I have just read the only novel by the Catalan artist and Surrealist Salvador Dalí, "Hidden Faces" (published in Latvian, 2011). He "paints" every smallest detail in nature, in the expressions of a human face, in associations and in the waking dreams characteristic of the author, using a fine, high-quality brush (so as not to smudge).
There are dreams we simply don't remember, and we even falsely claim that we didn't dream last night. Everyone dreams, even blind people who during the day see neither concrete images nor colours. But there are dreams that surprise us, frighten us, move us, and regardless of how superstitious you are or aren't, compel you the next day to look for a dream dictionary on your shelf or most likely to search for one on google.com.
Dalí's life resembled theatre, performance, an endless citation of the flow of the subconscious. He - or rather they, Dalí and his muse Gala - needed scandal.