Dreaming Awake
Dreamscapes Exhibition: A Night of Art, Stories, and Surreal Encounters
Around the corner from Angel Station, on a chilly London night, I headed into the Candid Arts Trust, ready to be immersed in Dreamscapes, a multi-sensory exhibition curated by artist Cassidy McCauley. This venue has a reputation for transforming into whatever the night’s artists envision, and tonight was no different. Billowing white canopies draped from the ceiling, and in the centre of the room, almost floating in time was a bed dressed in pink satin sheets, the delicate fabrics inviting curiosity. The hum of bass filled the air, drawing people in from the cold, and as the room filled, we all seemed to fall into a softer rhythm, carried by an energy that was curious and expectant.
The crowd swelled quickly to over a hundred people, each one moving between the four artists’ stations. Cassidy McCauley, our host and curator, showcased her series Darling Demons, a deeply personal collection that draws on her work with survivors of sexual trauma. James Canty’s expressive paintings shared the space, broad and gestural, stirring memories of childhood mischief. Meanwhile, Ceriena Khzouz displayed a series of black-and-white photographs that held a quiet mystery, demanding close attention. Heidi Pypper, the evening’s poet, displayed three framed pieces, each one peeling back layers of loneliness and fantasy, giving the whole room a grounding of whispered confessions.
Cassidy welcomed us to Dreamscapes, describing it as a collection of “bedtime stories” told through each artist’s unique medium.Her recent Darling Demons series, full of curious hybrid creatures, felt like pages of a childhood storybook turned on their head—each one a narrative on trauma, resilience, and playfulness. Bright and dreamlike, her paintings conjured winged creatures with oversized eyes, half-human, half-imagined beings that transported me to those moments in childhood where fantasy runs wild, and anything is possible. The small hidden details and layers of stories and depth really brought the entire room together.
Wandering through space, I felt as if I was drifting between worlds. James Canty’s paintings were equally playful, bursting with energy that reminded me of midnight escapades and the rebellious streak of drawing on walls as a child.
His strokes were bold and uninhibited, a reminder that creativity at its core is unrestricted.
Cassidy’s work had a similar element of play but was tempered by the stories behind each piece, hinting at the resilience born from trauma. Her creatures seemed to ask the viewer, “What’s next?” as they invited us to dream alongside her.
In the corner of the gallery, I found Ceriena Khzouz’s haunting black-and-white photographs, each one casting a stillness over the room. Unlike Cassidy’s and James’s vibrant works, Ceriena’s pieces were subtle and unassuming, yet they drew people in for closer examination. Standing before one of her images, I felt a tension between movement and quiet—a push and pull that seemed to whisper hidden truths. It was like staring at a riddle, an invitation to fill in the blanks with my own story.
Cassidy then introduced Heidi Pyper, a poet who took the floor with such presence that the entire room turned quiet. She shared a poem that had come to her in a dream, transporting us through a mythical journey filled with mountains, earthquakes, and love that prevails. As her words washed over us, each line brought with it a visceral connection to the heroine’s journey. When the reading ended, we were each given a postcard with one of Heidi’s pieces printed on it and invited to write something we tell ourselves in times of struggle. Caught in the moment, I struggled to find the right words, and as the silence stretched, I jotted down a small poem that had been drifting in my mind, resonating long after I handed my card in.
The crowd shifted, leading us to another artist’s showcase. At this point, the bed in the centre of the room had become an impromptu seating area, with some visitors reclining on it—a sight that stirred both humour and a slight unease. I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d soon be asked to leave the bed for an upcoming piece. But as the crowd moved in closer, I spotted a man in a bright red turtleneck sweater and moustache who stepped forward to lead a curious activity: we were to draw a “lie” on the hand of the person to our left.
Without any real skill in drawing, I felt a bit lost, but my neighbour—a tall man with tattooed hands—extended his palm to me as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. I sketched a quick outline of a heart pierced by an arrow, drawing inspiration from his tattoos. He looked at me with a smirk, saying, “That doesn’t feel like a lie to me”. I laughed, suddenly feeling at ease, and watched as a young woman on my other side drew a small smiley face on my palm, her eyes shy but warm.
As the evening wore on, the atmosphere softened. People drifted between the artworks, drinks in hand, and the flow of laughter and conversation rose and fell like waves. Cassidy returned, a glass of prosecco in hand, ready to lead us into the next part of this surreal evening, standing against a wall of her colourful paintings, each one bursting with life. She told us her own story, about the women she worked with and the ways she has reinvisioned her own “demons” in her artwork, “The demons become part of the narrative - no longer enemies to battle with but aspects of our experience that deserve to be held and seen with care”. To cement this point she ended the segment asking us to paint our own cute demons!
Standing amidst the art, I felt as though I had been on a journey, not just through the work of these talented artists but also within my own memories and imagination.
As I gathered my coat, I glanced at a nearby guest who was looking down at her postcard. To my surprise, she held my own words written just an hour earlier:
Face the dark and claim the night.
For dawn will come, with gentler light.
With a final glance back at the gallery, I stepped into the London night, feeling somehow lighter, as if I had left part of myself in that room, woven into the fabric of each piece, each story shared.
By Marlo Proverse:
Marlo Proverse is a Colorado-based writer, artist, and cultural critic dedicated to capturing moments that bridge memory, place, and emotion. With a keen eye for the nuances of art and a sharp sense of humour, she brings depth and warmth to her reviews, making art accessible and engaging for all. Marlo’s passion for the arts shines through her writing, where she shares her unique insights on everything from emerging artists to cultural phenomena, always inviting readers to see the world a little differently.