With the rumble of thunder, I sensed a soft thump, then his energy. I looked up to see him standing in my living room, his blue-black wings shimmering behind him.
“Hi.” I nodded to the sketchbook I’d propped up on my knee. “I can’t think of what to draw.”
He sat down at me feet and grinned up at me. “I could model for you.”
“Do I need to remind you that I technically can’t see you?”
“You could draw a rose,” the Dreamer suggested, “they’re all angles and lines. So are other flowers, but roses especially.”
“You sound like an art teacher,” I said as I pulled up pictures of roses on my phone.
“I have done that,” he said, “taught some art classes.” He laughed at the surprised look on my face. “I’ve been painting for years,” he said with a shrug, “I may as well teach others.”
He remained sitting at my feet as I worked, talking about drawing and the technical aspects of art. He walked me through the outlining, starting from the outside and working my way into the center of the flower.
“Beautiful,” he said when I was finished.
“Keep that in your sketchbook,” he said, when I asked if he wanted the picture on his shrine, “I want you to see how you improve over time.”
(He said I should share the final picture as well as writing about it, if I’m comfortable doing so.)
It’s ballpoint pen (the outline) and colored pencils (the inside)