I don't paint dreams. I don't paint things from my imagination. I don't paint from memory. I paint what I see. Sometimes I feel trapped by my literalness. I'm always in awe of people who create art derived solely from their imaginations. I've wished that I could do that. Artwell in Torrington sent out invitations to submit art to their Dreams and Nightmares exhibit. I wanted to submit something, but I have nothing that qualifies. I decided this needed to change. I've spent the past week or two with this thought in the back of my mind, that I want to start doing more creative art. Last night, while watching The Lovely Bones, I was finally in the right frame of mind and had a vision of creating a large painting, early Renaissance style, of a dream I had the night after my cat Ferdinand died many years ago. Since there's no point having a great idea if you don't start making it real right away, I did a series of sketches for the painting. There is a narrative that goes with the images, but for right now I'm posting just the sketches, in sequence. Next I have to figure out how they will all fit onto a single canvas.