FANCEY DANCER

Long before I had any idea I had intuitive abilities I receive a true awakening. It was the spring of 1987 and my daughter and I were alone in our Connecticut house and my then husband was away on a business trip.

Before he had gone away I found an amazing painting of a Native American Fancy dancer in a local framing store/gallery. There was something about it that drew me in, demanded my attention. Because we had recently bought another artwork, R.C. Gorman's Kwanis Belt, from the gallery, the owner allowed me to take the Fancy Dancer painting home to see how it looked in my home and to get my husband's approval to buy it.

At this time during my marriage, I was afraid to ask for what I want. I felt blessed to have a home and a healthy daughter and at the time, a supportive husband. I was certain he would love it like the first painting I brought home. But when he saw the painting he took one look at it and responded brusquely, "not for me take it back." 

I was sadden by his response but understood. How dare I ask for two paintings, when he already bought me one. The next day He left for a business trip for a few days.  I planned to take it back before he returned, so I could enjoy it just a little longer.

The first night he was gone, the house felt strange. I didn't know what to make of it. I had two big 110lb German Shepherds named Gus and Max and a great security system so I wasn't too concern when I went to bed.

Sometime during the night, music woke me up. It sounded like someone was having a party next door. But the music was Native American. There was drumming and a beautiful chanting. When I sat up, the alarm pad show the alarm was still activated, and my two Shepherds were resting peaceful and unbothered. But my daughter, who was about 8-9 months, was awake. I could hear giggling as though someone was playing with her.

I ran to her room across the hall, but no one was in her room. She just looked at me as I scooped her up. I could still hear the music, so I went into the family room. I saw a pile of books had been scattered on the carpet, and on the turn table that was on top of an oak cabinet beneath the bookshelf that filled the wall.

As my eye scanned the family room, I noticed the painting was still on the hearth of the fireplace resting against the brick. Suddenly I heard footsteps, movement coming from my office on the second floor. The dogs were still in my bedroom. They had not moved or even barked. My daughter was in my arms relaxed.

As I climbed the stairs to the second floor, for a brief moment, I thought I was dreaming . When I got to the landing I noticed a very soft light coming from my office, and it wasn't from a lamp. When I stood in my office doorway, I was greeted by the Fancy Dancer that was in the painting. He held something in his hands. I stared at it for a moment and realized he was holding the red stone eagle pipe my husband had bought years ago on his travels west. I remembered my husband had put the pipe behind a section of books on the shelf some time ago because he didn’t know where he should put it. I had no knowledge of the significance of this pipe. At the time, it was just another pipe in his collection.

The amazing thing is that this pipe came in three pieces, but some how it was put together and being presented to me. The moment I took the pipe the Fancy Dancer seemed to disappear right before our eyes. The funny thing is that it all seemed normal to me. I can't remember how I got back downstairs, or how I put my daughter back in her crib, and how I got back into bed. That sequence of events is completely gone from my memory.

The  only thing I remember after I took the pipe, was picking up the books and returning them to the shelves the next morning. I also remembered how I called my husband and told him what happened, and how he politely dismissed my story, discreetly laughed at me, and instructed me to take the painting back. I knew I didn't make it up. I had the pipe in the bedroom.

When I hung up the phone, I had to decide what was the truth. Holding the eagle pipe in my hands, I decided it was truth enough for me. When my husband came home from his business trip, I greeted him with a hello kiss and with my feet firmly planted on the kitchen tile floor.

“Welcome home. We're keeping the painting.”

As I found a section of wall to hang the Fancy Dancer, I knew there was nothing he could say to change my mind or my heart.  At that moment in my life, and to this day, I have no other explanation to offer myself about the events of that night other than to accept that something came to life for me and that the old adage that "Art imitates life" is truly an understatement.