Where would we be without sleeping ladies?
The art that keeps us going in dark days.
“I like the way she’s comfy half-dressed, in a skirt pulled to her waist, her breasts spilling, luxurious. I like how she has snoozed through so much tumult, so much change, so much horror and jubilance. I hope she has a gentle, rattling snore.”
Hello!
Thank you, as always, for opening this Monday’s Myriatid. This week is a bit different. During the tumult of the US election, I shared my favourite piece of art on social media. Some fellow creators also shared theirs in the comments and they were wonderful and full of hope. I want to share them here with you…
“Where would we be without them?”
I’m danger-quoting.
The above is plucked completely from memory. How complacent of me! Still, it shows how this line from the final pages of The Handmaid’s Tale stuck with me. The question is asked by Offred about flowers: in the face of her horror and torment, she takes a moment to reflect upon life’s beauty. She seizes the little light left in the shadows.
Shadows have descended upon us in the past week, haven’t they? I’m not going to get into politics because a) I’m no expert and b) I don’t have the stomach for it, but there is a tangible sense of anxiety in every corner of my life, one I’ve never quite felt anything like before.
Friends on social media have described trying to comfort their children in the face of the US election; BookTok (usually a space for LOLS and light literary discourse) is rightly flooded with videos about why reading is de facto a political act.
I travelled by plane from rural Quebec to the UK and felt a sense of both wanting and not wanting to talk to everyone and no-one. Was the person in the seat next to me an ally? Would they celebrate or hate my opinions? Was I seeking comradeship, an opportunity to vent, an argument?
Instead, I sat in silence for the 18hr journey. Author Elif Shafak wrote a wonderful note on why this was the wrong thing to do: conversations – in whatever medium – are everything and we need them more than ever now. I agree with her.
However, in the immediate aftermath of the US election, I opted for silence and reflection. It was time to gather myself. And remind myself of my “where would I be…” thing.
It’s not flowers, but a small statue named The Sleeping Lady.
She slumbers alone, lit dimly, in a small and unassuming room in Valletta’s National Museum of Archaeology. She is ancient. Very. She was conceived with rudimentary tools, smoothed by calloused fingers, brought to shape with love and patience at around 3600BC. Since then, she slept undisturbed (with the dead as companions) in the Hypogeum of Ħal Saflieni, until she was excavated in the early 20th century.
She brings me such immense joy and peace. Sleeping has always been a stress coping mechanism for me, so we have a lot in common. I like the way she’s comfy half-dressed, in a skirt pulled to her waist, her breasts spilling, luxurious. I like how she has snoozed through so much tumult, so much change, so much horror and jubilance. I hope she has a gentle, rattling snore.
In the midst of pre-election stress, I asked fellow writers, artists and creators what their equivalent artistic comforts were, what pervaded their minds.
I’d like to share them here, because, where would we be without them?
The Great Wave Off Kanagawa by Katsushika Hokusai (thank you to @greeneagle/Dshimizu)
“I have a poster of it right above my desk, and I think about it most days
I see the giant waves, and feel so small, at the mercy of forces I cannot control, only navigate and survive
I see the boats and rowers, and think of the family and friends with whom I navigate life. I remember that we're all in this world together, and that we each need to row together with whatever strength we can muster
Finally, I see Mount Fuji, still and serene, and think of the land that the rowers are trying to reach, if they can just get survive the waves of the moment
I especially think about it today. If we can just get through this torrential year, maybe we can reach the serenity of 2025, at least until we must set sail again and face a possibly stormy sea”
The Moorish Chief by Eduard Charlmont (thank you to
)
Titians’s Assumption of the Virgin in the Basilica dei Frari, Venice (thank you to
)“Mesmerising”
And thank you to
:“For me it’s not visual art pervading my thoughts these days. It’s Richard Strauss’ Vier Letzte Lieder (Four Last Songs), especially #3 Beim schlafengehen (While Falling Asleep), poem by Herman Hesse. The incredible, seamless interplay of human voice and orchestral textures and poem is perhaps the most sublime in vocal literature. I could write tomes about Strauss’ songs, but I’ll stop with: I’m happy this is my current ear worm.”
Thank you so much for reading Myriatid this week, especially if you are one of the wonderful people who shared these pieces in the comments section of my note!
Until next Monday…
What a lovely piece! How wonderfully rich it is to be human and be able to create such moving art and then for another human to be able to find solace in it, even eons later. And what a delightful surprise to see my comment about Strauss included! Thank you.
We would be nowhere without the sleeping ladies. Thank you for the supreme gift of your voice in the uncertain present.