On Virginia Woolf and claw machines and wanting to yell
When I was leaving work today I passed a really chic woman clinging to what looked like two dozen tulips. As she crossed the street, the wind and rain maneuvered her umbrella to perfectly obscure her face. “That would be a nice photo,” I thought. But I did not have a camera. I am not a photographer.
I started thinking about a Virginia Woolf quote I come back to from time to time. “…the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark…” It’s from To the Lighthouse, which I’ve never read so I don’t have any context for the quote itself. I actually haven’t finished any Woolf books, though I did get pretty far in Orlando. I like the quote though. I thought of it as the tulip woman was overcome with water and wind. I wonder if reading the book would spoil the quote for me, or make it… better?
A doctor recently thought I might benefit from being on Adderall. I have yet to check-in with the pharmacy to see if they’ve filled the prescription that was sent almost two weeks ago. I guess that’s maybe some proof. I don’t know—is it weird to be distracted while the world is on fire?
Today I couldn’t stop turning the question what is in the way of you (me) making art? over and over in my head. I guess, having to work all of the time so I don’t lose my insurance and apartment? Being in… pain (in my physical body, for the world, of the world)? The guilt of not ever finishing any of Ginnie’s triumphs of literature? I opened up social media and saw a child who had starved to death in Gaza. It’s hard to think of making art after seeing that, though it does make me want to yell. And I guess making art has been a way of yelling for me before. BuT wHaT iS ArT REaLly? I don’t fucking know. But I want to yell. If it will help me yell and those yells will lead to less of that in some way, I want to do it. At the very least.
I have been trying, despite this reality we are in, to see good in the world. Cue the tulips. It has been hard. I get afraid of hope these days, afraid I might become drunk on it. Naivety feels…dangerous? I fear disappointment, but not the petty kind. I fear having hope for a better world and then watching it never happen. Cue “little daily miracles” as PRAXIS.
I don’t think it’s radical or revolutionary to attempt to remind oneself of the possibility, the reality that, every day, there are small moments of good. I think it’s important. I think it can push against desensitization and defeat and dehumanization by and of us. But it’s a process in patience that can be hard to hang onto in a world riddled with urgencies.
The other day the sun was out and it felt like spring. I knew the weather wouldn’t last, but I wouldn’t let that prevent me from enjoying it now. We call that progress. After seeing Problematista (which is very good and made me cry and gave me a bit of hope), my boyfriend and I went for dim sum. We stumbled around Chinatown and made our way into a hidden arcade that only had claw machines. A tourist trap? Maybe. A functioning trap? Yes, yes, it was. I was reminded of the beauty of claw machines. Hope in spite of what feels impossible. Patience. Strategy. A scheme-y scam? Maybe! Did my boyfriend win something? Yes. Did I? Very nearly! Virginia Woolf was gleaming. “Daily miracles, gayguys,” she whispered to us as we booped away into the sunset with a knockoff Sanrio puppy. She would’ve loved claw machines, I think.
Even within my daily moments of clawe (is this something?), I feel a lot of pressure lately. Maybe it’s this world of urgency, full of emergencies and atrocities that can’t seem to be attended to properly and promptly enough. If they could be, why is no one doing anything more about them? Am I? I am tired and my body hurts. And I want to yell.
I don’t know if the desire to yell is something that can make sense within the context of a 500 word proposal. Does Slideroom accept yelled applications? What's the deadline? I am trying to be mindful of thinking I need permission not to accept what could be reimagined. I am trying to turn gracefully towards the little miracles and moments—the cool tulips, people IRL, and almost snagging the little lion guy from Cardcaptor Sakura (I have only seen the first episode, but I have seen the first episode twice) out of a claw machine.
I hope this finds you well and like truly well, even for a moment.
xoxoxoxoxox