Sleeping Pill - PhMuseum

Sleeping Pill

Alisa Martynova

2020

Italy

‘The mind of the man who dreams is fully satisfied by what happens to him. The agonizing question of possibility is no longer pertinent. Fly faster, love as much as you wish. And if you should die, are you not certain of re-awaking among the dead?Let yourself be carried along, events will not tolerate your interference. You are nameless. The ease of everything is priceless.’

Manifesto of Surrealism by André Breton (1924)

According to various researches during the period of the quarantine our dreams became more vivid, colourful and even more surreal and incomprehensible. We were forced to move less physically while our minds would work double trying to elaborate the extraordinary situation we found ourselves in. A few days after the beginning of the confinement I’ve found out that my personal dreams and the dreams of people close to me got more elaborate and full of details. It seemed to be living in the parallel universe, we would dream all sorts of things people we haven’t met for years, natural disasters, animals etc. My sweetheart kept a journal of our days in lockdown, so at some point I decided to bring things together and make an imagery sleep journal, trying to keep track of our emotions and time while going through that endless space. Now when the situation is calming down I feel that it was an opportunity to look inward and to reconnect with ourselves, our past and present, dreams being a representation of the infinite resource of our minds.

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  • Translation of diary:

    Day 16.

    Ali eats an apple on the sofa. Today the sky has lost its colours abandoning itself to
    the monotonous whiteness of the clouds that are waiting for nothing else but to come
    down to the ground with us. We woke up late again, despite of the alarm clock
    set on usual working hours. It’s difficult to find strength to leave the safety and
    indefiniteness of the square of the bed, when you don’t know clearly what to work on.
    I’d like open the windows but it’s too cold. Still too cold.

  • Translation of diary:

    Day 17.

    I’ve got no memory of this day.
    We went out for 20 minutes to go to the pharmacy. Met very few people.

    We’re sick of it.

  • Translation of the diary:

    Day 26.

    The curve of contagions is going down and the number of people in the intensive therapy is diminishing, so as the number of deaths. I guess it’s still going to be a long way. … (name) is in the hospital (the news that came from my mother).

    Day 27.

    Overslept, as far as it’s Sunday we just go with it. (Everlasting weekend)

    ‘The situation is distressing. Who can stay well at home? What sort of a weird fantasy is it? Only the irresponsible ones can feel calm in a moment like this. Under the given conditions home is inferno.

    The history doesn’t have an end. The promised land is not waiting for us, neither its opposite, the catastrophe. This crisis arrives in the middle of the process that has already begun a long time ago and extraordinarily accelerates it.

    It’s us who are put on pause, not the process we’re in for years…’

    Massimo Cacciari, an Italian philosopher

    Watched …

  • Translation of the diary:

    Day 44.

    Labyrinth is the motherland of hesitation.

  • Translation of the diary:

    Day 46.

    Dream.
    I’m walking in the middle of the road at night. It seems like I’m coming back from a
    party. There are other people around me and we’re walking together. The road follows the coastal line of the sea. It starts to rain. The light is yellow, it’s a lamppost.
    We are in the middle of the storm and the street starts to flood. I’m looking for a shelter, together with
    someone I’m running to the abandoned house. It seems to be nobody inside but then a black mass comes out trying to catch us. We are trying to escape not knowing where to go. The mass turns into a man. I’m trying to hide, don’t manage to and decide to face it… I have a sensation of warmth … I feel calm. I wake up.

  • Translation of the diary:

    Day 54.

    Countryside.

    Day 55.

    The end of confinement. (We’ll see.)


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