Tina DeWeese

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The Sleeper Series

Seed Bed

Cottonwood Bed

Bedrock

From their inception, I’ve imagined beds for these "sleepers," and have reveled in the play of literalizing this metaphor! My indulgence has allowed a brief time when elements and ideas gathered over many years and deliberately stashed for some unknown though certain purpose reemerge to merge with present forms and fascinations.

Being a proclaimed "sleeper" (and dreamer) myself, I’ve cherished these sensual, sleeping forms as among my most intimate—akin to the comfort and familiarity I know with my horses (who nicker at me each morning with some mystical knowledge that I’ve slipped free from my sleep and tossed my blankets off—they of course eager in anticipation of morning feed…)

Windows from which I look out to the garden (and the horses) are like beds for my eyes to look beyond—into garden beds of flowers or dried seed heads. Enveloped in seasonal shift, psyche infused with nature, I dream though the cycles. I gather vestiges of memory of full bloom, and seeds of potential return: to begin again. A windless season leaves behind lofty billows of cottonwood cotton along roadside ditches and pasture pockets and dips. I gather cotton, feathers, leaves. Always I’ve gathered stones. Water flows, enveloping stones embedded in the wet of creek’s edge—like dreams that lap into waking—submersed and emerged at once—like sleepers in dream. . .or dreamers awake…

I’ve "make my beds" through immersion into that which is familiar—certainly not all that is pleasant. Although my attractions and choices of indulgence tend toward the esthetic and comfort of such imagined pleasures as a "feathered bed" or "cottonwood bed," of course there are beds of shattered reflection, of rusted nails. Of mud and rocky sand. Of refuse and discarded, composting matter. Of anxious unrest like pins and needles. . . 

The "beds we make" are the beds of which we are made. They hold us inside of our dreams—like nests of psyche—from which sometimes we rest, sometimes we fly, sometimes we cry. 


Wire Sculptures | Paintings, Collage, Assemblage | Sleepers