Armistice

Armistice _ Gouache on paper, 05/21

This is the first dream I really wanted to paint. I saw it when I was very young, in 2008 I think. It took me a long time to gather my courage and try to paint it in May this year. I'm working on a bigger version of it now.

In that dream, there was a battle. Two sides opposed each others, in an uneven green valley with tall grass. People were fighting ruthlessly, and a friend of mine had been struck on the brow with one of those rocks, and was left unconscious and bleeding. I could not recognize his face, and I didn't know I was in a dream, so I couldn't tell if this was someone I knew when I'm awake, but I knew he was important to me. Before he could sustain any more injuries, I fold my arms under his armpits, and drag him away from the battlefield, trying to find shelter. There was an abandoned house that we used, though it was in ruins, and the roof had collapsed long ago as a result of the ongoing war. There, I lay my friend in an awkward half-sitting position, his back against a wall, and I go back to the battlefield to retrieve something. When I climb the little hill sheltering the house from the fight, I turn to look at my right side, as if someone had called my name. Then I am struck by a vision of the white and pink tree growing in the middle of a pond. Everything becomes still and silent, except for the flower petals that the wind blows from the tree, like a pastel snowfall. I remember seeing that tree, transfixed by its beauty, and feeling aghast that such splendor could co-exist with the violence happening around me. I remember wondering if it had always been there, watching us fight. Then I realize that the silence that I hear can only mean that the others had also stopped fighting, but I do not try to look away from the tree. I know in my heart that nothing could make me derive my attention from it. Relief and gratitude swells in my heart, but I say nothing.