Last night I dreamed that I woke up in a shack made of dark grey wood. Pale daylight came in through the cracks in the boards and I went outside to discover that I was in a forest glen covered in wet moss and surrounded by looming trees. Everything was still, in the way the morning after a terrible storm is still, and sheep stood scattered through the grassier parts of the glen. But why did each of them hold one leg close to their coats as though it were broken? My only neighbor in the neighbor in the neighborhood, in the only other shack around, came out and began to tend to a little brown sheep with a back leg at an odd angle. We may have exchanged words; I wasn’t listening.

Thanks Winter’s Bone… at least the dream felt the way I imagined Winter’s Bone to be. Maybe it’s all this creative literature that I have been exposed to over the quarter but my dreams have gotten more vivid and strange. Maybe they are anxiety Dreams but they have an odd way of comforting me in the morning.

I wish I could capture the mood of these dreams and distill them into the imagery that I want for my film. The script at least exists, the good and the bad parts, it has a life of it’s own that dictates how I develop it. But I am still at a loss about what images will pervade the back of my character’s thoughts and projected onto their surroundings. The script is really half a story, the yet-to-be images its ghostly other half. If only I could (Oh how I am getting carried away by fantasies) give these characters images that both unsubtle and comfort them the way these dreams affect me.

I think that the very brief clip I made of fleeting projected images has the quality of what I want, vibrant yet warped, unobtrusive and striking. These images just need content. And on that point I think I’m falling victim to thinking about product before process. They represent subjective view-points anyway, let them be disjointed.