My earliest quarantine project. A self-portrait about confinement, feeling imprisoned even though surrounded by things I love, staying in one’s bubble, and the sensation of being suspended in time. In some ways spring 2022 seems like the glimmer of hope is finally getting brighter. In other ways it feels like the calm before the storm. I’m entering the season with equal parts trepidation and cautious optimism. The mask mandate was lifted here a while ago, and like everyone else I’m starved for some semblance of normalcy. I know opinions vary, and where you stand is your business [I’m not here to argue], but personally I still don’t feel safe in many indoor spaces (e.g., grocery store aisles) or crowded outdoor venues (e.g., concerts) unless I have a mask at my disposal. Even though I’m vaxed and boosted, masking for some situations is the “new normal” as far as I’m concerned. I’m glad the snow has melted so I can begin entertaining on my patio again, but chairs will remain spaced 6 feet apart while I continue to curb my touchy-feely nature. I’m longing for the day when I no longer feel like I’m endangering the vulnerable people in my life by kissing them on the cheek, or risking my own health by shaking a stranger’s hand. Given that new lockdowns and new variants are still regular news, I feel like that day is still very far away.