This is a dream I had long ago resulting in this painting.
I’m a little boy. I am walking at night out in the desert and I see a camp fire not far away. As I near the camp fire, I see many elderly Indians sitting around the camp fire. I don’t know from what tribe. I know there are many tribes in the area where I live but I can’t recognize them by sight. I approach the camp fire trying to hide in the shadows. I hear them speaking but I don’t understand what they are saying. As I get nearer, they stop speaking and one of them calls out to me and tells me to come to the fire. I’m surprised because I was sure I was well hidden. I go to them and they tell me to sit and listen. They speak among themselves and suddenly I can understand them even though they are not speaking English. I count seven of them and one by one they tell stories of their life, their tribe. They seem to be speaking directly to me. I’m admonished to pay attention when I turn around to look behind me. Finally, the one that called me to the fire tells me that I must not forget what I have learned, that I am always welcome at their fire. I’m told to leave and return to my place.
I wake up.