I started getting strange texts about six months into the pandemic. I blamed it on my medicinal online shopping. Researching and finding the perfect pair of jeans or heels that made me feel feminine and confident had become my new hobby in lieu of connecting with other people. It gave me hope to imagine wearing these things. It meant I would be seeing someone other than my cat on a Saturday night. Artwork was another. As much as I enjoyed the pieces that surrounded me, I imagined sitting on my sofa, glass of wine in hand (I was also accumulating plenty of that), discussing all of the serendipitous meaning in the evocative canvas from St. Petersburg. Hope comes in strange forms in the midst of a pandemic.
Painting by Anna Selina