writing down a few notes on a scrap of paper, and sticking it away in
any place that is handy; then, next day, or whenever I am ready for
work, it is gone, and there is the devil to pay. I wander about the
house for an hour or two, trying to imagine where I can have put that
scrap of paper, and reluctant to do the work all over again. On one
occasion I searched every pocket, my desk, the trash-baskets, and then,
deciding that I had dropped it outdoors, where I work with my
typewriter, I figured the direction of the wind, and picked up all the
scraps of paper I saw decorating the landscape of our beach home. Then I
decided it must be in a manuscript which I had given to a friend in Los
Angeles, and I was about to phone to that friend, when Craig asked what
the trouble was, and said, “Come, let’s make an experiment. Lie down
here, and describe the paper to me.”
I told her, a sheet off a little pad, written on both sides, and folded
once. She took my hand, and went into her state of concentration, and
said, “It is in the pocket of a gray coat.” I answered, “Impossible; I
have searched every coat in the house half a dozen times.” She said, “It
is in a pocket, and I will get it.” She got up off the couch, and went
to a gray coat of mine, and in a pocket I had somehow overlooked, there
was the paper! Let me add that Craig had had nothing to do with my
clothing in the interim, and had never seen the paper, nor heard of it
until I began roaming about the house, grumbling and fussing. Neither of
us know of any “normal” way by which her subconscious mind could have
got this information.
My secretary lost two screw-caps of the office typewriter, and I said to
my wife, “I will bring him over, and you see if you can tell him where
to look.” But my wife was ill, and did not want to meet any one, so she
said, “I will see if I can get it through you.” Be it understood, Craig
has not been in the office in a year, and has met my secretary only
casually. She said, “I see him standing up at his typewriting.” That is
an unusual thing for a typist to do, but it happened to be true. Said
Craig: “He has put the screw-caps on something high. They are in the
south room, above the level of any table or desk.” I went to the phone
to ask my secretary, and learned that he had just found the screws,
which he had put on top of a window-sash in the south room.
The third incident requires the statement that, a few months back, while
my wife was away, our home had been loaned to friends, and I had camped
at the little house which I was using as an office. Some medical
apparatus had been left there; at least I had a vague impression that I
had had it there, and I said, “I’ll go and look.” Said Craig: “Let’s try
an experiment.” She took my hand, and told me to make my mind a blank,
and presently she said, “I see it under the kitchen sink.” I went over
to the office, and found the object, not under the sink, but under the
north end of the bathtub. I took it back to the house, and before I
spoke a word, my wife said: “I tried to get you on the phone. I
concentrated again, and saw the thing and wrote it out.” She gave me a
slip of paper, from which I copy: “Down under something, wrapped in
paper—on N. side of room—under laundry tub on floor or under bath tub on
floor in N. corner.”
You may say, of course, if you are an incurable skeptic: “The man’s wife
had been over to the office and seen the object; she had been searching
his pockets, and had seen the paper.” Craig is positive that she did
nothing of the sort; but of course it is conceivable that she may have
done it and then forgotten it. Therefore, I pass on to a different and
more acceptable kind of evidence—a set of drawing tests, in which I
watched and checked every step of the proceedings at my wife’s
insistence. Here again I am a co-equal witness with her, and the skeptic
has no alternative but to say that the two of us have contrived this
elaborate hoax, making nearly three hundred drawings with fake
reproductions, in order to get notoriety, or to sell a few books. I
really hope nobody will say that is possible. Very certainly I could
sell more books with less trouble by writing what the public wants; and
if I were a dishonest man, I should not have waited until the age of
fifty-one to begin such a career.
_10_
Concerning these drawings, there are preliminary explanations to be
made. They were done hastily, by two busy people. Neither is a trained
artist, and our ability to convey what we wish is limited. When I start
on a giraffe, I manage to produce a pretty good neck, but when I get to
the body, I am disturbed to note it turning into a sheep or a donkey.
When I draw a monkey climbing a tree, and Craig says, “Buffalo or lion,
tiger—wild animal”—I have to admit that may be so; likewise when my limb
of a tree is called a “trumpet,” or when Craig’s “wild animal” resembles
a chorus girl’s legs. I will let you see those particular drawings.
Figure 24 is mine, while 24a and 24b are my wife’s.
[Illustration: Fig. 24]
[Illustration: Fig. 24a]
[Illustration: Fig. 24b]
Again, I draw a volcano in eruption, and my wife calls it a black
beetle, which hardly sounds like a triumphant success; but study the
drawings, and you see that my black smoke happens to be the shape of a
beetle, while the two sides of the volcano serve very well for the long
feelers of an insect (Figs. 25, 25a):
[Illustration: Fig. 25]
[Illustration: Fig. 25a]
The tests began with four series of drawings, 38 in all, made by my
secretary. Following these were 31 series drawn by myself, comprising
252 separate drawings. Each drawing would be wrapped in an extra sheet
of paper, and sealed in a separate envelope, and the envelopes handed to
my wife when she was ready for the tests. She would put them on the
table by her couch, and lie down, putting the first envelope, unopened,
over her solar plexus, covered by her hand. Her head would be lying back
on a pillow, eyes closed, and head at such an angle that nothing but the
ceiling could be seen if the eyes were open. A dim light to avoid sense
stimulation; enough light to see everything plainly. When she had what
she judged was the right image, she would take a pad and pencil and make
the drawing or write the description of what she “saw.” Then she would
open the envelope and compare the two drawings, and number both for
identification.
This recording was, of course, an interruption of her passive state, and
made the task difficult. In a few cases she repeated a number or forgot
the number, and this leaves a chance for confusion. I have done my best
to clear up all such uncertainties, but there is a margin of error of
one or two per cent to be noted. This is too small to affect the
results, but is mentioned in the interest of exactness.
Since I found the sealing of envelopes tiresome, and Craig found the
opening of them more so, we decided half way through the tests to
abandon the sealing, and later we abandoned the envelopes altogether. We
reasoned that acceptance of the evidence rests upon our good faith
anyhow, and all that any sensible reader can ask is that Craig make sure
of never letting a drawing get within her range of vision. She was doing
this laborious work to get knowledge for herself, and she certainly made
sure that she was not wasting her own time.
At present the practice is this: I make her a set of six or eight
drawings on little sheets of pad paper, and lay them face down on her
table, with a clean sheet of paper over them. She lies down, and with
her head lying back on the pillow and her eyes closed, she reaches for
one of the drawings, and slides it over and onto her body, covered by
her hand. It is always out of her range of vision, even if the drawing
were turned toward her eyes, which it never is.
For the comfort of the suspicious, let me add that the relaxing of the
conditions caused no change in the averages. In the first four series,
drawn by my secretary, and sealed by him in envelopes, there were only
five complete failures in thirty-eight tests, which is thirteen per
cent; whereas in the 252 drawings made by me there have been 65 outright
failures, which is nearly twice as large a percentage. Series number
six, which was carefully sealed up, produced four complete successes,
five partial successes, and no failures; whereas series twenty-one,
which was not put in envelopes at all, produced no complete successes,
three partial successes, and six failures. Perhaps I should explain that
by a “series” I mean simply a group of drawings which were done at one
time. It is my custom to make from six to a dozen and when Craig has
finished with them, they are put into an envelope and filed away.
I will add that Craig again and again begged me to sit and watch her
work, so that I might be able to add my testimony to hers; I did so,
watching tests both with envelopes and without, and assure you she left
no loophole for self-deception. There was plenty of light to see by, and
some of the most startling successes were produced under my eyes. I will
add that no one could take this matter with more seriousness than my
wife. She is the most honorable person I know, and she has worked on
these experiments with rigid conscientiousness.
_11_
I shall give a number of the successful drawings, and some of the
partial successes, but none of the failures, for these obviously are
merely waste. When I draw a cow, and my wife draws a star or a fish or a
horseshoe, all you want is the word “Failure” and then you want to know
the percentage of failures, so that you can figure the probabilities.
Failures prove nothing that you do not already believe; if your ideas
are to be changed, it is successes that will change them.
I begin with series three, because of the interesting circumstances
under which it was made. Late in the afternoon I phoned my secretary to
make a dozen drawings; and then, after dark, Craig and I decided to
drive to Pasadena, and on the way I stopped at the office and got the
twelve sealed envelopes which had been laid on my desk. I picked them up
in a hurry and slipped them into a pocket, and a minute or two later I
put them on the seat beside me in the car.
After we had started, I said, “Why don’t you try some of the drawings on
the way?” We were passing through the Signal Hill oil-field, amid
thunder of machinery and hiss of steam and flashing of headlights of
cars and trucks. “It will be interesting to see if I can concentrate in
such circumstances,” said Craig, and took one envelope and held it
against her body in the darkness, while I went on with my job of
driving. After a few minutes Craig said, “I see something long and
oblong, like a stand.” She got a pad and pencil from a pocket of the
car, and switched on the ceiling light, and made a drawing, and then
opened the envelope. Here are the pictures; I call it a partial success
(Figs. 26, 26a):
[Illustration: Fig. 26]
[Illustration: Fig. 26a]
Here is the next pair, done on the same drive to Pasadena (Figs. 27,
27a):
[Illustration: Fig. 27]
[Illustration: Fig. 27a]
Then came a drawing of an automobile. Considering the attendant
circumstances, it was surely not surprising that Craig should report it
as “a big light in the end of a tube or horn.” There were many such
lights in her eyes.
Then a fourth envelope: she said, “I see a little animal or bug with
legs, and the legs are sticking out in bug effect.” When she looked into
the envelope, she was so excited that she tried to get me to look—at
forty miles an hour on a highway at night! Here is the drawing, meant to
be a skull and cross-bones, but so done that a “bug with legs” is really
a fair description of it (Fig. 28):
[Illustration: Fig. 28]
After we arrived at our destination, my wife did some more of the
drawings, and got partial successes. On this telephone the comment was:
“Goblet with another one floating near or above it inverted” (Figs. 29,
29a):
[Illustration: Fig. 29]
[Illustration: Fig. 29a]
And then this arrow (Figs. 30, 30a):
[Illustration: Fig. 30]
[Illustration: Fig. 30a]
Concerning the above my wife wrote: “See something that suggests a
garden tool—a lawn rake, or spade.” And for the next one (Fig. 31) she
wrote: “A pully-bone”—which is Mississippi “darky” talk for a wish-bone
of a chicken. I don’t know whether it means a bone that you pull, or
whether it is Creole for “poulet.” Here is what my secretary had drawn
(Fig. 31):
[Illustration: Fig. 31]
I had asked my secretary at the outset to make simple geometrical
designs, letters and figures, thinking that these would be easier to
recognize and reproduce. But they brought only partial successes; Craig
would get elements of the drawing but would not know how to put them
together. There were seven in the first series, and there is some
element right in every one. An oblong was drawn exactly, and then two
fragments of oblongs added to it. A capital M in script had the first
stroke done exactly, with the curl. A capital E in script was done with
the curls left out.
And the same with the second series. Here is a square—but you see that
the two halves of it are wandering about (Figs. 32, 32a):
[Illustration: Fig. 32]
[Illustration: Fig. 32a]
And here is a letter Y, but by telepathy it has been turned from script
into print (Figs. 33, 33a):
[Illustration: Fig. 33]
[Illustration: Fig. 33a]
A quite different story began when my secretary allowed his imagination
a little play. He knows that my wife lives in part on milk, and he knows
that she is particular about the quality, because he has to handle the
bills. So he has a little fun with her, and you see that immediately she
gets, not the form, but the color and feeling of it (Figs. 34, 34a):
[Illustration: Fig. 34]
[Illustration: Fig. 34a]
The comment reads: “Round white foamy stuff on top like soap suds or
froth.” As she drinks her milk sour and whipped, you see that its
foaminess is a prominent feature.
Then comes an oil derrick. We live in the midst of these unsightly
objects, and are liable to be turned out of house and home by drilling
nearby; moreover, I have written a book called “Oil!” and the
exclamation mark at the end has been justified by the effect of it on
our lives. My wife made a figure five with long lines going out, and
wrote: “I don’t know why the five should have such a thing as an
appendage, but the appendage was most vivid, so there it is” (Figs. 35,
35a):
[Illustration: Fig. 35]
[Illustration: Fig. 35a]
After she had opened the envelope and seen the original drawing, the
problem became, not why a figure five should have an appendage, but why
an oil derrick should have a figure five. Craig puzzled over this, and
then lay down and told her subconscious mind to bring her the answer.
What came was this: the German version of my book, called “Petroleum,”
has three oil derricks on the front, and a huge dollar sign on the back
of the cover, and this was what Craig had really “seen.” She had looked
at this book when it arrived, a year or more back, and it had been filed
away in her memory. Of course, this may not be the correct explanation,
but it is the one which her mind brought to her.
_12_
These drawing tests afford a basis for psycho-analysis, and it is
interesting to note some of the facts thus brought up from the childhood
of my wife. For example, fires! She was raised in the “black belt,”
where there are nine Negroes to one white, and the former are still
close to Africa. When Craig was a girl, a nurse in the family, having
been discharged, set fire to the home while the adults were away, and
the children asleep. Another servant, jealous of an unfaithful husband,
put her two babies into a barrel full of feathers and burned them alive.
Other fires occurred; so now, in her home, Craig keeps an uneasy eye out
for greasy rags, or overheated stoves, or whatever else her fears
suggest. When in these drawing tests there has been anything indicating
fire or smoke, she has “got” it, with only one or two failures out of
more than a dozen cases. Sometimes she “got” the fire or smoke without
the object; sometimes she supplied fire or smoke to an object which
might properly have it—a pipe, for example. The results are so curious
that I assemble them together—a series of fire-alarms, as it were.
You recall the fact that in one of the early drawing tests—those in
which, instead of giving the drawings to my wife, I sat in my study and
concentrated upon them—I drew a lighted cigarette, and thought of the
curls of smoke. Craig filled up her drawing with curves, and wrote: “I
can’t draw it, but curls of some sort.” At this time the convention that
“curls stood for smoke” had not been established. But now, in the series
drawn by my secretary, appeared a little house with smoking chimney, and
you will see that my wife got the smoke better than the house (Figs. 36,
36a):
[Illustration: Fig. 36]
[Illustration: Fig. 36a]
This apparently established in her mind the association of curls with
smoke. So when, in series six, I drew a pipe with smoke-curls, my wife
first drew an ellipse, and then wrote: “Now it begins to spin, round and
round, and is attached to a stick.” She then drew (Figs. 37, 37a):
[Illustration: Fig. 37]
[Illustration: Fig. 37a]
In series eight I drew a sky-rocket going up. My first impulse had been
to draw a bursting rocket, with a shower of stars, but I realized that
would be difficult, so I drew this instead (Fig. 38):
[Illustration: Fig. 38]
My wife apparently took my first thought, rather than my drawing.
Anyhow, she made half a dozen sketches of whirligigs and light (Figs.
38a, 38b, 38c):
[Illustration: Fig. 38a]
[Illustration: Fig. 38b]
[Illustration: Fig. 38c]
And here in series twenty-two is a burning lamp (Figs. 39, 39a):
[Illustration: Fig. 39]
[Illustration: Fig. 39a]
And here in series thirty-four another, with comment: “flame and sparks”
(Figs. 40, 40a):
[Illustration: Fig. 40]
[Illustration: Fig. 40a]
I drew another pipe in series twenty-two, with the usual curls of smoke;
and Craig wrote: “Smoke stack.” I drew another in series thirty-three
with the result that, five drawings in advance of the correct one, Craig
drew a pipe with smoke. Of course, this may have been a coincidence; but
wait till you see how often such coincidences happen! (Figs. 41, 41a):
[Illustration: Fig. 41]
[Illustration: Fig. 41a]
In series twenty-one I drew a chimney, and Craig drew a chimney, and
added smoke. In thirty-four I drew an old-fashioned trench-mortar; and
here again she supplied the smoke (Figs. 42, 42a):
[Illustration: Fig. 42]
[Illustration: Fig. 42a]
Cannons are especially horrible things to her, as you may note again and
again in her published war-sonnets:
The sharpened steel whips round, the black guns blaze,
Waste are the harvests, mute the songs of birds.
So when, in series eleven, I drew the muzzle half of an old-style
cannon, Craig’s imagination got to work one drawing ahead of time. She
wrote: “Fire and smoke—smoke—flame,” and then drew as follows (Fig.
43a):
[Illustration: Fig. 43a]
The next drawing was the cannon, and I give it, along with the drawing
Craig made to go with it. The comment she wrote was: “Half circle—double
lines—light inside—light is fire busy whirling or flaming” (Figs. 44,
44a):
[Illustration: Fig. 44]
[Illustration: Fig. 44a]
So much for fires, and things associated with fire. Now consider another
detail about life in the Yazoo delta, brought out in the course of our
psycho-analysis. In the days of Craig’s childhood, poisonous snakes were
an ever-present menace, and fear of them had to be taught to children,
and could hardly be taught too early. There is a family story of a
little tot crawling under the house and coming back to report, “I see
nuffin wiv a tail to it!” In the swamps back of Craig’s summer home on
the Mississippi Sound I have counted a dozen copperheads and moccasins
in the course of a half hour’s walk. Also, her father has some childhood
complex buried in his mind, which causes him to have a spell of nausea
at the sight of a snake. All this, of course, strongly affected the
child’s early days, and now it is in her mental depths. So when I drew a
hissing snake, just see the uproar I caused! She made no drawing, but
wrote a little essay. I give my drawing, and her essay following (Fig.
45):
[Illustration: Fig. 45]
“See something like kitten with tail and saucer of milk. Now it leaps
into action and runs away to outdoors. Turns to fleeing animal outdoors.
Great activity among outdoor creatures. Know it’s some outdoor thing,
not indoor object—see trees, and a frightened bird on the wing (turned
sidewise). It’s outdoor thing, but none of above seems to be _it_.”
In other words, little Mary Craig Kimbrough is back on the plantation,
seeing terror among birds and poultry, and not knowing what causes it!
Study the drawing, and you see that I got the action of the snake, but
didn’t get the coils very well, so they might be a “saucer of milk”—and
a sure-enough kitten’s tail sticking out from it. Another childhood
horror here! Craig was a fat little thing, and she slipped and plumped
down on her favorite pet kitten, and exploded it.
_13_
The person whom we are subjecting to this process of psycho-analysis has
a strong color sense, and wanted to be a painter. So we note that she
“gets” colors and names them correctly. Here is my drawing of what I
meant to be a bouquet of pink roses (Figs. 46, 46a):
[Illustration: Fig. 46]
[Illustration: Fig. 46a]
Or take this case of a lobster. Craig’s comment was: “Gorgeous colors,
red and greenish tinges.” Apparently I had failed to decide whether I
was drawing a live lobster or a boiled one! My wife wrote further: “Now
it turns into a lizard, camelian, reds and greens.” When she sees this
about to be made public, she is embarrassed by her bad spelling; but she
says: “Please do not overlook the fact that a chameleon is a reptile—and
so is a lobster.” I dutifully quote her, even though her zoology is even
worse than her spelling! (Figs. 47, 47a):
[Illustration: Fig. 47]
[Illustration: Fig. 47a]
While we are on the “reptiles,” I include this menacing crab, which may
have got hold of little Mary Craig’s toe on the beach of the Mississippi
Sound (Fig. 48):
[Illustration: Fig. 48]
For the crab, Craig made two drawings, on opposite sides of the paper
(Figs. 48a, 48b):
[Illustration: Fig. 48a]
[Illustration: Fig. 48b]
The comments on the above read: “Wings, or fingers—wing effect, but no
feathers, things like fingers instead of feathers. Then many little dots
which all disappear, and leave two of them, O O, as eyes of something.”
And then, “Streamers flying from something.”
Another color instance: I drew the head of a horse, and Craig drew a lot
of apparently promiscuous lines, and at various places wrote “yellow,”
“white,” “blue,” “(dark),” and then a general description, “Oriental.”
Afterwards she said to me: “That looks like a complete failure; yet it
was so vivid, I can’t be mistaken. Where did you get that horse?” Said
I: “I copied it from a Sunday supplement.” We got the paper from the
trash-basket, and the page opposite the horse contained what Craig
described. We shall note several other cases of this sort of intrusion
of things I did not draw, but which I had before me while drawing.
Also anything with metal or shine seems to stand a good chance of being
“got.” For example, these nose-glasses (Figs. 49, 49a):
[Illustration: Fig. 49]
[Illustration: Fig. 49a]
The comment reads: “Opalescent shine or gleam. Also peafowl.”
Or again, a belt-buckle; my wife writes the word “shines” (Figs. 50,
50a):
[Illustration: Fig. 50]
[Illustration: Fig. 50a]
Or this very busy alarm clock—she writes the same word “shines” (Figs
51, 51a):
[Illustration: Fig. 51]
[Illustration: Fig. 51a]
She has got at least part of a watch whenever one has been presented.
You remember the one Bob drew (Fig. 17). There was another in series
thirty-three; Craig made a crude drawing and added: “Shines, glass or
metal” (Figs. 52, 52a):
[Illustration: Fig. 52]
[Illustration: Fig. 52a]
Also, on the automobile ride to Pasadena, series three, there was a
watch-face among the drawings, and Craig drew the angle of the hands,
and added the words, “a complication of small configurations.” Having
arrived in Pasadena, she took the twelve drawings and tried them over
again. This time, of course, she had a one in twelve chance of guessing
the watch. She wrote: “A white translucent glimmering, or shimmering
which I knew was not light but rather glass. It was like heat waves
radiating in little round pools from a center.... Then in the center I
saw a vivid black mark.... So it was bound to be the watch, and it was.”
And here is a fountain. You see that it appears to be in a tub, and is
so drawn by Craig. But you note that the “shine” has been got. “These
shine!” (Figs. 53, 53a):
[Illustration: Fig. 53]
[Illustration: Fig. 53a]
Another instance, even more vivid. I made a poor attempt to draw a bass
tuba, as one sees them on the stage—a lot of jazz musicians dressed up
in white duck, and a row of big brass and nickel horns, polished to
blind your eyes. See what Craig drew, and also what she wrote (Figs. 54,
54a):
[Illustration: Fig. 54]
[Illustration: Fig. 54a]
The comments, continued on the other side of the sheet, are: “Dull gold
ring shimmers and stands out with shadow behind it and in center of it.
Gleams and moves. Metal. There is a glow of gold light, and the ring or
circle is out in the air, suspended, and moves in blur of gold.”
You see, she gets the feeling, the emotional content. I draw a child’s
express-wagon, and she writes: “Children again playing but can’t get
exactly how they look. Just feel there are children.” Or take this one,
which she describes as “Egyptian.” I don’t know if my pillar is real
Egyptian, but it seems so to me, and evidently to my wife, for you note
all the artistry it inspired (Figs. 55, 55a):
[Illustration: Fig. 55]
[Illustration: Fig. 55a]
Sometimes Craig will embody the feeling in some new form of her own
invention; as for example, when I draw an old-fashioned cannon on
wheels, and she writes: “Black Napoleon hat and red military coat.” I
draw a running fox—well drawn, because I copy it from a picture; she
rises to the occasion with two crossed guns, and a hunting horn with a
lot of musical notes coming out of it (Figs. 56, 56a):
[Illustration: Fig. 56]
[Illustration: Fig. 56a]
I draw an auto, and she replies with the hub and spokes of a wheel. Not
satisfied with this, she sets it aside, and tries again a little
later—without looking at the original drawing—and this time she produces
a horn, with indication of a noise. I give both her drawings, which are
on two sides of the same slip of paper (Figs. 57a, 57b):
[Illustration: Fig. 57a]
[Illustration: Fig. 57b]
_14_
An extraordinary incident occurred in connection with the fourth series
of drawings. While my secretary, E. M. Hart, was making the drawings,
there came into the office his brother-in-law, R. H. Craig, Jr., a
teller of the Security First National Bank of Long Beach, a person
entirely unknown to my wife. He heard what was going on, and said, “I’ll
give her some that’ll stump her.” He took a pen and drew two pictures,
which were duly wrapped in sheets of green paper and sealed in
envelopes, and put with the rest of the series. I was not at the office,
and nothing was said to me about Mr. Craig having taken part in the
matter.
My wife did this series under my eyes; and when she came to the first of
Mr. Craig’s two drawings, she wrote, “Some sort of grinning monster,”
and added an elaborate description. Then she opened the envelope, and
found a roller skate with a foot and leg attached. This, naturally, was
called a failure; but seven drawings later in the same series came Mr.
Craig’s other drawing, which was as follows (Fig. 58):
[Illustration: Fig. 58]
Now read the amazing description which my wife had written, seven
drawings back, when the first of Mr. Craig’s drawings had come under her
hand:
“Some sort of grinning monster—see only the face and a vague idea of
deformed neck and shoulders. It is a man, but it looks like a cat’s
face, cat eyes and whiskers. Don’t know just how I know it is a man—it
is a deformity. Not a cat. See color of skin which is deep, flat pink,
as of a colored picture. The face of the creature is broad and weird.
The flesh of neck, or somewhere, gives effect of rolls or creases.”
I asked my secretary what this drawing was meant to be, and he said “a
Happy Hooligan.” My cultural backwardness is such that I wasn’t sure
just what a “Happy Hooligan” might be, but my secretary told me it is a
comic supplement figure, and I then looked it up in the paper, and found
that the face of the figure as printed is a very pale pink, and the
little cap on top is a bright red. I called Mr. Craig on the phone and
asked him this question: “If you were to think of a color in connection
with a ‘Happy Hooligan,’ what color would it be?” He answered, “Red.”
Now I ask you, what chance do you think there is of a person’s writing a
description such as the above by guess work? To be sure, my wife had
eight guesses; but do you think that eight million guesses would
suffice? And if we call it telepathy, do we say that my wife’s mind has
the power to dip into the mind of a young man whom she has never seen,
nor even heard of? Or shall we say that his mind affected his
brother-in-law’s, the brother-in-law’s affected mine, and mine affected
my wife’s? Or, if we decide to call it clairvoyance, or psychometry,
then are we going to say there is some kind of vibration or emanation
from Mr. Craig’s drawing, so powerful that when one of his drawings is
handed to my wife, she gets what is in another drawing which has been
done at the same time?
Whatever may be the explanation, here is the fact: Again and again we
find Craig getting, not the drawing she is holding under her hand, but
the next one, which she has not yet touched. When she picks up the first
drawing, she will say, or write: “There is a little man in this series”;
or: “There is a snow scene with sled”; or: “An elephant, also a
rooster.” I am going to show you these particular cases; but first a
word as to how I have counted such “anticipations.”
Manifestly, if I grant the right to more than one guess, I am increasing
the chances of guesswork, and correspondingly reducing the significance
of the totals. What I have done is this: where such cases have occurred,
I have called them total failures, except in a few cases, where the
description was so detailed and exact as to be overwhelming—as in the
case of this “Happy Hooligan.” Even so, I have not called it a complete
success, only a partial success. In order to be classified as a complete
success, my wife’s drawing must have been made for the particular
drawing of mine which she had in her hand at that time; and throughout
this account, the reader is to understand that every drawing presented
was made in connection with the particular drawing printed alongside
it—except in cases where I expressly state otherwise.
Now for a few of the “anticipations.” In the course of series six, drawn
by me on Feb. 8, 1929, drawing number two was a daisy, and Craig got the
elements of it, as you see (Figs. 59, 59a):
[Illustration: Fig. 59]
[Illustration: Fig. 59a]
Her mind then went ahead, and she wrote, “May be snow scene on hill and
sled.” The next drawing was an axe, which I give later (Fig. 145); she
got the elements of this very well, and then added on the back: “I get a
feeling again of a snow scene to come in this series—a sled in the
snow.” That was number three; and when number five came Craig made this
annotation: “Opened it by mistake, without concentrating. It’s my
expected sled and snow scene.” Here is the drawing (Fig. 60):
[Illustration: Fig. 60]
Series number eight, on Feb. 10, brought even stranger results. This is
the series in which the laced-up football was turned into a calf wearing
a belly-band (Figs. 15, 15a). But even while I was engaged in making the
drawings, sitting in my study apart, and with the door closed, Craig’s
busy magic, whatever it is, was bringing her messages. She called out:
“I see a rooster!” I had actually drawn a rooster; but of course I made
no reply to her words. She at once drew a rooster and several other
things, and after I had brought my drawings into the room, but before
she had started to work with them, she wrote as follows:
“While Upton was making these drawings I sat before the fire thinking
how to dry felt slippers which I had washed. I had my mind on them. Hung
them on grating to see if they would hang there without burning.
Suddenly saw rooster crowing. Then thought, ‘Can U be drawing rooster?’
Decided to make note of this. Did so. Then saw”—and she draws a circle
with eight radiating lines, like spokes of a wheel.
In due course came drawing number eight, and before looking at it, Craig
wrote: “Rooster.” Then she added, “But no—it looks like a picture of
coffee-pot—see spout and handle.” This is hard on me as an artist, but I
give the drawing and let you judge for yourself (Fig. 61):
[Illustration: Fig. 61]
What about the circle and the radiating spokes? That was, apparently, a
fore-glimpse of drawing number five. I give you that, together with what
Craig drew for that particular test when it came. Her effort suggests
the kind of humor with which the newspaper artists used to delight my
childhood; a series of drawings in which one thing turns into some other
and quite unexpected thing by gradual changes. You will see here how the
hub of a wagon-wheel may turn into the muzzle of a deer! (Figs. 62,
62a):
[Illustration: Fig. 62]
[Illustration: Fig. 62a]
_15_
What are the principles upon which I have classified the drawings, as
between success, partial successes, and failures? I will use this
series, number eight, to illustrate. There are eight drawings, and I
have set them down as one success, six partial successes, one failure.
The success is the rooster (Fig. 61), called “a rooster,” even though it
“looks like a coffee pot.” The partial successes are, first, an electric
light bulb, very crudely imitated as to shape in three drawings. Perhaps
this was hardly good enough to be counted; it was a border-line case,
and probably the poorest that I admitted to the classification of
“partial successes” (Fig. 63a).
[Illustration: Fig. 63a]
Second, the ascending sky-rocket, already printed as fig. 38, giving
rise to six different drawings of whirligigs and light. Third, the
following drawing, for which Craig wrote: “See spider, or some sort of
legged pest. If this is not a spider, there is a spider in the lot
somewhere! This I know!” (Fig. 64):
[Illustration: Fig. 64]
The fourth partial success was a drawn bow, with arrow fitted, ready to
be launched. Craig wrote as follows: “Picked this up and saw inside as
it dropped on floor—so did not try it. Suddenly recall I have already
‘seen’ it earlier.” Before starting the tests, along with her written
mention of “a rooster,” she had drawn a bow and crude arrow, and the
resemblance is so exact that it seems to me entitled to be called a
partial success (Figs. 65, 65a):
[Illustration: Fig. 65]
[Illustration: Fig. 65a]
Fifth, the wagon hub (Fig. 60), which became the deer’s muzzle. And
finally the laced-up football (Fig. 15) which became a belly-band on a
calf (Fig. 15a).
As for the failure in this series, it is a cake of soap, which was
called “whirls.” There are a couple of other drawings in the series,
marked: “Too tired to see it,” and “Tired now and excited and keep
seeing old things”—meaning, of course, the preceding drawings.
I tried to avoid drawing the same object more than once, but now and
then I slipped up. In series eleven I drew another rooster, and there
followed, not one “anticipation,” but several. Drawing number one was a
tooth; Craig wrote: “First see rooster. Then elephant.” Drawing number
two was an elephant; and Craig wrote: “Elephant came again. I try to
suppress it, and see lines, and a spike sticking some way into
something.” She drew it, and it seems clear that the “spike” is the
elephant’s tusk, and the head of the “spike” is the elephant’s eye
(Figs. 66, 66a):
[Illustration: Fig. 66]
[Illustration: Fig. 66a]
Next, number three, was the rooster. But Craig had set “rooster” down in
her mind as a blunder, so now she wrote: “I don’t know what, see a
bunch, or tuft clearly. Also a crooked arm on a body. But don’t feel
that I’m right.” Here are the drawings, and you can see that she was
somewhat right (Figs. 67, 67a):
[Illustration: Fig. 67]
[Illustration: Fig. 67a]
This series eleven, containing fourteen drawings, is marked: “Did this
lot rapidly, without holding (mind) blank. The chicken and elephant came
_at once_, on a very earnest request to my mind to ‘come across.’” I
have classified in this series two successes, five partial, and five
failures: throwing out numbers twelve and fourteen, because Craig wrote:
“Nothing except all the preceding ones come—too many at once—all past
ones crowding in memory”; and again, “Nothing but everything in the
preceding. Too many of them in my mind.”
The anticipations run all through this series in a quite fascinating
way. Thus, for number four Craig wrote: “Flower. This is a vivid one.
Green spine—leaves like century plant.” She drew Figure 68a:
[Illustration: Fig. 68a]
And then again, for drawing number seven, she did more flowers, with
this comment: “This is a _real_ flower, I’ve seen it before. It’s vivid
and returns. Century plant? Now it turns into candle stick. See a
candle” (Fig. 69a).
All this was wrong—so far. Number four was a table, and number seven was
the rear half of a cow. But now we come to number eleven, the plant
known as a “cat-tail,” which seems to resemble rather surprisingly the
lower of the two drawings in Figure 69a. My drawing is given as Figure
70, and the one Craig made for it is given as 70a.
[Illustration: Fig. 69a]
[Illustration: Fig. 70]
[Illustration: Fig. 70a]
Comment on the above read: “Very pointed. Am not able to see what. Dog’s
head?”
Drawing five was a large fish-hook; and this inspired the experimenter
to a discourse, as follows: “Dog wagging—see tail in air busy
wagging—jolly doggie—tail curled in air.” And then: “Now I see a cow. I
fear the elephant and chicken got me too sure of animals. But I see
these.”
Now, a big fish-hook looks not unlike a “tail curled in air.” But when
we come to number seven, we discover what Craig was apparently
anticipating. It is the drawing of what I have referred to as “the rear
half of a cow.” It is badly done, with a cow’s hoof, but I forgot what a
cow’s tail is like, and this tail that I drew would fit much better on a
“jolly doggy,” you must admit (Fig. 71):
[Illustration: Fig. 71]
Drawing number six was a sun, as children draw it, a circle with rays
going out all round. Craig wrote: “Setting sun and bird in sky. Big bird
on wing—seagull or wild goose.” This I called a partial success. Number
nine was the muzzle end of an old-style cannon, already reported in
Figures 46, 46a.
I conclude the study of this particular series with drawing thirteen, to
which was added the comment: “Think of a saucer, then of a cup. It’s
something in the kitchen. Too tired to see” (Figs. 72, 72a):
[Illustration: Fig. 72]
[Illustration: Fig. 72a]
In series fourteen, drawing three, Craig wrote: “Man running, can’t draw
it.” She drew as follows (Fig. 73a):
[Illustration: Fig. 73a]
Next came my drawing four, as follows (Fig. 73):
[Illustration: Fig. 73]
In series thirty-five I first drew a fire hydrant, and Craig wrote,
“Peafowl,” and added the following drawing, which certainly constitutes
a partial success (Figs. 74, 74a):
[Illustration: Fig. 74]
[Illustration: Fig. 74a]
My next drawing was the peafowl, as you see. For this Craig wrote:
“Peafowl again,” and apparently tried to draw the peafowl’s neck, and a
lot of those spots which I had forgotten are an appurtenance of peafowls
(Figs. 75, 75a):
[Illustration: Fig. 75]
[Illustration: Fig. 75a]
In series twenty-nine I drew an elevated railway. If you turn it upside
down, as I have done here, it looks like water and smokestacks. Anyhow,
Craig drew a steamboat (Figs. 76, 76a):
[Illustration: Fig. 76]
[Illustration: Fig. 76a]
And then came my next drawing—a steamboat! Craig wrote: “Smoke again,”
and drew the smoke and the stack (Figs. 77, 77a):
[Illustration: Fig. 77]
[Illustration: Fig. 77a]
She added two more drawings, which appear to be the wheel of the boat in
the water, and the smoke (Figs. 77b, 77c):
[Illustration: Fig. 77b]
[Illustration: Fig. 77c]
In series thirty I drew a fish-hook with line, and you see it turned
into a flower (Figs. 78, 78a):
[Illustration: Fig. 78]
[Illustration: Fig. 78a]
Then came an obelisk, and Craig got it, but with novel effects, thus
(Figs. 79, 79a):
[Illustration: Fig. 79]
[Illustration: Fig. 79a]
Now why should an obelisk go on a jag, and have little circles at its
base? The answer appears to be: it inherited the curves from the
previous fish-hook, and the little circles from the next drawing. You
will see that, having used up her supply of little circles, Craig did
not get the next drawing so well (Figs. 80, 80a):
[Illustration: Fig. 80]
[Illustration: Fig. 80a]
In series twenty-two I first drew a bed, and Craig made two attempts to
draw a potted plant. My second drawing was a maltese cross, and Craig
turned it into a basket (Figs. 81, 81a):
[Illustration: Fig. 81]
[Illustration: Fig. 81a]
But she could not give up her plant. She added: “There is a flower
basket in this lot, or potted plant.” The next drawing was a
fleur-de-lis, which looks not unlike a potted plant or hanging basket
(Fig. 82):
[Illustration: Fig. 82]
In drawing four she got the elements of a door-knob pretty well, and
added: “See head of bird, too—eagle beak.” Drawing seven was a crane,
with beak open.
_16_
I could go through all thirty-five of the series, listing such
“anticipations” as this: but I have given enough to show how the thing
goes. Such occurrences make it hard for Craig because, when she has once
drawn a certain object, she naturally resists the impulse to draw it
again, thinking it is nothing but a memory. Thus, in series thirteen, my
first drawing was a savage woman carrying a bundle on her head, and
Craig drew the profile of a head with a long nose. My next drawing was
the profile of a head, with a very conspicuous nose, and Craig wrote:
“Face again, but [I] inhibit this. Then come two hands, and below”—and
she draws what might be a cross section of a skull, side view.
Yet sometimes she overcomes this handicap triumphantly. Series twelve is
marked: “Hastily done,” and she adds the general comment: “Several times
saw bristles on things of different shapes, some flowers, some bristled
brushes. Saw flower, also more than once”—and then she appends a drawing
of a four-leaf clover. As it happened, this series contained a
three-leaf clover, and it contained another flower, and also a
cactus-plant—more of one kind of thing than it was fair to put into one
set of drawings. Nevertheless, Craig scored one of her successes with
the cactus, setting it down as “fuzzy flower” (Figs. 83, 83a):
[Illustration: Fig. 83]
[Illustration: Fig. 83a]
Nor was she afraid to repeat herself when she came to another “fuzzy
flower” in this series (Figs. 84, 84a):
[Illustration: Fig. 84]
[Illustration: Fig. 84a]
Frequently she will make a good drawing of an object, but name it badly.
In that same series twelve I drew a hoe, and she got the shape of it,
but wrote: “May be scissors, may be spectacles with long stem ears”
(Figs. 85, 85a):
[Illustration: Fig. 85]
[Illustration: Fig. 85a]
Also in the same series these reindeer horns, which she calls “holly
leaves.” It is psychologically interesting to note that reindeer and
holly trees were both associated with Christmas in Craig’s childhood
(Figs. 86, 86a):
[Illustration: Fig. 86]
[Illustration: Fig. 86a]
And in series eighteen, this fat baby bird of mine is hardly
recognizable when called “flounder” (Figs. 87, 87a):
[Illustration: Fig. 87]
[Illustration: Fig. 87a]
This very dim stalk of celery, drawn by me, I must admit looks more like
a fish-fork (Figs. 88, 88a):
[Illustration: Fig. 88]
[Illustration: Fig. 88a]
Craig’s verbal description of the above reads: “Stone set in platinum;
may be diamond, as points seem to be white light—at least it shines, not
red shine of fire but white shine.” How does a stalk of celery, which
looks like a fish-fork, come to have a diamond set in it? You may
understand the reason when you hear that three drawings later in the
same series is a diamond set in a stick. Just why it occurred to me to
set a diamond thus I cannot now recall, but the drawing is plain, and it
led to a bit of fun. I had been to lunch with Charlie Chaplin that day,
and had come home and told my wife about it; so here my sparkling
diamond undergoes a transfiguration! “Chaplin,” writes my wife, and
adds: “I don’t see why he has on a halo” (Figs. 89, 89a):
[Illustration: Fig. 89]
[Illustration: Fig. 89a]
From the point of view of bad guessing, the most conspicuous series is
number twenty. In this I have recorded four successes, seven partial,
and one failure; yet there is hardly an object that is correctly named.
Here are the three which I call successes; there may be dispute about
any one of them, but it seems to me the essential elements have been
got. You may be surprised at a necktie which “began to smoke”—but not
when you see that the next drawing is a burning match! (Figs. 90, 90a;
90, 91a; 90, 92a):
[Illustration: Fig. 90]
[Illustration: Fig. 90a]
[Illustration: Fig. 91]
[Illustration: Fig. 91a]
[Illustration: Fig. 92]
[Illustration: Fig. 92a]
As for the partial successes, I give six of them by way of samples. For
the first, Craig’s comment was: “The body is vague, but see there is a
body.” You will agree that my mountain landscape looks oddly like a body
(Figs. 93, 93a):
[Illustration: Fig. 93]
[Illustration: Fig. 93a]
And the pedals of this harp make a charming pair of lady’s feet (Figs.
94, 94a):
[Illustration: Fig. 94]
[Illustration: Fig. 94a]
This balloon is described in my wife’s comment as: “Shines in sunlight,
must be metal, a scythe hanging among vines or strings.”
[Illustration: Fig. 95]
[Illustration: Fig. 95a]
This, which is called “front foot and leg of dog, though I don’t see the
dog,” is really drawn more like the spigot of my drawing (Figs. 96,
96a):
[Illustration: Fig. 96]
[Illustration: Fig. 96a]
A butterfly’s wings are “got” remarkably well (Figs. 97, 97a). And the
trade-marks on my little box are called “tiny stars, or sparks” (Figs.
98, 98a):
[Illustration: Fig. 97]
[Illustration: Fig. 97a]
[Illustration: Fig. 98]
[Illustration: Fig. 98a]
_17_
I have referred to the fact that my wife’s drawings sometimes contain
things which are not in mine, but which were in my mind while I was
making them, or while she was “concentrating.” One of the most curious
of such cases came in series twenty-eight, which was after we had given
up, as too great a nuisance, all precautions in the way of sealing the
drawings in envelopes. I made eight drawings, and laid them face down on
my wife’s table, and then went out and took a walk while she did them.
So, of course, it was easy for her to do what she pleased—and maybe she
“peeked,” the skeptic will say. But as it happens, she didn’t get a
single one right! Instead of reproducing my drawings, what she did was
to reproduce my thoughts while I was walking up and down on the ocean
front. It seems to me that in so doing, she provided a perfect answer to
those who may attribute these results to any form of deception, whether
conscious or unconscious.
There was a moon behind a bank of dark clouds, and it produced an
unusual effect—a well-defined white cross in the sky. I watched it for
nearly half an hour, and my continued thought was: “If this were an age
of superstition, that would be a portent, and we should hear about it in
history.” It was so strange that I finally went home and called my wife
out onto the street. I did not tell her why. I wanted to see her
surprise, so I purposely gave no hint. I said: “Come out! Please come!”
Finally she came, and her comment was: “I just drew that!” We went back
into the house, and she handed me a drawing. I give it alongside my
drawing of an Indian club, which Craig had held while doing hers. You
may see exactly how much of her impulse came from that source (Figs. 99,
99a):
[Illustration: Fig. 99]
[Illustration: Fig. 99a]
The “comment” reads: “Light ‘fingers’—moonlight.” Also: “black shadow.”
Let me add also that in the eight drawings I handed to Craig there was
neither moon, cloud, cross, nor light. Two of these eight my wife failed
to mark, and so I cannot identify them as belonging to this series; but
we examined all eight at the time, and made sure of this point. Those
which I now have are a flag, a bearded man, a chiffonier, a cannon, a
dirt-scraper, and the Indian club, given above.
You will ask, perhaps, did Craig look out of the window. As it happened,
this sky effect was invisible from any window, and I have her word that
she had not moved from her couch. I should add that she is nervous, and
keeps the curtains tightly drawn at night, and never goes out at night
unless it is to be driven somewhere. It was early in March, with a cold
wind off the sea, and I had to labor to persuade her to put a wrap over
her dressing gown and step out into the middle of the street to look up
at the sky.
_18_
The casual reader may be bored by too many of these drawings, but they
are easy to skip, or to take in at a glance, and there may be students
who will want to examine them carefully. So I will add a selection of
the significant drawings, with only brief remarks. I begin with what I
have called partial successes, and then add a few more of those I have
called “complete.”
Let us return to the early drawings, made by my secretary. On the
automobile ride to Pasadena, there was an ash-can (Fig. 100):
[Illustration: Fig. 100]
For the above my wife wrote: “I see a chain dangling from
something—resembling little chimney pot on top of house.”
And here is design for which the comment was: “These somehow belong
together but won’t get together” (Figs. 101, 101a):
[Illustration: Fig. 101]
[Illustration: Fig. 101a]
Here is a fan, with comment: “Inside seems irregular, as if cloth draped
or crumpled” (Figs. 102, 102a):
[Illustration: Fig. 102]
[Illustration: Fig. 102a]
Here is a one-half success (Figs. 103, 103a):
[Illustration: Fig. 103]
[Illustration: Fig. 103a]
Here is a broom, drawn by my secretary (Fig. 104), and several efforts
to reproduce it (Figs. 104a, 104b):
[Illustration: Fig. 104]
[Illustration: Fig. 104a]
[Illustration: Fig. 104b]
The comments accompanying these drawings read: “All I’m sure of is a
straight line with something curved at end of it; once it came” (here is
drawing of the flower). “Then it doubled, or reappeared, I don’t know
which. (Am not sure of curly edges.) Then it was upside down.”
The next drawing was a heart, and my wife got the upper half with what
are apparently blood-drops added (Figs. 105, 105a):
[Illustration: Fig. 105]
[Illustration: Fig. 105a]
The above is interesting, as suggesting that whatever agency furnished
the information knew more than it was telling. For if Craig’s drawing, a
pair of curves, constituted a crude letter N, or had no significance,
why add the blood-drops, which were not in the original? On the other
hand, if her subconscious mind knew it was a heart, why not give her the
whole heart, and let her draw it?
So much for the drawings of my secretary; and now for my own early
drawings. When I was a school boy, we used to represent human figures in
this way; and, as you see, Craig got the essentials (Figs. 106, 106a):
[Illustration: Fig. 106]
[Illustration: Fig. 106a]
Several weeks later, I drew a pair of such figures in action and the
comment was: “It’s a whirligig of some sort” (Figs. 107, 107a).
[Illustration: Fig. 107]
[Illustration: Fig. 107a]
After the following drawing, Craig asked me not to do any more hands,
for the reason that she “got” this, but thought it was my own hand doing
the drawing. She guessed something else, and wrote: “Turned into pig’s
head, then rabbit’s” (Figs. 108, 108a):
[Illustration: Fig. 108]
[Illustration: Fig. 108a]
Next, this bat, with very striking comment.
“Looks like ear-shaped something,” and again:
“Looks like calla lily” (Figs. 109, 109a):
[Illustration: Fig. 109]
[Illustration: Fig. 109a]
A butterfly net (Figs. 110, 110a).
[Illustration: Fig. 110]
[Illustration: Fig. 110a]
A key (Figs. 111, 111a):
[Illustration: Fig. 111]
[Illustration: Fig. 111a]
This highly humorous sunrise (Figs. 112, 112a):
[Illustration: Fig. 112]
[Illustration: Fig. 112a]
A carnation which came after the preceding drawing, and apparently had
been anticipated in the “sunrise” (Figs. 113, 113a).
[Illustration: Fig. 113]
[Illustration: Fig. 113a]
Note that this camp-stool, as I drew it, really does appear to be
standing on water (Figs. 114, 114a):
[Illustration: Fig. 114]
[Illustration: Fig. 114a]
For this little waiter, who follows, no drawing was made by my wife. Her
written comment was: “I see at once the profile of human face. Am
interrupted by radio tune. Something makes me think of a cow. Now see
two things sticking out like horns” (Fig. 115).
[Illustration: Fig. 115]
The following had no comment (Figs. 116, 116a):
[Illustration: Fig. 116]
[Illustration: Fig. 116a]
Nor the next ones (Figs. 117, 117a):
[Illustration: Fig. 117]
[Illustration: Fig. 117a]
The comment on this caterpillar was: “Fork—then garden tool—lawn rake.
Leaf.” I might add that we have a lawn-rake made of bristly bamboo,
which looks very much like my drawing (Figs. 118, 118a):
[Illustration: Fig. 118]
[Illustration: Fig. 118a]
In the following case I drew sixteen stars, and you may count and see
that Craig got twelve of them, and made up the difference with a moon!
(Figs. 119, 119a):
[Illustration: Fig. 119]
[Illustration: Fig. 119a]
Comment on the following: “Looks like a monkey wrench, but it may be a
yardstick” (Figs. 120, 120a):
[Illustration: Fig. 120]
[Illustration: Fig. 120a]
In the next one, the curve of the worm is amusingly reproduced by the
bird’s neck. The comment added: “But it may be a snake.” Craig says this
is an example of how one part of the drawing comes to her, and then, in
haste, her memory-trains and associations supply what they think should
be the rest (Figs. 121, 121a).
[Illustration: Fig. 121]
[Illustration: Fig. 121a]
The umbrella brings up Craig’s reptile “complex” again. I assure you
that in her garden, she turns sticks into snakes when they are far less
snake-like than my drawing. Her comment was: “I feel that it is a snake
crawling out of something—vivid feeling of snake, but it looks like a
cat’s tail” (Figs. 122, 122a):
[Illustration: Fig. 122]
[Illustration: Fig. 122a]