Not a clear dream, but I recall one flash. One side of my family came from England, and I was there, walking through the mansion of my ancestors. A long hall holds a line of ancestral portraits, in elaborate gilded frames. And slowly, as I go down the line, noting the family eyes and nose and jaw, I realize, from the script on the name-plates, and my ancestors' features, that this isn't the quite the England we know.

The earliest portrait was this.

When I woke, I hauled out an elaborate, old-fashioned picture frame, and cut a wood panel to fit it, and dabbed on dozens of layers of acrylic paint with a kitchen sponge--and occasionally my thumbs. I used no brush, except a few details.

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