Art Emnida

D reams have a way of untangling and exposing my inner thoughts and emotions that would otherwise remain ignored. A long time ago when I would paint everyday, and write everyday, I'd write in a dream journal each morning before it faded. The narrative and visual impact of these dreams would sometimes made their way into my artwork, and it was always fuel for the creative fire. But, just like my painting, I've been milled down by my circumstances and health to the point where it had atrophied. I no longer dreamt of imaginative and inspiring things as I was no longer imaginative or inspired, and instead I'd dream of work and day-to-day things, or past traumas. Either dreaming of being at work for a whole day and feeling it, or a labyrinthine dream of bad situations inspired by them. I'd wake exhausted and pained, and these kinds of dreams I wouldn't want to remember or record, and would just hang over me. I'm not heavily invested i...

Pictured Work "Faeus Specimen" illustration challenge submission © E N Dawson June 2024 O verall my two thousand and twenty four was much of a year for celebration. I had planned out the year to start seriously creating a body of work in preparation for upcoming conventions and competitions. I had completed some commissions and had other small projects underway, with a Kickstarter anticipated for June. I was optimistic.  This all fell apart in July. I was already incredibly stressed out having taken on a significant added load of work at my corporate day job, and the project I was looking forward to did not go into motion until the end of the season, when I got sick. I've been ill before, significantly ill, and went through covid just like any other person. This time it was relentless. I took a little over two months off work, returning at odd intervals before crashing once again and struggled through pneumonia. I exhausted all my annual and sick leave, and also took t...