In the summer of 2010 I dreamed of an artist named Inez Imake. Actually, I dreamed her paintings—wondrous, vivid abstractions cut through with gold, and I dreamed her signature written in a voluptuous hand at the bottom of each canvas. Remember her name, the dream urged. To remember was the most important thing. Awake in the full light of day, I typed Inez Imake into a search engine hoping to find a website where I could see her paintings again, download them, and keep them. Then I understood. She didn’t exist in conventional reality. Her name was a riddle containing the gift of freedom. My work changed. I began to make abstract constructions that were uncharacteristically playful and deeply satisfying. Inez stayed with me. A year later I decided to paint her portrait. As I worked I asked her, who are you? She answered by revealing my forgotten face.