Words and pictures of Amelie Wikstrom ©2019

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This probably would have worked better with just shapes and colors, a painting instead of a comic with ink line faces and paint on. Oh well. I'm pretty pleased with the story it tells, the body language, the composition, the blues. I had probably the most emotionally charged dream I've ever had when I was about fourteen. It was a world washed in shades of blue. A lonely, distant, quiet, calm world. There was a storm at sea in the night, but the night was just pale blue. I fell off the ship as it sank, but I fell so slowly. I fell through the blue sky and through the blue water. I fell until I forgot what was up and down and imagined I was flying. Sometimes I think I'm still there, falling. Or I wish. Somewhere in the middle of my falling, a strange girl appeared and saved me. She struggled, she fought like Hell, and she dragged my drowning butt from out of the waves onto a beach. We were shipwrecked on this small, tropical island. All alone. The jungle loomed close, and blue, promising life and adventure. I can't remember how much of the rest I dreamed and how much I filled in after waking, but I'm pretty sure about that much. The storm, falling, being saved. Debts, solitude, peace, maybe love. So simple and pure and powerful. I never did anything with it. Never tried to tell anyone how much the dream meant to me, never tried to channel any of those powerful feelings, images or themes into my work. I was embarrassed, you see, to have dreamed a dream based on this beer commercial.