Dreams

I often dream of strange things — fairy-tale, mythological, things I cannot find words for. In the morning the dream melts away within hours, sometimes minutes, and the only way to hold on to it is to pick up a pencil at once and make a sketch, from which a painting is later born. What interests me most is what remains of the dream once it has passed through my hands and the paint. Usually it is not what I dreamed — but the depth of the dream opens up differently, and sometimes I understand it only on the canvas.