It’s the middle of the night, and I can’t sleep. The piece I’m writing tomorrow on Dan Eldon is thrashing around in my consciousness … or my dream state actually … waking me up.

Eldon’s beautiful book of collages is entitled “The Journey Is The Destination’. It is in print again … my third copy is on the way.

I don’t fight these unconscious “trips” when they begin … whatever the time of day. I concede the fact that I’m going somewhere quite powerful, without much choice in the matter.

Cultural Creatives are attuned to art. In the 16 Myers Briggs personality types, I’m an ENFP, the most adventurous and creative.

My life deck is stacked against me on these kinds of subjects, so I’ve donned the plaid tam, and just accepted reality at 2am.

I don’t spend much time considering topics like Mercury being in retrograde or other irrational forces. I accept the idea that the universe speaks to us in unusual ways, but I don’t try to define matters beyond that. I’ve had my share of inexplicable moments — the old Ashanti Bazaar store in New York — and also the Dapper Museum in Paris.

Life Is Better With A Cuppa Tea

Anne is a double-espresso kind of gal, but I drink herbal tea late at night.

Pouring the boiling water into a simple but elegant white mug that says “Love Deeply”, I chasticized myself: “Writing the Dan Eldon piece is a big priority for you Anne. You have such a connected relationship to his collages, his values, his work and his art. Don’t be worrying about the 27 other projects you’re doing right now, trying to turn the massive ship that is your life in a new direction, based on business and writing. Focus on Eldon.”

Returning to bed, I skated off to Chile and the new James Bond film. It will be posted in Private Eye by morning. But the little voice kept speaking to me: “Eldon, Eldon, Eldon … bad Anne, bad Anne, bad Anne … you’re impossible Anne.”

Alright, I conceded the point. Eldon it is — 100%. I Flickr through Eldon, regretting that I cannot look at his book. I gave it to my friend in the Peace Corps … the one who swore being with me compromised everything he stands for in life. Note that he expressed his point more kindly that this, but it was his message.

How we judge each other in life.

Google Eldon. YouTube Eldon … I noted BBC coverage of a gallery show of the collages and photos in London. Searching … searching … what’s this? OMG … what is this!

My unconscious brain asks, and I receive? I will write a better story if I see the photos?

They are here … not far from my apartment. I can walk if the rain has stopped. Dan Eldon’s collages live here in New York, not very far from me, at the Candela/Decker Gallery.

You might imagine that I will fly to them like some long-lost lover, when the gallery opens at noon. I will not. Actually, I hope that it is raining, because then people won’t see the tears streaming down my face.

Typically I don’t delay meetings. I’m romantic enough without layering in additional fantasy buildup before sitting down together. Things get out of control with too much time to make me more than I am. Then I can only fall off the bar stool.

God, I hate swollen eyes. I need tea bags already.

I must remain composed, unlike my behavior at the old Dapper Museum in Paris, where I wept uncontrollably and thankfully alone. The little Dapper isn’t like the big Dapper. It was the intimacy of the old townhouse that got to me, sitting there amongst the African masks.

There is no doubt what will happen when I see the art. I will just steady myself … all these core-strengthening exercises with Mara have paid off. My balance is superb for a woman any age.

Where is Tribute when I need him!

The collages aren’t nightmares . .. well some are. They come from the heart and soul of a 22-year-old, idealistic photographer who died, doing what he loved and needed to do … when the mob turned against him.

Cry Me A River

After Wednesday’s Obama-Mania subsided, the crying stopped. I thought it was over … whatever this release is called … this post Bush catharsis. Not a chance. Today will be worse than ever … confronting Eldon’s photos after all these years that they’ve lived with me like good friends.

The agony of confrontation is nothing, of course, compared to the agony of the people in the photos. Theirs is the genuine agony.

We Are All Connected

Bottom line, my dear friends. I will see today the Dan Eldon collages, that have impacted me more than any other in life. We can thank sleepfulness, perhaps a few brainwaves from Tribute sent my way.

I’ve been sleeping very well lately . .. short five-six hour nights, but in deep sleep. Why I’m awake now, I don’t know. I’ll attribute the wakeup to an overtaxed brain who knows how long it will take me to do a good job with Eldon.

Dan Eldon’s mother Kathy probably has a different version of what’s going on tonight … some kind of Dan Eldon spirit intervention.

If I told you my Anais Nin story, you would understand why I truly believe the universe works in strange ways. I’m just a target for all these enormously talented creatures. They map out territory in my brain like I’m running some kind of luxury hotel for artists…

Until tomorrow, Anne.