A change of pace - strange dreams

A question I get asked often enough that it should be on my FAQ (but isn't) is whether I paint what I dream. Before I can form an answer, the first question is often followed up by comments of how my dreams must be utterly fantastic.

Nothing could be further from the truth. When my brain shuts down at night, it shuts down. If I had to paint the incomprehensible blather that my mind comes up with when I'm sleeping...well, I'd probably put myself to sleep (again) in the attempt. Generally it's prosaic, mundane imagery slapped together with about as much cohesion and story as a three year old would be capable of with a set of refrigerator poetry magnets, and the buildup of a shaggy dog joke.

And so I was as surprised as anyone the other morning to wake up with some rather vivid images in mind that begged to be put to paper in some form. Strangely, even in the dream I remember stepping out from among city streets to see this towering emerald giant, and wanting to pull out my travel journal to sketch on the spot (I suppose I would have been sorely disappointed upon waking to find any dream drawings to have been as ephemeral as the dream itself), but was pulled along through the rest of the journey by inexorable forces. Passage along a thin rocky path that wended its way along the spine of two oceans colliding, lit by the thin torchlight of city lamps.

At any rate, witness the first two images I have ever done from dreams. I guess I can't answer the question any longer with, "No, I never draw from my dreams."