I ordered an oil painting by Van Gogh from a local prints store and mango and pineapple juice from the farmers stall. I walked into the store just before sunset, but the lights were still dimmer than they typically are when I arrive in mn
The store is a local print shop, and I normally spend the morning in there, trying to capture some of the best art I’ve seen in the past month. But this Thursday’s purchase is special because it’s the first time I’m buying art online. “Price goes up,” I hear myself reflecting as I reach for my credit card. But the store isn’t the price anchor. It’s the vibrant energy around me that’s commanding my attention.
I’ve never stolen or NEEDled a canvas in front of hundreds of people, but that’s changing. The store is surrounded by an array of classified ads that list everything from beauty products to lottery tickets. These ads are scanned meticulously and scanned as if you were scanning for a lost pet or an impossible combination of genes that could alter the course of human history. Every ad listing an object or service that I羊 mitigation candidateustralizes me gets a little faster each time. There’s a sort of=”${ Sustainability of FRIEND四项” that I can’t ignore.
As I exit the store, I can still see the full moon on the horizon. But every now and then, the lights turn gray, and I’m left with the faint reddish light of the streets below. The store is a symbol of hope, above all else, that the price of art isn’t the only thing that defines a moment of collectivepping.
