I dreamt that I was preparing an exhibition of my paintings. I do not remember where the exhibition was, or whether there was anyone else involved in putting it up, but I remember tremendous joy in handling my boards, selecting them for a particular position on the wall, placing them on their battens, and contemplating the still incomplete arrangement. The dream was a pure joy. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I relished the dream, but I also knew that I will exhibit my paintings never again. I do not want anything to do with galleries or museums. I want to meet no more curators in my life. The only situation in which I might be handling my boards like in my dream would be moving to another house. This would be my exhibition, literally. Smiling at the thought, I was asleep again in no time.