of people, places and things that appeared while she slept.
By recounting their dreams, they expose their most vulnerable and uncensored selves — often discovering buried fears and desires in the process. The revelations, they hope, will help them live better waking lives. “Messages in dreams come through disguised so cleverly and with so much meaning on many levels,” said Ms. Son, 61, who is known for intricate installations composed of hundreds of origami butterflies and cranes. “For me it’s like opening a hidden well.” Ready to tell your dreams?
