Kathryn Freeman Art is Where My Spirit Animals Live

Henrietta and the Herons by Kathryn Freemand

Recently I discovered Kathryn Freeman's art at a writing workshop. For one of the story prompts, each writer was given a card of her artwork. We were allotted about forty-five minutes to go off and write a story. One of the things I love about prompt writing is that even when every writer gets the same prompt, no two stories are ever anywhere near alike. 

My card delighted me. It reminded me of the escape I find on an island in the Aegean Sea. The open air, blue skies, and the birds. I spent a good ten minutes just looking at it before I wrote. Later, after listening to all of the writers' delicious stories and looking at everyone's cards, it delighted me to notice that the similarity in each painting was the outline of a house with open windows or walls and the animals. It turned into one of the most delightful prompts I've ever been given. We were allowed to keep our cards and I determined then and there to find a way to bring more of Kathryn Freeman's art into my life. 

First I asked a fellow writer for permission to put her beautiful story here on The Glitter Globe. The prompt is seen below, and the story is by writer Lynne Rosenfeld.

Dance 2020 by Kathryn Freeman

Just a Dream by Lynne Rosenfeld

“I know it’s just a dream, but please, can I go back there?”

We were on the phone, a landline, vestige of earlier times. I, a lowly human, stumbling through brambles and vines, she, the Goddess of Dreams.

“Your dreams are programmed…it’s an algorithm,” she replied. “My powers are not as they once were. This dream you so crave came to you before A.I. usurped my gifts. I barely have a seat at the table. I’m given little respect, but they know they cannot discard me. I am a goddess after all. It seems that just the essence of a god, any kind of god, gives them pause, a hesitance to go too far in case they are left in a heap of ashes wrought by their own arrogance and self-destruction.”

“I see,” I replied. “I am sorry to hear, but want to thank you for the places you’ve allowed me to go in my dreams.”

We said goodbye and I was left with a dial tone and a warm phone pressed to my ear. Now, left to my own devices, I was determined to find a way back to my dream. It seemed that each time I tried to capture it, reclaim bits and pieces, the images slipped through my fingers. The Goddess had been my lifeline and she now could do nothing for me. The woven dream catcher hanging over my bed was no help. Its beauty seemed to scorn my grasping eagerness.

This dream was where I thought I wanted to live, even to die. Was it my idea of a heaven?  But why was I so eager to return, when I had barely gotten out of the last one. 

You see, I was walking in the woods across a thick blanket of green, trees reaching to the clouds, canopies of leaves like green balloons. The sun cast long shadows across the grass, washed clear of dried leaves, branches and fallen debris. I felt safe in my wanderings, solitary and safe, but for a ripple of uncertainty as the pheasant I passed offered a sly and knowing smile and the red fox winked and said, “follow me.”

The fox moved ahead quickly, weaving in and out of the trees, I struggled to keep up, the flick of his red tail, the blur of his black legs my only sign posts. I pushed forward, picking up my pace, determined not to lose him. 

He led me to a house with large open windows. I could hear a cello playing, what was it?  A tarantella?  The fox kept over the window ledge into the open air house and I followed. Of course I would. Wherever this dream was taking me wasn’t it where I belonged?  Where I was meant to be?  

The first thing I noticed was a gold and blue tile floor. I stepped over the window ledge into the house and saw a man bent over his cello, the deep and lively chords vibrated in my chest. No dancer was I, but his music, the sight of the foxes dancing in a circle, made me want to join. The man never looked up from his bow as it moved over the strings of the cello, but the foxes beckoned me, welcomed me, and there I was, joyful, free, and yearning.

Spotting a blue hat on a green wicker chair I wondered, was I supposed to leave money for the musician?  I had come into this dream without my wallet, and felt a pang of anxiety at my absence of change. I stepped out of the circle of dancing foxes and looked into the hat. Sure enough there were silver and gold coins, a few dollar bills.

A large black and brown dog lay across the tile floor. He lifted his head and called me over. He did not speak, but I knew he was calling me. As I approached, he thumped his tail on the gold and blue tiles and turned over onto his side. He sniffed my hand and gave it one wet lick. I nestled my face into his fur, then stretched out beside him, feeling his warm breath on my cheek.

“These foxes are driving me crazy,” he whispered. “I must tolerate them for the sake of my person” he said with a heavy sigh. “It’s the same every day. He plays the same music, the foxes come to dance, and sometimes the women jump out of the painting to join in. That money in the hat, it’s been here forever.”

“Gee, that sounds like a nightmare,” I stammered. 

 

“Yes, exactly. I’m glad you are here. I’ve been so bored.”

“But, this is just a dream,” I said. “I will soon be waking up…won’t I?”

The dog's soulful eyes looked deep into mine, a look more of sadness than regret.

“I don’t think so,” he said. And with a heavy sign he closed his eyes, leaving me with the tarantella and dancing foxes.

What stayed with me most in Lynne's story is the idea that the Goddess of Dreams had been replaced with A.I. Also, the surprise ending, the twist into too much of a good thing changed the entire direction of the story! I didn't see it coming. Lynne has a real grip on her stories and I enjoy the clarity and beauty of them. 

By the way, the above paragraph is the type of feedback welcome in an Amherst Writers and Artists writing workshop. My current favorite online writing workshop is Bibi's Peas with Honey 

In addition to Lynne's beautiful story as a way to share Kathryn Freeman's art, I found a website called Pomegranate where they sell some of her paintings as cards and jigsaw puzzles. I bought myself some, and purchased others for every upcoming birthday I had on my list! 

Pomegranate Cards

After the writing workshop, I found Kathryn Freeman's website and ordered myself a print. It took me a very long time to decide which one I wanted, because I liked all of them! It came in a tube and I piled books along the edges to flatten it out. I left it like that for a couple of weeks as I figured out exactly what size frame and matting I needed. 

Kathryn Freeman

Aren't the colors vibrant? The branches stretching out of the woods and into the house is what my woods feel like, and I want that blue couch! I already have a foxy-faced dog I sit and her name is Vixen. She's got to be the most angelic dog ever. That helped me choose which painting I wanted a print of! When the frame for this photo arrived, I carefully put the print into it, rearranging the edges to be sure that every detail could be seen! There's a frog if you want to put your eyeball up to the screen and try to find it. Yesterday my husband helped me hang it and I couldn't be happier with it! Isn't it gorgeous? You can practically feel all of the textures. It astonishes me and I wonder how paintings like this can be done!

Stories for Foxes by Kathryn Freeman