When she saw me drawing her, she came over and talked animatedly for a while in a language I didn't understand and then took my sketchbook and pen and signed the drawing. And I guess in a very real way she is the artist, so why not? One way of looking at things is that the art occurs not on the paper, but in the space between the paper and the brain of the viewer, and she's at least as responsible for that as I am. On the other hand, I haven't had my coffee yet, so you can dismiss this as the mental staggering of a person who's not 100% out of dream state yet. By the way, I dreamed that I ate Welsh rarebit last night, and since I don't have a clue what it is, I never actually saw it in my dream. I just ate it. Maybe I had a visit from the ghost of Winsor McCay. Maybe it's a fever.