This summer, I was in Santa Fe looking for a gallery to show my stuff in. No one would even look, because it wasn't regional. Regional means a coyote with a hankie round its neck. I'm a shaman; I've been a coyote. Coyote is not this neat little doggie.

As I walked the rainy streets with a bag full of disturbing real shamanic art no one would display, I imagined a nice regional print--a lamppost with Coyote hanging from it by his hankie as a suicide protest.

I decided to be calm and regional, and painted this instead.

OOPS DEPARTMENT

Thirty years later I was transcribing old dream-journals. I reached 1990/2/25. It says plainly I drew this piece that night. But my New Mexico trip is clearly marked too--spring 1990, not summer as I thought, but still nine weeks AFTER I drew this piece. Which still seems clearly like a reaction to it!

I'm stumped. But given how many of my dreams seem predictive, I guess my waking esthetic urges & moods can be too.

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