Work, work, work… with Rita Andreeva

Editor’s Note:  This recession has been very hard on many of my acquaintances in the art world; especially those in their 50s.  Even the poorly paid, entry level jobs are no longer available.  And when they pop up, employers hire the younger workers.  If you’ve done this and that throughout your life just to keep the rent paid while you’ve thrown yourself into your art  in hopes of having a career – it’s not so hard to end up on the rocky shores of destitution by the time you reach 50.  The facts are that most artists are ‘unsuccessful’.  Rejection comes with the territory from right out of the starting gate.  The meager aesthetic credibilty many achieve by their later years won’t even buy a cup of coffee.  And with nothing to show for it, life can be hard on the spirit.

Okay.  Here’s Where the Going Gets Tough…

Shuffling Off This Mortal Coil…

“The weird thing is, I’ve been dreaming about being in Hell or Heaven, commuting with dead people, like my mom, grandma, other people I knew. Like last night, for instance, I dreamed of being in Hell, visiting Augie and his cronies, hanging out at a closed restaurant. The place was extremely run down. Augie and his mafia cronies were lounging around, doing nothing. I wanted to order coffee and a pastry. They all scraped up a dinner table, set plates, but the food left much to be desired. No pastries – a little black patty is all we got on our plates. I poked at it, not sure if it were meant to be eaten. Everyone acted festive, talking up a storm. Guess they don’t get too many visitors.
These kinds of dreams were very consistent lately. Like every night. That is so strange.
I remember most of them, too. The one before last night was interesting: I saw the water rising, I stood there and watched over the horizon, I watched the water level rise and rise, and the last thing I saw was just water everywhere and the sun setting above the horizon. To regress, a while before the end part there were lakes overflowing, and I remember standing on the shore of a lake, saying, “Look how clean the water looks,” to someone. And that person was saying, “No, it’s still dirty.” And I said, “No, look closely: it’s not dirt – it’s weeds, it’s the marine life!” It was after that, that the water kept rising. I knew it was from the melting icecaps. It was blue and clear with green weeds flourishing. And then it was the final scene: water from horizon to horizon, and the sun setting over it. Last thing I remember in that dream were the rays of sun on the endless sea. The weather was good – blue sky. Hardly any waves.
Other times I dream of being in St. Petersburg, with my mom and grandma, and I argue with my mom, like I never dared to before. Other times I search for the truth…
Very strange. Why these consistent dreams? Am I dying?
If so, then I’m extremely lucky, to have such a transition. Shit, by the time I’m dead, I’d be mostly somewhere else. I sleep more and more. The other dimension is probably taking up more than 50% now. When I’m here I think I’m mostly here, but when I’m there, I feel like I’m mostly there. I’m not too sure about the percentages, since in that other dimension I can’t email you or call you, because you’re not there yet.”  – Rita

Photo by Carl Nelson 

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