Over the course of the pandemic I’ve followed with small but not inconsequential joy, Jenny Lin’s dream comics posted on social media. Often captured in them are mundane moments of noticing that subtly twist into the absurd and the surreal, laced with the scratchy texture of ennui and anxiety, and sometimes humour. It is her ability to notice that brings me pleasure but not without a hint of jealousy. The moments she visually describes feel distinct and specific, whereas my own days passing are a wash of exhausted grey.

I’ve been collecting fragments of the daily graphic design work I do on a digital pasteboard, in an attempt to build some memory from months and months spent in front of the computer screen. I repeatedly look at the shapes, lines, gestures, and fragments of words in hopes that they might surface a narrative I can hold on to but it’s really just a mess—a whole lot of stuff floating in the ether.