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Description
This is a watercolour painting I did about a week ago in response to a dream I had that kind of freaked me out.

I think what made me have the dream was that day I was moving branches from the backyard into the back of a truck and I got a bunch of little nicks and cuts on my arms.

Later that night I dreamed I was in this warehouse type place and I fell holding an exact o-knife and it cut my wrist in 3 perfectly fitting together lines. My forearm was also scraped up for some reason but I pulled my hoodie sleeve over it and walked through the college here cradling my arm and you could see the blood soaking through the fabric but no one would help me. It was like I wasn’t there at all or they couldn’t hear me.

Next thing I know is I’m at home and I’m afraid to move the sleeve because I think the caked blood might have stuck the fabric to my arm and I don’t want to pull it apart. I keep going up to my mom and asking for help and for her to bring me to the hospital in the tiniest most quiet voice but even though I was standing right in front of her she couldn’t hear or see me. This goes on for what felt like hours until finally I was standing staring at the bloody sleeve in my head thinking I want to pull it off. There is a mental struggle on whether or not to pull it off until in a burst of anger I just yank it down as hard as I can and there is nothing there… then I wake up.

Tumblr: [link]

Description
This is a watercolour painting I did about a week ago in response to a dream I had that kind of freaked me out.

I think what made me have the dream was that day I was moving branches from the backyard into the back of a truck and I got a bunch of little nicks and cuts on my arms.

Later that night I dreamed I was in this warehouse type place and I fell holding an exact o-knife and it cut my wrist in 3 perfectly fitting together lines. My forearm was also scraped up for some reason but I pulled my hoodie sleeve over it and walked through the college here cradling my arm and you could see the blood soaking through the fabric but no one would help me. It was like I wasn’t there at all or they couldn’t hear me.

Next thing I know is I’m at home and I’m afraid to move the sleeve because I think the caked blood might have stuck the fabric to my arm and I don’t want to pull it apart. I keep going up to my mom and asking for help and for her to bring me to the hospital in the tiniest most quiet voice but even though I was standing right in front of her she couldn’t hear or see me. This goes on for what felt like hours until finally I was standing staring at the bloody sleeve in my head thinking I want to pull it off. There is a mental struggle on whether or not to pull it off until in a burst of anger I just yank it down as hard as I can and there is nothing there… then I wake up.

Tumblr: [link]