A colleague was typing up the minutes of a sub-editors meeting. Over her shoulder, I read the sentence that she was in the middle of writing, which was:
"On Diarmid's art, Henrietta [my editor] said that he should"
"Oh no," I said, "What do they want me to draw now?"
My colleague told me to wait while she typed out the rest of the sentence, which went:
"take more time off in order to go to galleries where he will be able to take inspiration from the work of other artists."
Notes for Freudian analysis
I've been working an an etching of the Parliament for a while. The longer I spend on it, the more I feel that it's pretty uninspired and wish I hadn't started it or, at least, had done a little more work on the concept at the beginning. Oh, talentless fraud!
The day I had the dream, I'd watched Edvard Munch, by Peter Watkins, and had been particularly pleased with a long section in which Munch does a copper plate etching of his dead sister. The film also shows Munch going to Paris and having a great time looking at paintings in galleries (which is to say, he looks a little less consumptive than he does in the rest of the film).
Very occasionally, someone at work asks me to draw a picture for a presentation they have to give or a handout that they're preparing. I never mind doing it and it never takes very long, so I'm not quite sure why my reaction to what I assumed the sentence was going to say was quite so negative.