Both warning and shelter at once, this fortress is one of several way stations for island hoppers navigating the icy southern archipelagos of 1c. The surrounding region is often covered in a dense fog and low-lying clouds thanks to lava-driven upwellings, and the occasional eruption can cause severe, localized storms, making the region one of the most perilous to traverse. Like most structures on 1c, it has a deep underground network for harnessing geothermal energy and a small cache of resources in the event that a visitor requires shelter from a storm.
Life is a never ending cycle of soiled clothing. Rinse and repeat, dry on medium. I’ve felt this feeling times one hundred these last couple of days and the dirty clothes pile only gets higher and higher.
My visit to the laundromat this past weekend (huzzah to the broken washer) reminded me of the simple pleasures of waiting around. As soon as my roommate and I stepped into the jewel blue toned room lined with walls of washing machines I felt an air of productive stagnancy. There were people mingling about, caring for their jeans or tossing their clothes into the next cycle, and also people perched in various chairs of various types silent but patient. Crosswords and movies and games and naps were all around us as the sounds of tumble cycles created an atmospheric ambience. As soon as I deposited my handful of quarters and heard the water rush into the machine, I felt the room bring me to a lull. Although I had yet a hundred more things to do that day, there was a peace brought over me that I couldn’t quite shake. The very act of doing chores is a necessary nuisance, as we all know, and there’s something about the shared time taken with everyone at the laundromat that makes doing laundry feel a little less lonesome. People coming in with their hampers and baskets all come for different reasons, carrying different things. And yet we all spend the same time waiting around for the machine to release our socks and sheets until we come back to do it all again. There’s a comfort in sharing uneventful time with strangers that feels right in the laundromat.
To take into our next week:
Ins: Pomegranate tea, trout, violins, of Montreal (always), semisweet chocolate chips, goofy looking shoes, texting people about little things, chicken salad with grapes, wrist stretches.
Outs: Forgotten leftovers, not taking responsibility for your actions, forehead pimples, rooms that smell like feet, not turning off the lights behind you, frost in the morning, soggy noodles.
To everyone out there hoarding your quarters for the laundry fund: I understand. I hope for even more quarters to come your way, and for everyone else who is lucky enough to have an accessible (and functional) washing machine I hope you’re able to relish every quarter you receive. If you’re able to, take the time to sit around while you do your laundry. Find a friend. Share a story. Do a crossword. Count every quarter you have and do some math. There’s joy in mundanity and the laundromat is the perfect place for it.
I’ve reached a newfound love for sunrises. I’m now starting my days in the darkness of 7am, and in these too early mornings I find myself witness to the magic of the sun warming the world as it rises the horizons. Yes, I love sunsets as much as the next person, but there’s something about the sun rising and waking tired eyes that feels like a hug after a night spent too alone.
As a professional workaholic, I spend my sunrises and sunsets in the Stamps print studio most days. My lifelong growing love for printmaking has only grown tenfold this past year during my printmaking classes, and in its wake my love for the print studio has blossomed as well. Although I come home bruised, stained with ink, and the sorest I’ve ever been every time after working in the print studio, I’ve never been happier. The print studio has become some what of long lost home in my time here in Ann Arbor. It’s where you go to find someone willing to laugh with you and gossip after a long day working. You’re able to find secrets tucked away in the donated artwork pinned across the walls, lasting memories of those who came before. There’s a peace that exists in the studio when no one is there, and you can feel it right before you walk it. The air is stagnant with the smell of ink and linseed oil, and the metal of the presses sit still and cold until you will them awake for the next step of work. The dust of litho stones are settled into corners never touched by brooms and the crinkle of newsprint stay silent until a breeze shakes them to life. There’s a certain special kind of life breathed into the studio when you step in and see an assortment of people you never would’ve met if it wasn’t for this shared love and you start to create alongside them. There’s a special connection made through printmaking and I find it to be most tangible in the life of the studio. From late nights to early mornings, from spilt ink to perfectly polished plates, the print studio exists as a world entirely its own and it’s something that can never be replaced.
To take into our next week:
Ins: Pomegranate tea, hosting movie nights, reading before bed, sunrises, the color mauve, hummus, thermoses full of coffee.
I always believe time is well spent no matter what you’re doing as long as you’re in a space you love. I hope everyone is able to enjoy the places that bring peace, happiness, or even just respite from the chaotic world in the coming days.
