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A Dream About a Fine Arts Department
This dream involves college students, maybe grad students. They’re art students — as in sculpting, not theater or writing. They’re in an art studio on campus.
A middle-aged male instructor tells a female student (I have her perspective) she needs to meet this one artist. Maybe the artist will take her on as an assistant, if she’s lucky. He makes it sound like a great honor to work for this great man.
The two of them — instructor and student — are walking down a hallway or gallery with plain white plaster walls. There are a few other people around, mostly standing and talking quietly — not a crowd, probably about 20 scattered people. Not sure, but I think they’re all men — I’m the only one there who isn’t a cis male.
On the walls are hung sculptures that remind me of shells. Large shells, mostly a foot or so wide. They’re porcelain with ridges and pictures are painted on them in bright colors like green and red.
I pause to look carefully at one of them, and I suspect the artist is Native American based on the images. Maybe the pictorial style. There are trees, human figures.
I see a Native American and think that must be him, but my instructor keeps leading me further along. I feel nervous because he’s going to introduce me to a major, brilliant, successful artist.