Portrait of Anna Akhmatova

Trying to do lots of these. All quick illustrations done mostly without looking down at paper. 

So many of A. Akhmatova’s poems were about grieving and were a true reflection of the times in Soviet Russia. Here’s one that’s short and sort of light: 

‘He loved three things, alive:’

He loved three things, alive:

white peacocks, songs at eve,

and antique maps of America.

Hated when children cried,

and raspberry jam with tea,

and feminine hysteria.

…and he had married me.