Why hello there, blog, it's been a long winter, and fall and summer. I a had lost interest in you since London, and that interest has not really returned, but I want to say hi to an old cyberstomping ground as I'm about to leave a reallifestompingground.
Things that have happened:
-I came back from the foggy pond-side
-I wore work clothes over the summer
-I got in touch with my circadian rhythms better this year (a resolution fulfilled)
-I waited for her to get her life back together
-I began thinking my schoolwork was realllllly important to my, er, discipline...
-I went on A RUN
-I learned to cook a bit!
-photo with t.roma
-drove an '87 Volvo in a parking lot in South Orange, did not crash it
It seems that I haven't done anything significant, but I have! I will try and figure out how to explain. .
Saturday, 12 March 2011
Sunday, 21 March 2010
Spring and all!
I'm already getting ahead of myself because I have sooooo much storytelling and event relaying to do, but you should know--all you out there, untold millions I'm sure--that it is Spring in London.
For the first time since September or October, I wore shoes with no socks today. Not because I ran out of clean socks, but because it was a whopping fifty six degrees and sunny outside today. To those of you in ny who have been enjoying unseasonably warm weather for a fortnight already, and think 56 degrees is nothing to write home about, let me just say yes it is. "But I've been wearing my mid-season coat all week!" you might gloat, PSHAW I tell you! Spring is all the more brilliant next to the festering malaise that only a moist, sullen, cold-shouldered British winter brings.
But I'm still ahead of myself. I will try now to be afoot of myself and tell you about the things that have happened.
SO, on February 21st, I attended a "Seven Sisters High Tea" (yehuh). Ok At first when I was invited I was super excited. Who wouldn't be? Free cakes and tea?? Free chance to dress up and pretend you're a grownup who goes to high tea??? Yes please. My friend from Oxford was also invited because she goes to Haaavaad. (Not familiar with the Seven Sisters colleges? Let me save you a trip to wikipedia: The Seven Sisters are seven prestigious liberal arts colleges in the Northeastern United States that are historically women's colleges. They are Barnard College, Bryn Mawr College, Mount Holyoke College, Radcliffe College, Smith College, Vassar College, and Wellesley College. All were founded between 1837 and 1889. Four are in Massachusetts, two are in New York, and one is in Pennsylvania. Radcliffe (which merged with Harvard College) and Vassar (which is now coeducational) are no longer women's colleges.) If the mention of "prestigious liberal arts colleges" and the thought of historic, New England, argyle-filled campuses hasn't already gotten you cringing a little, it should have. As soon as my friend who I will refer to as C (not to be confused with the uber-organized, safari-going, bicycle-riding boyfriend of best friend N who is also fondly often referred to as C) arrived at the department store where the high tea was being held (http://www.liberty.co.uk/fcp/content/BarsAndRestaurants/content), we looked around for the café. Moving through the lobby looking for a staircase leading cakeward, we saw two other girls and instantly knew they were headed to the same place. Eager as beavers and in such coyly put-together ensembles that their pearl earrings seemed to be blushing, these were definitely Seven Sisters women. They saw us too and before I could pretend to be looking at next spring's tablecloth collection, I was shaking the hands of two fellow Bnardians who were "sooo excited" to meet me! We ran though the How long have you been here? What college are you at? What are you studying? Where are you living? questions and then C suggested we go look for the tea. When we arrived, we were the first ones there and our new acquaintances took a seat at one end of the long, elegantly-set table and C and I raced to the opposite end, waving jovially at the other girls when we sat down, nobody between us. Thankfully, thirty or so more girls and one boy began to fill the seats between us. To my relief, the girl across from me (from Bryn Mawr, the first person I had ever met from there) seemed just as uncomfortable in her sweater set as I felt and we got along famously. The girls sitting to my right, however, were blackberry-wielding cheek-kissing Bnardians who would have been a bore to talk with if they hadn't decided within the first few minutes of talking that they had nothing else to say to me (phew!). I'm making them all sound horrible, but it was really an overall nice mix of ladies (and gentleman). I really do love Bnard, but it's functions like this where I'm supposed to "network"--a word that scares me right out of my flats and pastel cardigan--that make me a little weary of the Bnard community. I know it's filled with go-getters, and I am even friends with some of them (here is one that I love: http://www.worldtravelintern.com/member/reni-calister/ VOTE!), but they still scare me. So there. Hurumph. All in all, I left High Tea with a greater appreciation for the friends I have been lucky enough to somehow lasso into my life, and with an unbuttoned skirt around a belly filled with finger sandwiches.
Speaking of wonderful, accomplished people I have finagled into my life, A (who I'm going to start calling M instead because A is a grammar hazard, the worst kind of hazard) visited me the week after the tea. I was so nervous/excited about her coming I organized things in my room I didn't know could be organized. She came for only a few days, but it was such a great visit it felt like a week. She met Dory, Steph and Hannah, all of whom fell in love with her immediately, and saw my studio. She arrived Thursday and on Saturday we went up to Cambridge to visit her friend Abigail who is working on her masters in Renaissance lit there. On the train to Cambridge, however, we made a friend. Her name was Laura and she was 3 years old. She and her "mummy" sat behind us and she would poke her face through our seats to say hi. Her goal, she made clear, was to see horses out the train window. There is nothing cuter than a small child with an English accent. For some reason, it feel like they should have an American accent until they're old enough to take on British one. "Laura just went on a boat to France, didn't you Laura?" her mummy told us, "and what did we see out the window Laura? Go on tell the girls" to which our small friend replied "Horses!" Obviously she had only one animal on her mind that day. We waved goodbye to her as she drove away in a cab once we arrived. *sniffle*
When we met up with Abigail, she took us around the sprawling grounds speckled with century-old castlethingys and to a pub to watch an England v. Ireland rugby match which was full of yelling, celebratory chants, BEER, and authentic English sportsmanship (which mostly involves, well..yelling, testosterone, and beer.) The pub itself had two stories and we were watching the match upstairs. It started pouring while we were inside and we watched the room humidify, the windows fog up, and it made stone-walled room feel like the epicenter of tradition. Albeit sport and machismo-filled, the match will be one of the warmest English memories I will take with me because for one of the first times I felt like I understood the culture better than I did earlier that morning. (It just started raining outside, ah England) The culture all suddenly seemed to make sense: watch sport, get drunk, make food that you want when drunk (fish & chips, fried things), gather in places where these events happen, make sport watching food eating and beer drinking possible in that one place, don't change that place for hundreds of years.
Ok that is a SHAMEFULLy oversimplified synopsis of English culture, but it's not wholly unfounded on true findings. Back to the day-trip, though: Cambridge was beautiful, I thought even more so than Oxford. Wish I had taken pictures. It was really nice to meet M's friend, whom she had built up a lot, and who lived up to all previous praise. We three fawned over our favorite teacher at Bnard who taught the modernist lit class I was in last semester with M. We had to sprint to catch our train back to the city (it's still weird to have "the city" not mean THE city) and when we got back to my place, Dory and Hannah were waiting for us in my dorm's courtyard with CHOCOLATE CAKES. yes!!! SO good. Our friend Marjorie, who's studying at the Cordon Bleu, made them and gave them to us. As you can see, my friend making in London is mostly based on how many free baked goods I will get during my friendship with said person. I think it's a good criteria.
Anyway, M was supposed to leave on Monday, but we missed the check-in to her flight by 15 mins, AgH! I was not-so-secretly glad she got to spend another day, but it's always hard to have plans go awry. So she stayed another night and left the next day after I made her get on the Heathrow Express (an extra-speedy train that goes from Paddington direct to Heathrow) at 7:25, her flight check in at 8:05. Geez, I just couldn't seem to get it together to put her on her way back to ny. I definitely didn't want her to go, and my subconscious made me drag my feet getting us out of the house both times. Many tears on Paddington platform 7 said goodbye, and I got on the 205 bus going back towards school, but when euston station stop came I just didn't feel like getting off the bus. It was only 8 and the studios opened at 9. Instead, I took it to the other end of town to an art supplies store there to get clear gesso and a few other things. When I got off the bus to walk to the store, called Atlantis, I couldn't remember which cross street it was off of, so I asked the person with the hippest glasses which direction to go and he walked me all the way there (random acts of kindness are amplified when you're groggy and puffy-eyed). As we walked through the mostly Indian neighborhood, I realized I hadn't been awake and out&about this early since I had gotten to London (I know I know). It was so sunny and clear, and there were little kids going to school with their mothers in low-swinging dresses and scarves. I felt like it was the first morning I had been in London. I hadn't realized how much I missed being on a schedule with schoolchildren/working people. Being a late-waking college student really takes its toll (this reminds me of one of my favorite poems, which is absolutely not about college students getting up late: http://gawow.com/roethke/poems/104.html). Anyway, all that flight missing and person missing yielded that brilliant morning (brilliant in the French and American sense). We did much more than I'm writing about, but she will have to be Keeper of the details for now.
Next guest up...... drum roll pleaaaseeee... Natalia! She popped over the English Channel or La Manche (the "sleeve") to visit me the next weekend. As I waited for her at St. Pancras, I was besieged by a storm of reuniting couples passionately kissing one another, each more attractive than the last. The gate was clogging up with smooching couples! Where was Natalia! I hopped around through the lovers trying to get a better glimpse of the gate. I recognized a bobbed head shuffling towards me and ran for it. More tears! I had missed her way more than I thought I did. Oh lawd, so emotional! And the chitchatting commenced. Natalia and I met when we were both in a Twos class when her family lived in ny, where she and her younger brother were born. Has legend has it, we were the only ones who could talk in the class, so we became friends. Apparently (says my mom), we would gesticulate madly to one another to elaborate our stories when pushed side-by-side in strollers. We gesticulate less now, but I like to think we have more pithy conversations (I could be wrong..). We got Indian food with our dear friend Juan, also abroad in London from Columbia, which was delish. I was promised amazing Indian food when I came here, and I haven't been disappointed. Not that I have a discerning palate when it comes to generally yummy food, but I think it's especially good. When we got back to my place we somehow talked for two hours before going to bed. The next night we met up with Cat (Cat!) and Gracie (Glaces!) and Sophie, Hannah, Dory and went to this really American bar (that had dancing, so was ok). My flatmate Joe and his friend came along and I think they thought we were all crazy american chicas. Oh Vell! We schwastily looped back to my place and the next day went to the farmers market. (I think I will have to do a whole separate post on the farmers market because it has become a sort of Sunday routine starting the weekend of the tea) We met up with C and his sis, who had both just returned from a safari in Africa--deadserious--and had a lovely dinner with them and his sister's work friends. Natalia left the next day but I wasn't mopey because I was going to see her in a week anyway when I visited with J.
So at the beginning of that week I found out that I was in the student critique that would take place the next Tuesday along with three other kids. Each week, on Tuesday mornings at 10:30, there is a crit of 4-5 students' work where they put up their work, other students and tutors show up, and we all talk about their work for a good twenty minutes. Often times they are harsh, sometimes they're boring, sometimes we get in heated debates, other times everyone's sleepy and uninterested. Either way, it's a bit nerve-wracking to think of being the person getting crat on, and not the ones doing the critiquing. I had a really emotional beginning of that week, crying a lot for what seemed like no reason, working a lot but feeling like nothing was getting finished, and generally just feeling blue. But I discovered something that week which also brought much joy to my heart. I didn't really discover this, as it was happening long before I went, but at a nearby campus, a Hari Krishna gives out free lunch everyday! Steph and Dory and Hannah had been going for weeks, I was just slow on the uptake. He cooks this huge vat of vegetable stew-like thing and plops some of it on top on a helping of rice. He manages to feed (a guesstimated) hundred hungry "Uni" students a day. He's really amazing. Sometimes he has a friend with him, but I don't know how they do it.
That week I saw the Gorky show at Tate Modern--will write about later--and met up with Julianna who was visiting from Rome for a few days. yay! We ate fatty food in a pub t'was like old times.
Then the next weekend J came to visit and I guiltily made him sit in my studio with me as I nervously tried to get things together goddamnit for the crit. That Friday we went out with my flatmate Amelia and some of her friends which was a really good time. We went to the Williamsburg equivalent (hasids (sp?) and all) to this warehouse gig and felt cool and we got hounded by this British guy named Aug (short for Augustine) about every American stereotype there could possibly be. In his defense, the only experience he had had of America was through a segway tour through suburban Chicago, so we couldn't really blame him. We just kept reminding him that America was really really big, and had different parts to it, like a cow.
The crit Tuesday went really well! Lots of healthy criticism and lots of good discussion. A lot of people were fired up by the use of the British finacial Times in some of the drawings I put up, and they made me realize that I wanted to try and harness that loadedness instead of shy away from it. It wasn't a very form-based discussion, but it made me see what other people saw when they looked at my work, which was really helpful. It was also helpful to find out the criticism doesn't hurt if you stand behind your work (not physically use it as a shield, you know what i mean). The day after, we eurostared it to Paris! soooooooo loveellyy. Just stepping off the train made me remember how much I loved it there. oy! There is nothing ugly to look at in that city! We stayed at J's cousin's apartment who is a chef and works in...the Eiffel Tower. yeha. In the restaurant in the Eiffel Tower. Unfortunately, he was working very hard at being a chef and we only got to hang with him a bit.
(I'm sorry I'm rushing through this part, I will elaborate more in week or so, but I have to leave on a plane tomorrow with C (from Oxford) to go to Italy!)
We saw Natalia, Embo (yes!), and Glaces for dinner one night which was yum, had an AMAzing French meal the next night at a place suggested by Natalia, went to the Louve Pompidou Musee D'Orsay, went to an art history class with Nata (I did, J wandered wistfully around the park), walked a lot, ate 6 pain au chocolats, took the metro, gazed at everything, felt so lucky to be in such a beautiful place.
The smell of the metro was so familiar, and it reminded me of being fifteen in Paris with Natalia. The smell of J's cousin's staircase, of moist old wood, took me back to New Orleans summer smell. Of Alex's house there.
All tuckered out, we came back on Saturday and J left Sunday. (I promise to write more ! of how good it felt to be in paris again, how gracie has Spiderman in her house, how I wore stupid shoes to be hip. worth it. coming back so tired on eurostar, how the French and English landscapes are so different and so different from america)
Below are some pics of my work. Mhrrr. Tomorrow veni vedi vici and Italian FOOD! First time going to Italy. Stops along the way are: Florence, Assisi, Siena, Cortona, Rome, the Amalfi Coast, and Sicily. Phew!
For the first time since September or October, I wore shoes with no socks today. Not because I ran out of clean socks, but because it was a whopping fifty six degrees and sunny outside today. To those of you in ny who have been enjoying unseasonably warm weather for a fortnight already, and think 56 degrees is nothing to write home about, let me just say yes it is. "But I've been wearing my mid-season coat all week!" you might gloat, PSHAW I tell you! Spring is all the more brilliant next to the festering malaise that only a moist, sullen, cold-shouldered British winter brings.
But I'm still ahead of myself. I will try now to be afoot of myself and tell you about the things that have happened.
SO, on February 21st, I attended a "Seven Sisters High Tea" (yehuh). Ok At first when I was invited I was super excited. Who wouldn't be? Free cakes and tea?? Free chance to dress up and pretend you're a grownup who goes to high tea??? Yes please. My friend from Oxford was also invited because she goes to Haaavaad. (Not familiar with the Seven Sisters colleges? Let me save you a trip to wikipedia: The Seven Sisters are seven prestigious liberal arts colleges in the Northeastern United States that are historically women's colleges. They are Barnard College, Bryn Mawr College, Mount Holyoke College, Radcliffe College, Smith College, Vassar College, and Wellesley College. All were founded between 1837 and 1889. Four are in Massachusetts, two are in New York, and one is in Pennsylvania. Radcliffe (which merged with Harvard College) and Vassar (which is now coeducational) are no longer women's colleges.) If the mention of "prestigious liberal arts colleges" and the thought of historic, New England, argyle-filled campuses hasn't already gotten you cringing a little, it should have. As soon as my friend who I will refer to as C (not to be confused with the uber-organized, safari-going, bicycle-riding boyfriend of best friend N who is also fondly often referred to as C) arrived at the department store where the high tea was being held (http://www.liberty.co.uk/fcp/content/BarsAndRestaurants/content), we looked around for the café. Moving through the lobby looking for a staircase leading cakeward, we saw two other girls and instantly knew they were headed to the same place. Eager as beavers and in such coyly put-together ensembles that their pearl earrings seemed to be blushing, these were definitely Seven Sisters women. They saw us too and before I could pretend to be looking at next spring's tablecloth collection, I was shaking the hands of two fellow Bnardians who were "sooo excited" to meet me! We ran though the How long have you been here? What college are you at? What are you studying? Where are you living? questions and then C suggested we go look for the tea. When we arrived, we were the first ones there and our new acquaintances took a seat at one end of the long, elegantly-set table and C and I raced to the opposite end, waving jovially at the other girls when we sat down, nobody between us. Thankfully, thirty or so more girls and one boy began to fill the seats between us. To my relief, the girl across from me (from Bryn Mawr, the first person I had ever met from there) seemed just as uncomfortable in her sweater set as I felt and we got along famously. The girls sitting to my right, however, were blackberry-wielding cheek-kissing Bnardians who would have been a bore to talk with if they hadn't decided within the first few minutes of talking that they had nothing else to say to me (phew!). I'm making them all sound horrible, but it was really an overall nice mix of ladies (and gentleman). I really do love Bnard, but it's functions like this where I'm supposed to "network"--a word that scares me right out of my flats and pastel cardigan--that make me a little weary of the Bnard community. I know it's filled with go-getters, and I am even friends with some of them (here is one that I love: http://www.worldtravelintern.com/member/
Speaking of wonderful, accomplished people I have finagled into my life, A (who I'm going to start calling M instead because A is a grammar hazard, the worst kind of hazard) visited me the week after the tea. I was so nervous/excited about her coming I organized things in my room I didn't know could be organized. She came for only a few days, but it was such a great visit it felt like a week. She met Dory, Steph and Hannah, all of whom fell in love with her immediately, and saw my studio. She arrived Thursday and on Saturday we went up to Cambridge to visit her friend Abigail who is working on her masters in Renaissance lit there. On the train to Cambridge, however, we made a friend. Her name was Laura and she was 3 years old. She and her "mummy" sat behind us and she would poke her face through our seats to say hi. Her goal, she made clear, was to see horses out the train window. There is nothing cuter than a small child with an English accent. For some reason, it feel like they should have an American accent until they're old enough to take on British one. "Laura just went on a boat to France, didn't you Laura?" her mummy told us, "and what did we see out the window Laura? Go on tell the girls" to which our small friend replied "Horses!" Obviously she had only one animal on her mind that day. We waved goodbye to her as she drove away in a cab once we arrived. *sniffle*
When we met up with Abigail, she took us around the sprawling grounds speckled with century-old castlethingys and to a pub to watch an England v. Ireland rugby match which was full of yelling, celebratory chants, BEER, and authentic English sportsmanship (which mostly involves, well..yelling, testosterone, and beer.) The pub itself had two stories and we were watching the match upstairs. It started pouring while we were inside and we watched the room humidify, the windows fog up, and it made stone-walled room feel like the epicenter of tradition. Albeit sport and machismo-filled, the match will be one of the warmest English memories I will take with me because for one of the first times I felt like I understood the culture better than I did earlier that morning. (It just started raining outside, ah England) The culture all suddenly seemed to make sense: watch sport, get drunk, make food that you want when drunk (fish & chips, fried things), gather in places where these events happen, make sport watching food eating and beer drinking possible in that one place, don't change that place for hundreds of years.
Ok that is a SHAMEFULLy oversimplified synopsis of English culture, but it's not wholly unfounded on true findings. Back to the day-trip, though: Cambridge was beautiful, I thought even more so than Oxford. Wish I had taken pictures. It was really nice to meet M's friend, whom she had built up a lot, and who lived up to all previous praise. We three fawned over our favorite teacher at Bnard who taught the modernist lit class I was in last semester with M. We had to sprint to catch our train back to the city (it's still weird to have "the city" not mean THE city) and when we got back to my place, Dory and Hannah were waiting for us in my dorm's courtyard with CHOCOLATE CAKES. yes!!! SO good. Our friend Marjorie, who's studying at the Cordon Bleu, made them and gave them to us. As you can see, my friend making in London is mostly based on how many free baked goods I will get during my friendship with said person. I think it's a good criteria.
Anyway, M was supposed to leave on Monday, but we missed the check-in to her flight by 15 mins, AgH! I was not-so-secretly glad she got to spend another day, but it's always hard to have plans go awry. So she stayed another night and left the next day after I made her get on the Heathrow Express (an extra-speedy train that goes from Paddington direct to Heathrow) at 7:25, her flight check in at 8:05. Geez, I just couldn't seem to get it together to put her on her way back to ny. I definitely didn't want her to go, and my subconscious made me drag my feet getting us out of the house both times. Many tears on Paddington platform 7 said goodbye, and I got on the 205 bus going back towards school, but when euston station stop came I just didn't feel like getting off the bus. It was only 8 and the studios opened at 9. Instead, I took it to the other end of town to an art supplies store there to get clear gesso and a few other things. When I got off the bus to walk to the store, called Atlantis, I couldn't remember which cross street it was off of, so I asked the person with the hippest glasses which direction to go and he walked me all the way there (random acts of kindness are amplified when you're groggy and puffy-eyed). As we walked through the mostly Indian neighborhood, I realized I hadn't been awake and out&about this early since I had gotten to London (I know I know). It was so sunny and clear, and there were little kids going to school with their mothers in low-swinging dresses and scarves. I felt like it was the first morning I had been in London. I hadn't realized how much I missed being on a schedule with schoolchildren/working people. Being a late-waking college student really takes its toll (this reminds me of one of my favorite poems, which is absolutely not about college students getting up late: http://gawow.com/roethke/poems/104.html). Anyway, all that flight missing and person missing yielded that brilliant morning (brilliant in the French and American sense). We did much more than I'm writing about, but she will have to be Keeper of the details for now.
Next guest up...... drum roll pleaaaseeee... Natalia! She popped over the English Channel or La Manche (the "sleeve") to visit me the next weekend. As I waited for her at St. Pancras, I was besieged by a storm of reuniting couples passionately kissing one another, each more attractive than the last. The gate was clogging up with smooching couples! Where was Natalia! I hopped around through the lovers trying to get a better glimpse of the gate. I recognized a bobbed head shuffling towards me and ran for it. More tears! I had missed her way more than I thought I did. Oh lawd, so emotional! And the chitchatting commenced. Natalia and I met when we were both in a Twos class when her family lived in ny, where she and her younger brother were born. Has legend has it, we were the only ones who could talk in the class, so we became friends. Apparently (says my mom), we would gesticulate madly to one another to elaborate our stories when pushed side-by-side in strollers. We gesticulate less now, but I like to think we have more pithy conversations (I could be wrong..). We got Indian food with our dear friend Juan, also abroad in London from Columbia, which was delish. I was promised amazing Indian food when I came here, and I haven't been disappointed. Not that I have a discerning palate when it comes to generally yummy food, but I think it's especially good. When we got back to my place we somehow talked for two hours before going to bed. The next night we met up with Cat (Cat!) and Gracie (Glaces!) and Sophie, Hannah, Dory and went to this really American bar (that had dancing, so was ok). My flatmate Joe and his friend came along and I think they thought we were all crazy american chicas. Oh Vell! We schwastily looped back to my place and the next day went to the farmers market. (I think I will have to do a whole separate post on the farmers market because it has become a sort of Sunday routine starting the weekend of the tea) We met up with C and his sis, who had both just returned from a safari in Africa--deadserious--and had a lovely dinner with them and his sister's work friends. Natalia left the next day but I wasn't mopey because I was going to see her in a week anyway when I visited with J.
So at the beginning of that week I found out that I was in the student critique that would take place the next Tuesday along with three other kids. Each week, on Tuesday mornings at 10:30, there is a crit of 4-5 students' work where they put up their work, other students and tutors show up, and we all talk about their work for a good twenty minutes. Often times they are harsh, sometimes they're boring, sometimes we get in heated debates, other times everyone's sleepy and uninterested. Either way, it's a bit nerve-wracking to think of being the person getting crat on, and not the ones doing the critiquing. I had a really emotional beginning of that week, crying a lot for what seemed like no reason, working a lot but feeling like nothing was getting finished, and generally just feeling blue. But I discovered something that week which also brought much joy to my heart. I didn't really discover this, as it was happening long before I went, but at a nearby campus, a Hari Krishna gives out free lunch everyday! Steph and Dory and Hannah had been going for weeks, I was just slow on the uptake. He cooks this huge vat of vegetable stew-like thing and plops some of it on top on a helping of rice. He manages to feed (a guesstimated) hundred hungry "Uni" students a day. He's really amazing. Sometimes he has a friend with him, but I don't know how they do it.
That week I saw the Gorky show at Tate Modern--will write about later--and met up with Julianna who was visiting from Rome for a few days. yay! We ate fatty food in a pub t'was like old times.
Then the next weekend J came to visit and I guiltily made him sit in my studio with me as I nervously tried to get things together goddamnit for the crit. That Friday we went out with my flatmate Amelia and some of her friends which was a really good time. We went to the Williamsburg equivalent (hasids (sp?) and all) to this warehouse gig and felt cool and we got hounded by this British guy named Aug (short for Augustine) about every American stereotype there could possibly be. In his defense, the only experience he had had of America was through a segway tour through suburban Chicago, so we couldn't really blame him. We just kept reminding him that America was really really big, and had different parts to it, like a cow.
The crit Tuesday went really well! Lots of healthy criticism and lots of good discussion. A lot of people were fired up by the use of the British finacial Times in some of the drawings I put up, and they made me realize that I wanted to try and harness that loadedness instead of shy away from it. It wasn't a very form-based discussion, but it made me see what other people saw when they looked at my work, which was really helpful. It was also helpful to find out the criticism doesn't hurt if you stand behind your work (not physically use it as a shield, you know what i mean). The day after, we eurostared it to Paris! soooooooo loveellyy. Just stepping off the train made me remember how much I loved it there. oy! There is nothing ugly to look at in that city! We stayed at J's cousin's apartment who is a chef and works in...the Eiffel Tower. yeha. In the restaurant in the Eiffel Tower. Unfortunately, he was working very hard at being a chef and we only got to hang with him a bit.
(I'm sorry I'm rushing through this part, I will elaborate more in week or so, but I have to leave on a plane tomorrow with C (from Oxford) to go to Italy!)
We saw Natalia, Embo (yes!), and Glaces for dinner one night which was yum, had an AMAzing French meal the next night at a place suggested by Natalia, went to the Louve Pompidou Musee D'Orsay, went to an art history class with Nata (I did, J wandered wistfully around the park), walked a lot, ate 6 pain au chocolats, took the metro, gazed at everything, felt so lucky to be in such a beautiful place.
The smell of the metro was so familiar, and it reminded me of being fifteen in Paris with Natalia. The smell of J's cousin's staircase, of moist old wood, took me back to New Orleans summer smell. Of Alex's house there.
All tuckered out, we came back on Saturday and J left Sunday. (I promise to write more ! of how good it felt to be in paris again, how gracie has Spiderman in her house, how I wore stupid shoes to be hip. worth it. coming back so tired on eurostar, how the French and English landscapes are so different and so different from america)
Below are some pics of my work. Mhrrr. Tomorrow veni vedi vici and Italian FOOD! First time going to Italy. Stops along the way are: Florence, Assisi, Siena, Cortona, Rome, the Amalfi Coast, and Sicily. Phew!
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
Land Line
The other day I was talking with A and she was reading an article about how cell phones are destroying our brains, and in her fretfit, declared "maybe I should get a land line!" This got me to thinking about how much I need my cell phone, and how even if it IS searing through synapses I would not give it up no way no how. The way I see it, it would make me more crazy in the short term to not be able to talk to friends and more lonely in the long term, because if I don't talk to people now I will end up in a cottage in Wales alone and in an outfit I knitted for myself. Do not want.
One chilly evening this fall I was chatting with Phil outside the Pastry shop about the constant need to reiterate connections to others via texts, twitters, twats, etc. He argued these were not real connections because they didn't come with any self-reflection (which leads to self-knowledge), and in being solely the person you communicate to others, you become insubstantial. (Correct me if I have this completely wrong, ok Phil?) Either way, it makes me wonder if we're channeling our energies in productive ways. If we weren't allowed to tell anyone what we did today, would we do more origami? churn essays out faster? or know a little bit more about ourselves if forced to sit and make nice with our own thoughts? I realize it's ridiculous to contemplate this on a blog, and my philosophizing is making me a bit nauseated.
ON TO FUN THINGS: Oxford! That's where I went this weekend! To visit my friend Claire who is studying there for the year! First observation(s): it's really, really, really, really, really old. Claire's dorm is connected to a castle that was built in 1071, five years after the Battle of Hastings (under "tips & facts:" http://www.dangerousbookforboys.com/). The common room shares a wall with this castle (which was a working prison until 1995 --and no, there wasn't a dorm right next to a prison, that was my first thought, too), and at one point I was looking at a wall made nine hundred and thirty nine years ago (had to use widgets for that one..) AND listening to someone playing a racing videogame on the tv behind me. Whaaaa.
Claire walked me through tiny streets and into courtyards you would only know were there if you were flying overhead. For most of the colleges there, the only demarcation is a crest that stands atop a gate or a huge wooden door.
Here are pictures from the Old Camera, a college courtyard, and in front of a wonderful blue door:
Claire is in one of the smaller colleges, Saint Peter's, studying history. When I arrived there Thursday night we skiddled straight away to a formal dinner that was being held in the Saint Peter's dining hall. Students who attend these three-course meals must wear these vest/robe/thingys that are black and have two long pieces that come off the shoulders, which Claire points out are "useless but look great when you're riding a bike!" I borrowed a black sweater and hoped nobody would notice my lack of flowing fabric strips. When we arrived, students were sitting at a long table in an old, wooden room with many a portrait lining the walls (there was one of a man whose hand was oddly held in front of his chin and Claire informed me that his wife had demanded that the portraitist erase the glass of scotch that would originally have been included). The scene reminded me of one of my favorite Avengers episodes, called "A Touch of Brimstone" (around 3:00--http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AheRREHDS8&feature=related). Okay, maybe not so debaucherous. After we had seated ourselves at the end of the table, there was a noise that sounded like an encyclopedia dropping on a castle floor (which I guess could have been completely accurate) and we all rose as the professors processed into the hall and stood around the head table. Then, you will not believe it, someone read a passage in Latin. I had to suppress explosive laughs. It reminded me too much of middle school at Cathedral, all those smells and bells and ceremonies. Claire kicked me, the Latin finished, the encyclopedia or whatever dropped again, and we sat down to our meal. For the main course, I got some sort of meat pie (they really like putting meat in pastries here), and it was delicious, and cube-shaped! After finishing our third course, there was more Latin and the tutors walked out with all the pomp they walked in with.
Another event of note was the "bop" that happened Saturday night. All colleges have bops and they are themed. This bop's theme was "things you wouldn't want your mother to see," and although my own costume was a little lack-luster, other people took it really seriously: there were Nazis, an abortion (red facepaint, coat-hanger and all..), several pregnant teenagers and nuns, and a stripper. (Roz, if you're reading this, you would not have liked it one bit.)
So between the pregnant teens and the Latin, I feel like I got the whole Oxford experience.
When heading back, I kept thinking I was going to THE city, ny city. I expected to be able to run to Absolute or hole up in Avery or cuddle with Moe, and when I realized each time that I was going back London, I got a tad homesick. It's going to take a bit of getting used to, this London-as-home-base shenanigan. On the double-decker bus back, I sat up top at the very front (where, if you push your nose against the glass, it feel like flying) and watched the English countryside go by, full of sheep and farms. When I got back to London, I took the tube home and listened to mixes from the loved ones back home and told myself I was just pouting because I was hungry (a classic case of Burrito Syndrome, as Embo would point out). I feel better now having eaten (it's Wednesday, so I have definitely eaten) and seen friends and sweet suitemates who buy me butter because they "knicked" some over the weekend.
And now for some long overdue pictures of my sliver of studio space:
One chilly evening this fall I was chatting with Phil outside the Pastry shop about the constant need to reiterate connections to others via texts, twitters, twats, etc. He argued these were not real connections because they didn't come with any self-reflection (which leads to self-knowledge), and in being solely the person you communicate to others, you become insubstantial. (Correct me if I have this completely wrong, ok Phil?) Either way, it makes me wonder if we're channeling our energies in productive ways. If we weren't allowed to tell anyone what we did today, would we do more origami? churn essays out faster? or know a little bit more about ourselves if forced to sit and make nice with our own thoughts? I realize it's ridiculous to contemplate this on a blog, and my philosophizing is making me a bit nauseated.
ON TO FUN THINGS: Oxford! That's where I went this weekend! To visit my friend Claire who is studying there for the year! First observation(s): it's really, really, really, really, really old. Claire's dorm is connected to a castle that was built in 1071, five years after the Battle of Hastings (under "tips & facts:" http://www.dangerousbookforboys.com/). The common room shares a wall with this castle (which was a working prison until 1995 --and no, there wasn't a dorm right next to a prison, that was my first thought, too), and at one point I was looking at a wall made nine hundred and thirty nine years ago (had to use widgets for that one..) AND listening to someone playing a racing videogame on the tv behind me. Whaaaa.
Claire walked me through tiny streets and into courtyards you would only know were there if you were flying overhead. For most of the colleges there, the only demarcation is a crest that stands atop a gate or a huge wooden door.
Here are pictures from the Old Camera, a college courtyard, and in front of a wonderful blue door:
Claire is in one of the smaller colleges, Saint Peter's, studying history. When I arrived there Thursday night we skiddled straight away to a formal dinner that was being held in the Saint Peter's dining hall. Students who attend these three-course meals must wear these vest/robe/thingys that are black and have two long pieces that come off the shoulders, which Claire points out are "useless but look great when you're riding a bike!" I borrowed a black sweater and hoped nobody would notice my lack of flowing fabric strips. When we arrived, students were sitting at a long table in an old, wooden room with many a portrait lining the walls (there was one of a man whose hand was oddly held in front of his chin and Claire informed me that his wife had demanded that the portraitist erase the glass of scotch that would originally have been included). The scene reminded me of one of my favorite Avengers episodes, called "A Touch of Brimstone" (around 3:00--http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AheRREHDS8&feature=related). Okay, maybe not so debaucherous. After we had seated ourselves at the end of the table, there was a noise that sounded like an encyclopedia dropping on a castle floor (which I guess could have been completely accurate) and we all rose as the professors processed into the hall and stood around the head table. Then, you will not believe it, someone read a passage in Latin. I had to suppress explosive laughs. It reminded me too much of middle school at Cathedral, all those smells and bells and ceremonies. Claire kicked me, the Latin finished, the encyclopedia or whatever dropped again, and we sat down to our meal. For the main course, I got some sort of meat pie (they really like putting meat in pastries here), and it was delicious, and cube-shaped! After finishing our third course, there was more Latin and the tutors walked out with all the pomp they walked in with.
Another event of note was the "bop" that happened Saturday night. All colleges have bops and they are themed. This bop's theme was "things you wouldn't want your mother to see," and although my own costume was a little lack-luster, other people took it really seriously: there were Nazis, an abortion (red facepaint, coat-hanger and all..), several pregnant teenagers and nuns, and a stripper. (Roz, if you're reading this, you would not have liked it one bit.)
So between the pregnant teens and the Latin, I feel like I got the whole Oxford experience.
When heading back, I kept thinking I was going to THE city, ny city. I expected to be able to run to Absolute or hole up in Avery or cuddle with Moe, and when I realized each time that I was going back London, I got a tad homesick. It's going to take a bit of getting used to, this London-as-home-base shenanigan. On the double-decker bus back, I sat up top at the very front (where, if you push your nose against the glass, it feel like flying) and watched the English countryside go by, full of sheep and farms. When I got back to London, I took the tube home and listened to mixes from the loved ones back home and told myself I was just pouting because I was hungry (a classic case of Burrito Syndrome, as Embo would point out). I feel better now having eaten (it's Wednesday, so I have definitely eaten) and seen friends and sweet suitemates who buy me butter because they "knicked" some over the weekend.
And now for some long overdue pictures of my sliver of studio space:
Monday, 25 January 2010
Day 19,
I have been such a lazyblogger already! It has been a week since my last post, and I already have no recollection of what I did. This is why I started a blog in the first place!! Must improve short-term memory..
If anything, this week was the first week I started to long for things back home. People mostly, some places, and many bagels. I'm getting to that point where I just want a really good friend around all the time so that I can rest my head on their shoulder or solicit an occasional back scratch or just be with someBODY. I know this sounds weird. I suppose I just miss roaming in packs. As a lolcat would put it, I iz not a lone wolf. Maybe I just need a good bagel.
But enough with the cute, fuzzy speak. I will tell you things I remember about my week. I went to a pub with some of the other kids from my school, which was an enlightening experience. It seems like a bit of a boys club here. By that I mean that when we were all (fourish girls, three boys) sitting about a table, the guys dominated (or tried to dominate) the conversation with loud, jokingly bullying banter. The girls talked back to some of it, but for the most part remained calm and collected receptacles of these taunts. I was totally baffled by this. I didn't know how these guys could be so quiet and polite one-on-one and so brutish when together. I like to to banter back up to a point, but only for so long. It's tiring. I'd rather just have interesting conversations. I don't want to harp on this because they are probably good people and they were no doubt a little snookered. And even though they were a bit abrasive, I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt and say this is the beginning of a noisy friendship.
Yesterday (Sunday), I walked down the main road near me
to the National Galleries and OH LORDY it was wonderful. I saw so many works I had learned about in class and had no idea they were all right here! I will leave you with one of my favorites:
Oh just kidding this was my favorite:
no I think this was:
Ok, I cannot choose. Don't ask me to play favorites because I won't.
And then I saw Up in the Air. I ..liked it. Would like to talk about it.
Oh, also, I will be taking a class or two after all. I may take a class on the 80s and I may take an anatomy class. It's a toss up between watching Wings of Desire and drawing dead people. Tough decision.
One thing I can't get used to yet is how people say "cheers" at the end of interactions or to replace "thank you." If someone says it, I just hear things beginning to fall out of my mouth that sound ridiculous. For example, "you too!" is not an acceptable response, neither is "no prob!" "thank you!" or saying it back in a British accent. I think the best reply, for now, is a big ol' thumbs up. No that would be horrible. I will just smile mutely.
Ok off to make dinner now! Hopefully it won't involve a vat of Nutella, but no promises.
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
Spoons
I realized that in my last post I didn't really say what I'm doing here. I just mentioned that I got lost a lot. If you were wondering, I have been getting lost much less this week.
So what I am doing is painting. I am essentially in art school for this whole term. There are no classes. There are some teachers that wander about and help you if you need them. But it's mostly self-directed. You are just supposed to come in every day and paint. So that's what I have been kind of doing. I say kind of because I punctuate my studio time with museum visits and frolics with Sophie and Tim around town. I am giving myself some leeway this week with my hours due to the recent (understandable) onset of wanderlust.
The part of London that I'm in is pretty corporate feeling, there are lots of high buildings and no dogs or babies on the street, so not ideal. But the college campus itself is a beauty. It's a maze of passageways (worse than the tunnels at Bnard by far) that they have somehow managed to disguise as Greek temples.
They really like sandwiches here. And they're all packaged so ingeniously. Will post photos/diagrams soon.
To give you an idea of a day in the life, here is what I did yesterday: woke up, walked to the art building, had a non-brutal but extensive critique of four students' work with the whole painting department (which is maybe 30-60 kids --sorry i'm really bad at gauging numbers of people), went to lunch, went to Tate Britain to see the Turner show, came back to campus, painted a bit, went home. That was my day from 10 to 7ish. Today, however, I did something new and exciting: I made a spoon. Out of steel. It was incredible. I got to use an anvil. (!?!?!!!) Oh man. So that's all I did today except apply for some summer internships. All in all a pretty productive day I'd say. I can't tell if I'm kidding or not. I don't think I am.
The problem with postcards, on an unrelated note, is that I don't want to give them away once I get them. I pick out the ones I like and then I just want to hoard. all mine all mine. Speaking of postcards, if anyone wants me to write to them I would love to just send me your address. I realized I was very selfish in my last post and didn't even offer to send letters of my own. I just bought a bunch of stamps. They have the queen's head on them. How can you resist?
Bnard and Cu are starting right about now and I miss the pastry shop and the bustle of everyone coming back to campus and running around like chickens with heads chopped off. I have yet to find a p shop equivalent here, though I have looked.
Tomorrow I may make another spoon. I think I will.
Monday, 18 January 2010
To London!
Ok, so,
I know that at many points in my life I have sworn up and down I'd never EVER keep a blog. To those who had to listen to me kvetch: I am deeply sorry and you are free to rub it in my face as much as you like. Junior year study abroad has made a hypocrite of me. Alas. I decided to begin this more as a sort of record for myself and not just a mass-email-because-I'm-too-lazy-to-keep-in-touch-with-all-off-you sorta thang. I arrived the Friday before last, January 8th, and because I have been a lazy blogger already, I am going to recap a bit.
First of all, Kuwait Airways was amazing. It was the best long flight I have ever been on. What made it so great, you ask? It could have been the turquoise and gold upholstery. It could have been the curmudgeonly/lovable, old British couple I sat next to who ordered the dinners "without the main meal thing" (so just the little snacks). It could have been the steward with the giddy smile of a small child who said he had a "surprise" for me when I wedged myself out of the bathroom, and then gave me an icebreakers mint. Maybe it was the father and son across the aisle from me who pretended not to notice as the mother curled up under their feet for three hour nap. Maybe I was just so relieved I actually got on the plane after all the visa troubles I had (story for another time. In short, and according to my mother, it was all my fault.) Whatever it was, Kuwait Airways and I will meet again, mark my word.
For weeks (months) before leaving, I had been a hot basket-case of mess, having second thoughts about wanting to go, and generally having anxiety about beginning my semester in a new place. I felt like I had been schlepping from college to college enough already and I didn't even know why I applied to go abroad in the first place. I mean, apart from all the grand, romantic reasons everybody goes abroad, why had I wanted to go? A month before departure, my feelings could have been summed up as: do. not. want.
But once faced with the psychedelic seat backs of the transatlantic flight, I was surprisingly... fine.
After landing, getting my two 50 lb bags, and taking the train to Paddington Station, a friend of the fam met me there and drove me to my dorm. If she hadn't been there I think my arms would have fallen off and I would have bled to death right there in the station. Am I being dramatic? I guess I am. I probably would have just lived in the station the whole semester. Anyway, I arrived to my dorm (the address of which I will gladly give to anyone who wants to write me a letter. I love mail. Who doesn't.), and moved into my small, single room.
Over the course of the first week I got lost many times, met my four very lovely suite-mates, went to the British Museum, started school, bought very little and paid for a lot, got lost some more, talked to many friends back home, cried a little, explored, managed to eat, got a phone, took the tube, minded the gap, slept horribly, avoided starting this blog, saw a few friends who are here with me, and thought of New York often.
Will write more tomorrow. I miss many people back home. There were so many beginnings that got nipped in the bud before I left. I know it isn't possible to just put them on pause until I get back, but in my head I still wish it were, even as it comforts me to have time passing and beginnings stirring elsewhere.
As a side note, I would love to hear any anecdotes that you have to share. About traveling? About frolicking? About licking?
Cherio!