Last night’s dream involved me going, accompanied by a young boy, to a railway station to pick up the painter David Hockney. David Hockney was staying in my flat in Paris, though it did not look like Paris. It looked like a kind of bleak warehouse area. Once inside the flat there was a sliding partition, which may have also been in a public corridor, which let through into a more secret off-limit area of the flat, which may or may not have belonged to me. I wasn’t sure. This is a recurring motif in my dreams. The flat with the off-limit area which may or may not belong to me.
What am I to make of this? David Hockney died a couple of weeks ago, so he may have been in my consciousness somewhere. Though I am not a particulat fan of David Hockney. The boy I went with to the station could have been someone I once taught and with whom I had a semi-pastoral relationship. My first little flat in Paris was a chambre de bonne (maid’s room) on the top floor of 10 rue du chateau d’eau. There was no hot water, a thin drip of cold water, and no toilet or bathroom facility. There was a Turkish toilet in the corridor. All the other maid’s rooms on the floor were used for storage by the inhabitants of the flats below. I did not know who owned the maid’s room I lived in. I had been contacted by a Dutch woman, Hanake, who said she could offer me this room for 400 francs a month (£40), but she wasn’t the proprietor, so there was always anxiety about living in the room, like the off-limit zone of the dream. But I suspect there is a more symbolic, Jungian interpretation to the off-limit zone.
peoplearerubbish 