Sometimes a person dreams that he can do something extraordinary: draw with photographic precision, walk upside down, speak in unfamiliar languages, or even fly. Waking up, he sadly realizes that his skill has evaporated along with the remnants of sleep. And, trying to depict clear contours on a sheet of paper, which just recently floated so easily and freely from under the hand, all I get is childishly uneven lines. The magic disappears, but not forever. Somewhere in the depths of our consciousness it settles and waits for us to connect again and finally paint that wonderful picture