fragments -images culled from my dream world- are scattered, dispersed, infiltrating the private lives of the citizens of granby. the dream letter, unbidden, arrives in the mailbox. the recipient opens the envelope, takes out the letter, unfolds the page and reads, “dear ____, I dreamt…”

the hand-written letter delivers the dream “chance” has “chosen.” one dream image is sent to one person, with each recipient receiving a different dream image. as a genuine gesture of person-to-person communication, the correspondence does, however, place the reader in a space of incongruent logic. for the letter is written by a stranger—and what logical explanation is there for a stranger to send you a dream? the recipient, upon reading the dream is left wondering, who wrote this, why is this person sending me a dream, and why is this person sending me this dream? the dream letter positions the reader in an uneasy space of reception, for the letter “hovers” however briefly, in an ambiguous, nonsensical space.

the act of writing a dream inscribes the dream as something real, as something that can be spoken of. and yet, the written word requires a reader. it is only through the reader’s “performance” that the dream image, for a brief moment, is conjured, made visible. through sending dream letters I am situating the recipient as an active collaborateur within a scenario that recalls a dream. i am inviting the dream world to inhabit the readers life…however ephemeral and short-lived this invitation may be.


dream letter translated: october 17, 2008 dear mrs. ingram, i dreamt my friend had bright-orange bread crumbs tumbling down the front of his grey shirt. sincerely, karen elaine spencer

letter translated: october 6, 2008 dear nancy, i dreamt i was dawdling in a café that was closing for the day, but before the owner could hang up the “closed” sign, a group arrived and sat down around the tables. the waiter showed no sign of ill humour. sincerely, karen elaine spencer

dream letter translated: october 1, 2008 dear pierre, i dreamt i had to cross a bridge. i chose the right side even though i knew the sidewalk on that side wasn’t the most secure. sincerely, karen elaine spencer