Over breakfast this morning, Byron was looking very thoughtful, and a little bit melancholy.
I asked him what was up and he told me he'd had a dream in which he'd met a group of artists and intellectuals, and had a lovely time talking with them.
Then he'd gone into a little shop and found many examples of the artists' work for sale and he'd bought several items: installation pieces and wall hangings.
When he got them home, he'd filled his room with these wonderful works, and it looked amazing.
Then he woke up, and now he couldn't remember anything about any of the artworks…
The worst thing was, apparently, that since it was his dream all the ideas were his, fresh from his brain, and if only he could remember them, he could have made them himself and become a famous artist…
I tried to reassure him that, since had thought of them once he would probably think of them again… and that I had a deep belief in him, and that he would one day be a famous artist!
He smiled bravely as he tried to believe me.
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