I dreamed I was taking a painting class. While I enjoy painting I've never been as good as it as I would like to be. I know I'm worse now than I ever was with my dependence on Photoshop.
One of my favorite wisecracks of 3rd year came in response to Andrew Bodor, our painting teacher, who insisted we use gouache.
"Gouache" he would say in his Hungarian accent, "Is VERY forgiving."
"Yes," I would say to BJ, "But not as forgiving as Photoshop."
The room is dimly lit. I feel as though I am in an unknown ancient studio. The candlelit room is flickering and filled with dust. There are people in the room but I do not know any of them. I am more aware of their presence than actually able to see them. Despite their presence I am alone in the room. The color scheme seems to be dark and sepia...like an old photograph.
I discover the assignment is a self portrait.
I am unsure of myself as I tackle the project but am surprised in my dreams when the portrait seems to be working. The colors are dark, but vibrant and rich. There are a few highlights that gleam along the surface. The portrait is alive. It has a rough, sketchy look to it but has a commanding presence. I find myself drawn to my own eyes which sear back at me. I find I like this person, though I am intimidated by her.
The painting is very very WET. I am afraid to touch it or have anyone else look at it for fear of damage.