I dreamt that I took part in an art colony of some kind. There were almost as many of us students as there were teachers. We were all about the same age, as well. If I remember correctly, the colony was dedicated to the nexus between art and commerce. Each of us was working on a project bringing the two together. I remember a session close to the end of a long day. One of the teachers asked whether anyone had anything to show before we called it a day. I raised my hand and reported that my project was finished already. I got up and walked to a large plastic bag resting in a corner. It was stuffed full of cardboard boxes with things I had made. As I was fumbling through the bag, I was getting angry for some reason. “It’s not about money,” I kept saying to all the assembled, “it’s not about money at all!” But I woke up before I had a chance to reveal my project. Sadly, I do not remember what was in that plastic bag, either. All I remember clearly enough is my claim that my project had nothing to do with money.