I dreamt we were staying in a house before buying it. It was detached, in a cul-de-sac of three, in the countryside. The sitting room was upstairs. Come to think of it, the layout reminded me of the mews house we rented in St John’s Wood in the 1990s.
In the dream we felt unusually amorous. Even though we had friends over, we were becoming flirty. I remember lifting her up, perhaps onto a coffee table, for an intimate hug. The evening ended abruptly when the owners returned—something hadn’t been clearly communicated. We tidied up eventually and left. I knew the owners. We were still I inclined to buy the house.
Jungian Insights
Houses in dreams are often images of the psyche. To “stay” in a house before buying is to try on a new way of being—one not yet fully yours, but full of possibility. A mews house adds an extra symbolic layer: once stables for horses (instinct, libido, eros), now converted into stylish homes. The dream suggests I am re-entering a psychic space where instinct and desire are housed in a new form.
The amorous spark is important. Even in the presence of friends, eros demanded visibility, as if lifted up onto a table and staged. Yet the return of the “owners” interrupts. They are the old authorities—the inner voices of obligation, memory, unfinished contracts—that still hold the keys.
This dream links back to St John’s Wood in the 1990s, a five-year honeymoon period of marriage: both earning, both free, enjoying London friends. That vitality is trying to return. The mews house is the container for it.
Practical Insights
I see the parallels in my current life. My creative work feels “rented”—I have a study, but not a studio. Every time I print I must unpack, work, and pack away again. Things get mislaid, energy dissipates. I long for a space where I can leave the work mid-flow, cover it, and come back to it—to unpack once and stay.
This dream prescribes a simple, symbolic shift:
Claim a studio corner now, even if small. Establish rituals of entering and leaving—an anchor object, a cloth over unfinished work, a bell, a candle. Produce one print a month, leaving visible traces of the process along the way. Begin sketching the future extension or garden studio, but start ownership with what I already have.
The dream shows me that eros and art flourish when they are not perpetually boxed away. By claiming even a corner as a permanent studio, I begin to move from provisional to owned—not only in my creative life, but in marriage too.
We’ve had builders over. We have the works costed to knock down a large dilapidated workspace, replace the base and rebuild. Ditto for an extension. I can all happen.
A larger detached house in the east of East Sussex towards Kent also looks appealing. I have a thing about jets coming into land at Gatwick and that is due to increase somewhat.
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