illustration, name & redhead

I was illustrating and writing on a piece of beautiful paper that, as I paused to consider how to render the eyes of a creature, somehow slipped over the table and through a gap between the table and the wall. I looked under the furniture but couldn’t find the paper. I went down into the basement of the building—a vast cement floored space much like an underground car park—and continued the search. I looked through pages of a loose leafed book and found another illustration that I had done earlier: a graphite reckoning of a woman whose dress was made up of spiraling tapered shapes and whose hair was curled around her head like horns. I removed the page from the book, thinking that she would be an ideal figure for my book. I then searched through another box of papers, flicking through one page after another searching for the original illustration. Again, I found another earlier drawing of a surreal woman, her dress made up of fish. I took this page too, thinking that she may be the opposite or the twin queenly figure in the book. There was a room to the side of the open cement space where I noticed that many boxes were stacked. The building manager was inside the room with another man and I asked if I might look through the room as I was searching for a particular page. The building manager granted permission, although he also said that I did not need to seek permission, that the room was my own. I went through the boxes, finding interesting material but didn’t seem to find the original page. I saw that the building manager was taking a shower in another room off the basement space; I could see his wet legs and ankles below the door, the water spraying down and bouncing off the hard cement floor. I stood outside the bathroom and watched his legs and the water, feeling that perhaps I should not watch.

Next, I was in a large hall, waiting in line behind a registration desk. There were four women tending the desks, registering people for some kind of event. I wondered which woman to go to as there were no signs or directions but the fourth woman ushered me over to her desk where I told her my name. I heard the person next to me telling the third woman behind the desk her name, and it was the same name as mine. I realised that it did not matter which woman registered me as everyone shared my name or, perhaps, they were all me. One of the women behind the desks passed me a letter bearing my name which I opened and began to read; it was some kind of medical document. I realised that it was for the woman standing to my right, so I passed it to her. She thanked me but obviously wished that no one had opened her private mail. The fourth woman behind the desk then asked me if I was here to find B’s redheaded friend and I didn’t know what she meant.

Next, I was in an outdoor car park. I found my car and reversed out of the park. As I reversed, a woman crossed behind the car and I purposefully steered the car to nudge her slightly. I asked her if she wanted a lift. She asked me if I had been looking for her as she had been B’s friend, and I noticed that her hair was red in the sunlight. She was a big, shapely woman with an unusually sensual mouth. She, somewhat disjointedly, told me that they had known each other for a short time, emailing each other, and that someone was dead. I called B to clarify the story as it made little sense and she was very rattled, not understanding who it could have been or what she was saying.