My Photoshop rendering of the dream image is more or less as I experienced it in the dream. The dream voice announced the title: Angel Hidden by Rothko-like Squares. I have been aware of Rothko’s paintings of color fields for a long time as well as what he said he was trying to express by them. But I had never experienced the idea that they were “hiding” something because the whole purpose of his work was to “reveal” not so much what was behind the paintings as what was in “front” that we could not see. His more abstract paintings are subject to a different sense, and these may be more about revealing something emerging from behind.

But the dream comes with an idea that is opposite what has been in my consciousness. Of course, this is often the case with dreams. I do not feel comfortable calling this “my” unconscious idea. To me, it makes more sense to think of this as the idea of someone “other.” An other who makes itself known to me through the dream from some “elsewhere” than my conscious mind. This “otherness” is compelling to me and I take such experiences as tasks or instructions or teachings.

Of course, I spent some time re-looking at Rothko’s work. My intention was see his fields of color as hiding angels. But soon realized the dream was pointing to “something else.” It was not saying that Rothko’s color fields were hiding angels. The angel was hiding behind Rothko-like squares. Of course, Rothko set in motion an expressive movement of artists who took up the exploration of color and geometry. A good sample of such painters is available at

https://theartling.com/en/artzine/artists-follow-if-you-mark-rothko/

I am aware, of course, of the impulse that wants to unhide the angel, to see the angel, to find out all about the angel, why it’s hiding and all those sorts of questions that begin to flood one’s consciousness. Questions. Wanting answers. Now. But then another sense of things entered. Let the angel be. Let it hide. As if I had anything to do with it hiding in the first place. It was not “mine” to allow anything. But as this feeling took over, I felt some degree of humility. I stepped back. I tamped down my urge to see, to know, to relate to the angel.

I spent time trying to be with the image. Just with it. Just with the angel hidden by Rothko-like squares.