The rain’s like a drumbeat, so I imagine a tiny old lighthouse keeper who only comes out when the storm hits, but he’s lost his telescope. He’s got this dusty journal of forgotten lighthouse names, and each drop drops a word into a hidden page that only reads when it’s wet. I’d paint a story where a group of kids—maybe some eccentric artists—discover the journal, and they have to piece together a map of the sea’s lost myths, all while the storm builds. I’m excited, but the idea’s so messy I keep worrying it won’t stick together—still, it feels like the perfect messy dream we can all help clean up.