I suppose it is submerged memories that give to dreams their curious air of hyper-reality. But perhaps there is something else as well something nebulous gauze-like through which everything one sees in a dream seems paradoxically much clearer. A pond becomes a lake a breeze become a storm a handful of dust is a desert a grain of sulphur in the blood is a volcanic inferno. What manner of theater is it in which we are at once playwright actor stage manager scene painter and audience