a river trolley

Last night I dreamed that I was painting this painting again, but paining it was not enough, because there had to be an idea. The idea of the painting in my dream was rusty and urine-like. The lines were made with amber-clear urine, and the subjects were painted with the dry rusty paint. It was so meaningful and beautiful that I woke up happy. Today I am just too tired. I am curios though. I want to paint this old photograph again.
What does it mean, rust and urine? All solid bodies were rusty and the boundaries between them leaky like urine... and the water in the Moskvareka was cloudy like unhealthy urine, and flew by like life- right?- and we, the subjects of this painting, thinking ourselves solid, in fact were formed of fragments of powdery rust ready to fall apart, and the only thing that held us together was our own bodily liquid that also united us. 
This painting belongs to The Old Photos series. My brother is looking ahead and I am sitting on my father's lap. Much later, in the "real life" my brother would be carried away from us with the cloudy waters of life. Three years ago he had died and was berried on the high bank of Moskvaraeka in some overpopulated fast growing cemetery.
In the sixties, when we were kids in Moscow, the ferries on Moskvareka were called "river trolleys."