So, here's what happened this week (some exciting, some not-so-much.)
--I got my hair cut, not from my regular hairdresser, who is on maternity leave, but from another person at the same place. She had the most gorgeous hair I have ever seen, down to her waist, black, and in separated waves, almost like they had been twisted together, in the manner of dreadlocks. One section was bright pink. She twisted it up into a bun before she cut mine, and secured it with two sticks, something which I have NEVER been able to achieve, even when I had long hair. Also, if I could always start my day with someone massaging my skull, I would. (If I ever become a dictator, that will happen.)
--Attended T J Clark's lecture called "What Bernini Saw". Any time an art historian has their own wikipedia page, it's a sign that they're a pretty big deal. It was about this painting:
which, as I'm sure you've deduced is no Bernini: it's a Poussin (The Sacrament of Marriage, 1647-48. Thanks to the National Gallery of Scotland for image!) Poor ol' Poussin. He is one of those artists that I know I should intellectually like, but I just can't get excited about him--he's too smart, too cultured, too perfect. I don't feel anything when looking at his works (except his self-portraits. Do check those out--powerful.) Why this talk was called "What Bernini Saw" is because Bernini saw this painting in 1660 and raved about it, especially the completely veiled figure on the left, by the column--in fact, Bernini called her the female column. Clark talked about the female column for an hour, and he actually made me like Poussin a bit. You start to see sneaky, secret things when you stare at a painting for that long--the cross marked out by the tiles, leading to Mary and Joseph (hard to see in a reproduction), the adorable baby right behind Mary (impossible to see in a reproduction, he/she blends right into the yellow-ish cloak), and the tiny figures outside the window. As he's English born and Cambridge trained, Clark's accent made me feel smarter.--Pondered how academics ask questions, especially in light of the Clark talk and a recent religious studies conference I attended. I don't know what the deal is with this, but lately I have noticed that when academics (grad students or professors) ask questions, it's about 5 minutes where they talk about themselves, their knowledge, their anecdotes, and then 3 seconds when they ask an actual question. I would like to state for the record that this is SUPER annoying. If I ever turn into a person who likes to hear myself talk in public forums, I want one of you to punch me in the head. Is it to prove yourself? Because you think you're a genius? To make sure everyone knows where you stand on something? It is not all (or just) academics who do this, of course. The best ask normal questions, or don't feel the need to ask questions at all (for instance--my advisor, who watched the man next to him ask 4 questions while asking none himself, despite being the person in the room, other than Clark, who probably knew the most about Poussin.) I felt the same way in the few times I've been CCed on fac listserves--maybe I'm just too private, or not passionate enough, but it's odd.
--Talked to my cat on the phone. I was talking to my mom yesterday and the cat was standing on her lap--he does this, while he decides whether he wants to sit down or not, and sort of kneads your legs while doing it. He's weird. And weighs quite a bit, so it is also sort of painful. But she held the phone to him and we had a chat--a bit one-sided. This worked better when we had dogs, because they would occasionally bark into the phone, where he just stares at it..
--Went to see Gounod's Faust. Normally, were I sans deadlines, I would devote a whole post to this event, because it was stellar. I have been impressed all year with the sets, costumes, and vocal talent here, but this was the best set yet, I think. It was a new setting which moved Faust to the present day and after he sells his soul to Mephistopheles it goes back to his youth in what looked like the 1930s, in what reminded me of a seedy Berlin. All the performers were uniformly excellent, although I admit to having ZERO sympathy for Faust, and all the sympathy for Marguerite, whom he seduces, impregnates, and then leaves, before the devil torments her into killing her child. In the end, she rejects Faust and Mephistopheles and is carried to heaven. The odd thing about this retelling (versus the Berlioz opera, which I think is the one I've seen before) is that the last two acts are predominantly Marguerite. She is the one who must deal with Faust's terrible decision making skills, and the opera ends with her death, not with Faust's--I think in Berlioz he gets cast into hell, as I seem to remember a lot of flames. If you're interested in the music, check out this and this and this and this, although I'll also add that our sets were a lot better. Not a happy opera by any means (and I tend to like mine full of cross-dressing and shenanigans) but I was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked the music.
--Learned some fascist vocabulary. Yes, this is what my Italian unit is on right now. Lest you were curious, il nazionalismo is nationalism, sopprimere is to suppress, maschilista is sexist, and imperatore is emperor. Yuck!
--Read a 1914 novel, about a girl who is pressured into show business by her family, and who goes to NYC and has to deal with creepy society men, her overbearing parents, and fake friends, before finding love. I was reading/skimming this at the rare books library (going to a school with a rare books library is beyond fabulous) because the illustrations were done by Charles Dana Gibson, and I'll be writing a paper on him in a few weeks. At one point the protagonist slaps a drunk man-boy who has been hitting on her and trying to force her to waltz with him ("about damn time!" I wrote in my notes) and then 400 pages later, she is MARRIED to him. I'm not sure how that happened, as I was skimming, but it was angering, especially since it ends with her giving birth to their son, and him saying something about how "she was now in her natural place, motherhood." The book had a gorgeous cover, though.
--Bought Toffifay this morning. I had never even heard of these babies until a few weeks ago, when my Swiss-born and bred seminar professor brought them in. They are awesome, and just started carrying them at the grocery store I usually go to. Wegmans probably has them, too--caramels with a hazelnut in it and hazelnut spread and chocolate on top? So much awesome.
And now, off to Indianapolis!!!
No comments:
Post a Comment