As children, we often draw the same pictures day after day, carefully laying the same characters, buildings, animals, plants and colors on the page, as well as the same perspective. Psychologists can read into these drawings and identify distinct trauma, joys, tendencies and character traits. A psychology article explained that, when children draw people without placing their feet on the ground in the picture, it is an indication that they feel uprooted within their own family unit. Interesting.

Art is a revealing medium, but as much as there is a notion of perspective in the construct of a drawing, painting or sculpture, there must also be a sense of perspective in the interpretation of artistic creations. Art is a form of expression born of imagination, sensitivity, experience and memory. Perhaps the floating person on the drawing mirrors a deep sensation of levity in the artist; even a child artist. In the midst of dysfunction or hardships, something deep inside may exist, an unconscious yet tangible knowing that there is hope and joy within reach. Thus, the apparently troubled child reveals in each drawing the certainty of the lightness of being.

I remember a drawing I made in high school. I had always loved drawing trees, very specific trees, in fact. I rarely drew people. When I did, they were neutral, in the sense that one might not have been able to determine their gender. Every detail and moment of this particular drawing captured my full attention. It consisted of a large tree with strong roots on the left side of the page and a smaller one in the distance, on the right, to show depth. Giant drops of water formed on the ends of the branches of each tree. Within each drop, I had placed a person, sitting, arms around their knees, waiting to land somewhere. I have never forgotten this drawing.

I imagine a psychological analysis might uncover many truths about my adolescence or childhood. I often thought of this drawing and found distinct correlations, until I realized that I was thinking about it only in terms of a revelation of something necessarily bad or unfortunate. However, it was not. The drops were not tears and the people were not trapped. And the trees. Ha! The magnificent trees. Now I know who they are and I know with great certainty that what I had created on that page was a sort of pictogram of my innermost identity, years before this would be revealed to me.

I am not the troubled child who lived with alcoholic parents for twenty years. I am not even the French Canadian girl who grew up in suburbia. I am not my work, my place of birth or my outer appearance. I am the culmination of eons of life, a being that came to life not to be attached to its host family, but to move forward in time and move and interact and explore each moment of existence. I hold in my cells the memories of generations past, the knowledge of kinship with the trees and reptiles and every single living organism. I am not male or female. Gender is not about skirts and pants. It is merely a biological characteristic. During its evolution, the fetus adopts a genderless, reptilian shape. The reptilian brain remains a central part to our instinct and survival. The soul and memory do not understand gender.

I carry within memories of centuries ago. I feel close to some people instantly because, for a brief and poignant moment, I recall their faces, their profession, and their garments when we knew each other in 1192, before or since. I recall a rare, sunny afternoon in the Highlands when a neighboring clan destroyed us. I recall the screams, the slashed bodies, the stillness when they had moved on, satiated. I recall the oppression of the inquisition, the fear of the peasants and the day we were done laying stones on the streets of Paris, at Les Tuilleries. I remember historical details I have never learned about in school or books. Come to think of it, the drops from the trees were tears after all; tears of separation and pain from the passage through time; tears for the impossibility of turning back. This century is the most difficult of all, because we should know better by now and because so many do not remember.

Somewhere inside, we know what we truly are. This knowing comes forth through our preferences, our tastes, and our affinities with some people more than others, our art, and our words and in the ways we choose to adorn our bodies. Drawing floating people or wearing out-of-fashion clothes do not necessarily constitute a dysfunction. Instead, it might be a sign of personal clarity. Our essence seeks to be revealed in each doodle, garment and piece of jewelry, like a dream that was so profound that it becomes indistinguishable from reality. Or is it the other way around?

It is said that lucid dreaming can be attained by developing enough awareness that you can decide to look at your own hands while remaining in the midst of the dream. I am looking at mine now.

Slainte!