An elderly Tasha Tudor is wearing a hobo suit and babushka (she sewed) and is riding an oversize red tricycle (she painted) with a whopping basket (she wove) filled with flowers (she grew) tired on the handle bars (she’s not holding on to because she's reading a book she wrote and illustrated) with handlebar tassels (she dyed). At that moment, I want to be her.
She points out one of the black velvet painting in the book,
“Look how the black brings out the yellow.”

Eager to impress her, I say,
“Oh, no, See how the black strangles the yellow and drags it out?”
She smiled and politely asked me to leave her dream.
Just because they are your personal hero doesn't mean you’d see eye to eye.

The favor is returned with an uncomfortable dream. I am lying on a rug and friends are encircling me taking turns with a talking stick. Passing the token, each verbally digs at what they really think of me. Even in this dream state I knew their reason didn’t rest on bedrock. I still became emotionally stripped. I awoke thinking this dream was so bad it must satisfy one of the prerequisites of the twelve steps.

A creative challenge: Take the concept from of "exquisite corpse” from those darn Surrealists and expand it over the fabric of he world, over thousands of miles to travel. Ok, stay with me....so the idea is to pass one sketchbook around the world between diverse artists, (queue up the usual suspects). For a certain amount of deadline time the book is worked over and over till it sings or squeals. Idea of a gathering. A way of being friendly and not having to meet anyone. Everyone signing it as “....to my best friend...”