Mrs. Hope

I have a Brazilian co-worker. Her name is Marcella. Marcella told me before working with us, she used to sell bikinis in the winter time. I know it was tough for her, but I found it very poetic, as a concrete form of hope.

Imagine yourself there, in the middle of the snow, with the car stuffed with Brazilian bikinis, only fed by the hope that the sun will come and the summer will be beautiful…not only that, you’re also to believe in the point to sell it to others, contaminate them… this is a raw belief, truly.

If is there something you’re really exposed in New York, it’s the self-hope and the hope of the others. There is a collective feeling to become, to make it happen. But the hope is naturally more complicated than that. Hope is between your hands and the luck. Yet it’s different from other types of belief such as the faith, for example, which you leave the resolution to “superior levels.” This combination of trial and error isn’t easy for anybody. The reason is hope makes you move—but also sometimes it punches you in a way that can immobilize too.

The other day, Teresa asked me if she could buy an adult dress for $27. I found it weird, but I agreed. Then she told me she wanted to use her savings (she earns a dollar by duty at home) to buy me a dress. I swear I couldn’t hide the little drop I’m allowing to roll again from my eyes, while I’m writing about hope to you. Her desire gave me such a huge hope, this “I’m doing something right here” feeling, a hope of maybe we can bring more love to the others, to this world and less navel-gazing.

Even me, who didn’t think about having kids at all, I look to the kids while they’re sleeping and I feel this gigantic hope, a hope that transforms into force—a physical force—into hunger to keep moving. It looks like I had a nocturne charger every day.

The Marcellas and Teresas of the world fuel me with hope when my own is already tired of grow and die inside. They are like the Diet Wiegman’s sculpture in the top, reminding us if you don’t see the image it’s probably because you’re looking from the wrong side. They remind us to continue moving until to find the right place, our place.

PS: I know Diet Wiegman’s work is genial, but I have to confess they are entertaining too. If you have time, click in the video below to experiment the “form taking the form” from the movements of the  public or the art object itself.
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Bocetos, versiones, fragmentos de realidad · Textos por: Andrés Gómez O

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