Last night's dream was pretty short. I was a painter, and very good—much better than in real life. There were two I was working on; the first was a man riding a brown pinto horse that was rearing in front of an oncoming storm. My mother said "a man" had told her he was interested in my work and might want to buy it.
The other painting was deep blues, purples, and pinks, with turquoise highlights—it was a forest, not unlike that Avatar movie, with a tall faceless figure in the center. I was having trouble finishing it because the canvas kept ripping, but it was turning out really well and I didn't want to sell it.
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