Aesthetic Statement
by Lily Hoang
In Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, Peter Walsh follows a girl through London. When she disappears behind a door, he sighs, “Well, I’ve had my fun; I’ve had it, he thought, looking up at the swinging baskets of pale geraniums. And it was smashed to atoms—his fun, for it was half made up, as he knew very well; invented, this escapade with the girl; made up, as one makes up the better part of life, he thought—making onself up; making her up; creating an exquisite amusement, and something more. But odd it was, and quite true; all this one could never share—it smashed to atoms” (54).
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It’s true that I am not Peter Walsh, following a half make-believe girl through the streets of London, nor have I even been to London to pretend to follow this half make-believe girl around. But what Peter Walsh thinks here is undeniably real to any writer, artist, etc. etc. etc. We make ourselves up. Before we write. Before we think. Before all of it, we create ourselves. We make up these versions of self, and this is where it all begins: the creation of self, not an authentic or real self, but a virtual self, a safe self, a shelter.
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This shelter of a self, this safe place, this writer: I am making myself up, making her up, and I am much more amusing this way than any other way. And because I am more amusing, so much more likable this way, unlike Peter Walsh, this is the version of self I share. This is not the version that is smashed to atoms. But perhaps it is because of this version of self that I myself become smashed to atoms, unable to regenerate whole.
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[continues in TrenchArt: Maneuvers, become a member and read more]