Unfortunately, between the time it took me to leap up from the piano and run up the stairs, the brilliant idea vanished into some nebulous neuron no-man's land, probably never to be retrieved.
I just wanted to document that an actual brilliant idea did take place, though I can't prove it anymore.
Because I can't remember my brilliant idea, I thought I'd talk about Architectural Dreams. As I've noted before in this blog, some of my favorite types of dreams include fantastic architecture spun out of my subconscious. Even if the rest of the dream is too weird to understand fully, the rooms and buildings buried deep in my mind put a smile on my face even if Myles the Cat wakes me up at some ungodly hour of the morning (I've trained him now: if he wants to interrupt my sleep with his oh-so-obvious claw kneading and obnoxiously loud purring--which he never does except at 4:30 in the morning--he's going straight out the back door. Or wait...does he have me trained yet again??). I can spend many minutes wandering through those dreamscapes once I've fully awakened.
Once there was this room with incredibly high ceilings and two-story windows. The windows were covered in luscious blue velvet draperies that puddled elegantly on the floor. The carpet and furniture were also blue, which gave the whole place a very vintage 60s vibe, but in the dream I couldn't stop gazing at the windows in awe and wonder. The picture below does not have a 1960s vibe, but the proportions of this room are exactly like my dream. (I also included it because people like pictures in blogs. You're welcome.)
I spent some dream time in a house so massive that I repeatedly got lost between the huge cafeteria with shiny cobblestones on the floor and a room shaped somewhat like a flying saucer. Naturally, we had invited the entire city over for a party.
I recently dreamt of a building so magnificent that I nearly wept when I woke up. I'd describe it, but that beautiful memory has dimmed and faded away. The brilliant idea I just had has joined it, wherever it has gone. I don't think the two were connected, but I'll probably never know.
Lately, I've been looking up images of earthships like some people look up dirty pictures. Earthships are homes that utilize a great deal of recycled materials, like hundreds or thousands of used car tires packed with earth and glass bottles incorporated into indoor and outdoor walls. The point is not to create a building out of recycled materials, but to create a completely self-sustaining home. Along with the strong foundation created by the tires and dirt, the home includes a system for catching and filtering rain water that is used four times, with no waste: once for drinking; again for watering the indoor gardens of vegetables, fruit trees, and flowers; yet again for gray water in toilets; and finally for watering outdoor plants. Earthships are also designed to need no electricity from the grid by incorporating solar panels and wind turbines into its design. Heating and cooling systems are also not needed because of the high insulative effects of the walls and roofs.
I know. Sounds dreamy, doesn't it? Which works right into my theme of Architectural Dreams in a slightly clever way (and no, I still haven't recovered my brilliant idea at this point). If you want to get all dreamy about biotecture, click here and have a gander.
I think I'll go back and finish those Songs Without Words now. Wouldn't it have been really funny if Mendelssohn had thought to put non-words into his pieces, like Lewis Carroll or Dr. Seuss? He probably didn't only because that was a little before his time. Or he was not an idiot. Either one works.
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