In my dream, there was an overcast sky and a teddy bear who used to be human, looking utterly confused.
The Blue Teddy desperately tried to communicate with a human friend through gestures, as if saying, “It’s me!” But the friend only looked bewildered. The Blue Teddy was just as confused, having no idea how to prove who she really was. Perhaps she couldn’t even speak.
When I woke up, I thought about it for a while and wondered if drawing a picture might help. Each of my classmates has a distinctive drawing style, so I can tell at a glance who made a particular piece of art. But what does it actually mean for a drawing to be recognizably someone’s? And what about my own drawings? I’m not sure I can say that I have a style that’s truly my own. My drawings probably reflect influences I’ve picked up along the way. After all, I started out by being drawn to other people’s work and trying to imitate the kinds of things I wanted to draw myself.
At the same time, I remembered something I had experienced while working with wood: no matter what you make, something of the person who made it inevitably finds its way into the finished piece. When I asked my family, they told me they could recognize me by the way I sleep.
I wonder if the Blue teddy bear has a family? If someone in my own family were to become a teddy bear, I think I would recognize them right away.
Perhaps, then, this story is really about knowing oneself — or, more precisely, the question of whether we can recognize ourselves. Maybe the dream touched on that particular uncertainty.
I’ve struggled to understand myself for as long as I can remember. But now, I feel like I’m beginning to. In this piece, I want to explore what that really means.
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