This is a video clip we're showing the students on Friday:
Believe it or not, that gives you a pretty good idea of what the Rococo is all about!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Finally!
I've been going nuts the past ten days waiting for Dr. Cooper to comment on my thesis draft. Today she sent me the first chapter with her edits (which were almost entirely grammatical and told me that so far she's found it excellent. Score!! It couldn't have come at a better time, because as I said in a plaintive voicemail to Heather, I reached Victorian-housewife levels of boredom today. Granted, I was up and out early to teach Jasmine's class at Arcadia University; today was the Venetian Renaissance, which was obviously no great pain for me to cover (in contrast, next week I have to cover a class for her at Temple on Surrealism and Futurism). However, I was home by noon, literally all dressed up with nowhere to go.
Over the past ten days I have spread my errands out considerably so as to give myself something to do each day (which was also a waste of gas, I know) so by today I had completely exhausted all possible avenues in that region. That meant that I spent the afternoon reading, whether on my couch, my bed, or on the back porch with a (leashed) Thomas by my side. I've gotten so used to having a ton of stuff to do for school that having so much free time lately is a little unnerving, not to mention kind of boring. (I've read three non-school-related books in the last week. I can't remember the last time that happened.) And, even though I haven't been too nervous about the results of Dr. Cooper's perusal, it's kept me constantly checking my email to see if she had responded, which prevented me from really ever being totally relaxed.
Of course, the fact that she only had only minor corrections means that editing my first chapter won't take very long tomorrow, but at least tomorrow I have things to do, like pack for my trip to Virginia with Linda and Hubbard this weekend, clean the house, and prep for my Friday lecture, which bridges the gap between where Dr. Hall ended at the Northern Baroque to where Dr. Gold will pick up in 19th-century Realism--that means covering a couple of centuries and Rococo, Neoclassicism, and Romanticism. Fun times!
Over the past ten days I have spread my errands out considerably so as to give myself something to do each day (which was also a waste of gas, I know) so by today I had completely exhausted all possible avenues in that region. That meant that I spent the afternoon reading, whether on my couch, my bed, or on the back porch with a (leashed) Thomas by my side. I've gotten so used to having a ton of stuff to do for school that having so much free time lately is a little unnerving, not to mention kind of boring. (I've read three non-school-related books in the last week. I can't remember the last time that happened.) And, even though I haven't been too nervous about the results of Dr. Cooper's perusal, it's kept me constantly checking my email to see if she had responded, which prevented me from really ever being totally relaxed.
Of course, the fact that she only had only minor corrections means that editing my first chapter won't take very long tomorrow, but at least tomorrow I have things to do, like pack for my trip to Virginia with Linda and Hubbard this weekend, clean the house, and prep for my Friday lecture, which bridges the gap between where Dr. Hall ended at the Northern Baroque to where Dr. Gold will pick up in 19th-century Realism--that means covering a couple of centuries and Rococo, Neoclassicism, and Romanticism. Fun times!
Monday, March 29, 2010
Reacquainting Myself with Winston
Yesterday afternoon, out of sheer boredom, I started to read The Grand Alliance, which is the third book in Winston Churchill's magisterial six-volume survey of World War Two. I had begun to read the series during senior year (probably in relationship to the class I was taking on the Third Reich, though I can't recall precisely), first The Gathering Storm, and then I think part of Their Finest Hour. I picked up a copy of The Gathering Storm and The Grand Alliance at a tag sale last summer, and they've been adorning my bookshelf ever since.
This is the description of the series from Amazon:
Churchill's six-volume history of World War II -- the definitive work, remarkable both for its sweep and for its sense of personal involvement, universally acknowledged as a magnificent historical reconstruction and an enduring work of literature. From
They're not kidding about the "sweep" element to these books. Thanks to the
The personal element comes, of course, from Churchill's front-row seat to this unfolding drama-- first as the outsider who protested in vain against Neville Chamberlain's policy of appeasement, and then as the grimly victorious leader who promised: "We shall fight him by land, we shall fight him by sea, we shall fight him in the air..." His text is frequently supplemented by the actual letters, memos, and other communications that were going back and forth between him and the War Office, the Foreign Office, the generals in the field, etc., as well as his correspondence with Roosevelt, whom Churchill desperately needed on his side. Churchill was also able to include high-level Nazi communications, such as the missive Ribbentrop sent to the German ambassador in
Several things about this series, and about The Grand Alliance in particular, really strike me. For one thing, there have been so many incredible (and often terrible) advancements in the technology of warfare since WWII that it's surprising to read Churchill boasting of improvements to this new-fangled thing called "radar." Without the benefit of satellites, reconnaissance was still being done by planes and by agents on the ground, as in the case of British spies in the Balkans who warned of the massive build-up of armaments that signaled an imminent attack on
The whole idea of war has changed, as well. Writing about the British armies that had been engaged in a stand-off with the enemy in
In terms of style, Churchill's grand manner of eloquence is certainly suited to the scale of events. I think he expressed this in the transcription of his radio address on
"The past, with its crimes, its follies and its tragedies, flashes away...I see the 10,000 villages of
Despite the fact that we all know how this play ends, Churchill manages to maintains a sense of narrative tension, which is one of the things that makes it enjoyable to read. Another is Churchill's famously sardonic sense of humor, which only makes itself felt occasionally within such a formal context. One example is the memo drafted by his personal secretary regarding the day of the German invasion of
"After dinner, when I was walking on the croquet lawn with Mr. Churchill, he reverted to this theme, and I asked whether for him, the arch anti-Communist, this was not bowing down in the House of Rimmon. Mr. Churchill replied, "Not at all. I have only one purpose, the destruction of Hitler, and my life is much simplified thereby. If Hitler invaded Hell I would make at least a favourable reference to the Devil in the House of Commons."
Oh, Winston.
There's been considerable criticism of Churchill's books since they were published; people have pointed out that the undertaking was similar in nature, if not in scale, to that of a prima donna reviewing her own ballet, and that his main purpose was to explain and excuse his choices. That is probably quite true--after all, this was the man who said "History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it." It's nearly impossible for anyone to be completely objective about themselves, especially politicians, and especially one who was unseated in the 1945 election after leading his people successfully through the war. People like that always have something to prove. What Churchill offers us is not necessarily the purest and most objective account of the war--that would have to wait for professional historians with greater distance from the subject--but an unparalleled vantage point of the events of 1939-45 via the mind of one of the greatest leaders of the 20th century. That, I think, will always be of value.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Eat, Drink and Be Merry
I have, on occasion, thought about the benefits of having my own apartment instead of sharing 213 E. Sedgwick with Phyllis. Chief among them would be air conditioning, and not far behind would be the absence of Thomas, the Annoying Singing Cat (who is far too cute to really dislike). Still, nothing short of Sean's appearance in Philadelphia could dislodge me from my current home, not only because of its light and air and front- and backyards, but because of nights like this one--feast nights, if you will. Phyllis roasted a whole chicken, together with baked potatoes, asparagus, a salad, guacamole bruschetta, and strawberries (for dessert); I offered the bottle of Merlot that I had opened last night, and we sat around the table with her friend Albert for three wonderful, satiated hours. Eating by yourself is never as enjoyable as that. Of course, my culinary abilities also lag far behind those of my esteemed housemate, so suffice it to say, I'm happy where I am!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
The Mommy Track in Academia
I was just reading a post on Jezebel about a lawsuit brought against Goldman by a woman who claimed she was fired after taking maternity leave twice and working a flexible schedule offered by Goldman after her first maternity leave. People raised questions about whether she chose her own fate by accepting the reduced hours, and about whether it's possible/fair to expect to continue in such a fast-paced, competitive work environment if your number one priority is something other than your job.
That got me thinking about how motherhood works in academia, and I realized, with some surprise, that there are no role models at Temple in that regard. Of the three younger full-time female faculty members, none have children, and I think two of them aren't married. Several of the older professors have grown children, but since they are from a totally different generation, I suspect that their experiences are not likely to mirror what happens now. There are also at least two older female faculty members who have no children.
This is admittedly a very small sample, and I don't know how other departments at Temple or at other universities compare, but it definitely raised some questions for me. Did the decision of the two older faculty members not to have children have anything to do with their career, or was it entirely personal? Is the push for tenure a factor for the younger teachers who don't have children?
And how does it work if you do decide to have a child while you're in a tenure-track position? It must be do-able. I know that at Fairfield, at least, Dr. Rose had two children while on a tenure track (in fact, I think she is up for tenure this year or next). I can only imagine how much pressure that adds, though--not only are you rushing to catch up and be productive enough to earn tenure, but you have the added worry that if you don't get it, you might have to uproot your kids.
That got me thinking about how motherhood works in academia, and I realized, with some surprise, that there are no role models at Temple in that regard. Of the three younger full-time female faculty members, none have children, and I think two of them aren't married. Several of the older professors have grown children, but since they are from a totally different generation, I suspect that their experiences are not likely to mirror what happens now. There are also at least two older female faculty members who have no children.
This is admittedly a very small sample, and I don't know how other departments at Temple or at other universities compare, but it definitely raised some questions for me. Did the decision of the two older faculty members not to have children have anything to do with their career, or was it entirely personal? Is the push for tenure a factor for the younger teachers who don't have children?
And how does it work if you do decide to have a child while you're in a tenure-track position? It must be do-able. I know that at Fairfield, at least, Dr. Rose had two children while on a tenure track (in fact, I think she is up for tenure this year or next). I can only imagine how much pressure that adds, though--not only are you rushing to catch up and be productive enough to earn tenure, but you have the added worry that if you don't get it, you might have to uproot your kids.
Warren Buffett
While I was eating dinner tonight I was perusing the annual shareholder report for Berkshire Hathaway--not a common occurrence, I assure you; typically all those reports go right in the recycling bin. However. chairman and CEO Warren Buffett is known for his enjoyable and informative shareholders' letters, so I try to make of point of reading those.
What comes across in his writing is not only a shrewd and capable businessman, but a man with an earthy sense of humor, and, more importantly, a strong sense of integrity. Although I already admired him for a number of reasons, his letter added more strength to that. For example, he readily admits that he pushed GEICO--which Berkshire Hathaway controls--into getting to the credit card market, over the protestations of the company's managers; the disastrous venture wound up costing the company more than $50 million. Buffett writes: "GEICO's managers, it should be emphasized, were never enthusiastic about my idea. They warned me that instead of getting the cream of GEICO's customers we would get the----well, let's call it the non-cream. I subtly indicated that I was older and wiser. I was just older."
He also notes that one of BH's operating principles is to always have cash on hand, something that allowed the company to keep making deals during the worst of the financial crash (such as saving the day for Goldman Sachs with a cash infusion, and buying Wrigley's): "The 20 billion-plus of cash equivalent assets that we customarily hold is earning a pittance at present. But we sleep well." This made me feel good because Sean and I do the same thing, albeit on a drastically reduced scale. Ron (runs-my-money Ron) is a firm believer that you should only have X dollars in savings because the accounts are typically low-yield; if you have anything above that amount, he thinks you're hurting yourself if you don't invest it in the market. Now, Sean and I have about 3X in an ING savings account.* It's only earning 1.4% APY right now (in days of yore, ING accounts were earning above 3%!), but you know what? I do sleep well, because stock markets crash, but ING accounts are FDIC-insured. And hey, if it's good enough for Warren Buffett, then it's good enough for us.
*I suppose I should note here that Ron doesn't actually know about the ING account or how much is in it! If he did, I have no doubt he would be persistently pestering me to let him invest it...
What comes across in his writing is not only a shrewd and capable businessman, but a man with an earthy sense of humor, and, more importantly, a strong sense of integrity. Although I already admired him for a number of reasons, his letter added more strength to that. For example, he readily admits that he pushed GEICO--which Berkshire Hathaway controls--into getting to the credit card market, over the protestations of the company's managers; the disastrous venture wound up costing the company more than $50 million. Buffett writes: "GEICO's managers, it should be emphasized, were never enthusiastic about my idea. They warned me that instead of getting the cream of GEICO's customers we would get the----well, let's call it the non-cream. I subtly indicated that I was older and wiser. I was just older."
He also notes that one of BH's operating principles is to always have cash on hand, something that allowed the company to keep making deals during the worst of the financial crash (such as saving the day for Goldman Sachs with a cash infusion, and buying Wrigley's): "The 20 billion-plus of cash equivalent assets that we customarily hold is earning a pittance at present. But we sleep well." This made me feel good because Sean and I do the same thing, albeit on a drastically reduced scale. Ron (runs-my-money Ron) is a firm believer that you should only have X dollars in savings because the accounts are typically low-yield; if you have anything above that amount, he thinks you're hurting yourself if you don't invest it in the market. Now, Sean and I have about 3X in an ING savings account.* It's only earning 1.4% APY right now (in days of yore, ING accounts were earning above 3%!), but you know what? I do sleep well, because stock markets crash, but ING accounts are FDIC-insured. And hey, if it's good enough for Warren Buffett, then it's good enough for us.
*I suppose I should note here that Ron doesn't actually know about the ING account or how much is in it! If he did, I have no doubt he would be persistently pestering me to let him invest it...
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Back in Black
My laptop is up and running again, two replacement hard drives later! I can't really complain, because my computer underwent the best possible type of problem--the kind that happens gradually enough that you notice and go "Oh shit, time to back everything up on the external hard drive." And then before you know it, your computer can't stay on for more than 10 minutes without freezing and crashing.
Installing a new hard drive wasn't difficult; you unscrew two tiny screws on the back of the laptop, slide out the bay, undo two more screws holding the protective cage in place, and swap out the old drive for the new one. Unfortunately, the first replacement drive refused to slide back into the bay as easily as my old one had, so I called Dell again and they sent another one, plus a new cage. This one resisted too, so in a bit of frustration I held the computer on its side and gave it a good whack, and voila! Not exactly the "gentle but firm" pressure the manual suggested, but it worked.
I was mistakenly expecting this to require a full re-installation of the OS, which I did no less than three times on my old Dell laptop (which is how I forced it to last six years). It's quite time-consuming, and if you screw something up, you have to start over. Imagine my happiness to realize that the drive was pre-loaded with the OS! Once it got itself sorted out, all I had to do was re-load whatever programs I'd added on (MS Office, Skype, Limewire) and migrate my files and bookmarks from the external drive. Totally painless!
Installing a new hard drive wasn't difficult; you unscrew two tiny screws on the back of the laptop, slide out the bay, undo two more screws holding the protective cage in place, and swap out the old drive for the new one. Unfortunately, the first replacement drive refused to slide back into the bay as easily as my old one had, so I called Dell again and they sent another one, plus a new cage. This one resisted too, so in a bit of frustration I held the computer on its side and gave it a good whack, and voila! Not exactly the "gentle but firm" pressure the manual suggested, but it worked.
I was mistakenly expecting this to require a full re-installation of the OS, which I did no less than three times on my old Dell laptop (which is how I forced it to last six years). It's quite time-consuming, and if you screw something up, you have to start over. Imagine my happiness to realize that the drive was pre-loaded with the OS! Once it got itself sorted out, all I had to do was re-load whatever programs I'd added on (MS Office, Skype, Limewire) and migrate my files and bookmarks from the external drive. Totally painless!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
The Magic of the Anne-Girl
Rae and I started talking about L.M. Montgomery's books (of which the Anne of Green Gables series is the most famous) this evening, and she was surprised by the minutiae that I remembered from the books. They were, without a doubt, my favorite books as a child, and the whole Anne set still adorns the top of my bookshelf. It's actually a replacement set; the only volume that survives from the original DiMarzo collection is a very well-worn Anne of the Island, which happens to be my favorite.
Our conversation got me started thinking about my favorite moments in Montgomery's books, and the events that really stuck with me, like Emily's dream that reveals the truth about the death of Ilsa's mother in Emily of New Moon. Another is in the later Anne books, when she gives birth to a baby girl that dies. It's in that scene that Anne quotes a line from Proverbs, "Sorrow may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." I've always associated that line with Anne, and with that moment, even knowing where it ultimately comes from.
One of the most moving moments in the Anne books for me is the death of Ruby Gillis, a pretty, flirty girl who was one of Anne's childhood playmates. She has consumption, but she and everyone else pretend nothing is wrong, even as her life is slipping away. Finally, alone with Anne, Ruby confesses her terror of dying, and even of heaven, because it won't be what she's used to. She talks about the life she so desperately wants to have, the man she wants to marry, her children, and how she knows, in an awful way, that she will never have any of it. It's such an emotional scene, but what comes in the next chapter always gets me even more:
"That good night in the garden was for all time. Anne never saw Ruby in life again. The next night the A.V.I.S. gave a farewell party to Jane Andrews before her departure for the West. And, while light feet danced and bright eyes laughed and merry tongues chattered, there came a summons to a soul in Avonlea that might not be disregarded or evaded. The next morning the word went from house to house that Ruby Gillis was dead. She had died in her sleep, painlessly and calmly, and on her face was a smile -- as if, after all, death had come as a kindly friend to lead her over the threshold, instead of the grisly phantom she had dreaded.
Mrs. Rachel Lynde said emphatically after the funeral that Ruby Gillis was the handsomest corpse she ever laid eyes on. Her loveliness, as she lay, white-clad, among the delicate flowers that Anne had placed about her, was remembered and talked of for years in Avonlea. Ruby had always been beautiful; but her beauty had been of the earth, earthy; it had had a certain insolent quality in it, as if it flaunted itself in the beholder's eye; spirit had never shone through it, intellect had never refined it. But death had touched it and consecrated it, bringing out delicate modelings and purity of outline never seen before -- doing what life and love and great sorrow and deep womanhood joys might have done for Ruby. Anne, looking down through a mist of tears, at her old playfellow, thought she saw the face God had meant Ruby to have, and remembered it so always. "
In so many ways, these books were my first experience with the terrible, as well as the wonderful, things in life. Ruby is the first of Anne's school friends to die, and it opens for her the knowledge that they will all grow up, grow old, and pass away. That's a really difficult thing to think about as a child. It's still hard to think about now.
Throughout the series Anne's friendships also grow and change, and sometimes they even end. She and Diana, who have always been very different, grow progressively apart, though they always remain in some ways "bosom friends." The possibility of losing friends is another hard thing to face as a kid, especially during transitional moments. I remember being afraid that Sara and I wouldn't be friends anymore once we went to NWC, and before we left high school for college, I worried that my friends and I might not stay close as life pulled us in different directions. (Things turned out well in both cases, I'm happy to say!) Other friends in the books marry and move away, even off Prince Edward Island, which in that time period virtually meant saying goodbye forever. Parents and loved ones die, sometimes tragically: Matthew, Anne's adopted father-figure, dies of a heart attack early in the series, and her son Walter, the shy, sensitive one, dies in the trenches of the Great War.
In a lot of ways, these books did for me what I think the Harry Potter series has done for a younger generation: provide a spectrum of life, happy and sad, funny and horrifying, that lets the reader experience those new emotions and events in the books (hopefully) before ever experiencing them in real life. Anne of Green Gables lacks the battle against ultimate evil, of course, but her smaller struggles--whether against prejudice, snobbery, or just that nosy Mrs. Lynde--are, in the long run, more relate-able for me than the adventures of a boy wizard. I think both series will stand the test of time (Anne, at 102 years since her first book, has certainly proved herself), but if I had a choice between offering one series or another to a child, particularly a girl, I think I would choose Anne.
Our conversation got me started thinking about my favorite moments in Montgomery's books, and the events that really stuck with me, like Emily's dream that reveals the truth about the death of Ilsa's mother in Emily of New Moon. Another is in the later Anne books, when she gives birth to a baby girl that dies. It's in that scene that Anne quotes a line from Proverbs, "Sorrow may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." I've always associated that line with Anne, and with that moment, even knowing where it ultimately comes from.
One of the most moving moments in the Anne books for me is the death of Ruby Gillis, a pretty, flirty girl who was one of Anne's childhood playmates. She has consumption, but she and everyone else pretend nothing is wrong, even as her life is slipping away. Finally, alone with Anne, Ruby confesses her terror of dying, and even of heaven, because it won't be what she's used to. She talks about the life she so desperately wants to have, the man she wants to marry, her children, and how she knows, in an awful way, that she will never have any of it. It's such an emotional scene, but what comes in the next chapter always gets me even more:
"That good night in the garden was for all time. Anne never saw Ruby in life again. The next night the A.V.I.S. gave a farewell party to Jane Andrews before her departure for the West. And, while light feet danced and bright eyes laughed and merry tongues chattered, there came a summons to a soul in Avonlea that might not be disregarded or evaded. The next morning the word went from house to house that Ruby Gillis was dead. She had died in her sleep, painlessly and calmly, and on her face was a smile -- as if, after all, death had come as a kindly friend to lead her over the threshold, instead of the grisly phantom she had dreaded.
Mrs. Rachel Lynde said emphatically after the funeral that Ruby Gillis was the handsomest corpse she ever laid eyes on. Her loveliness, as she lay, white-clad, among the delicate flowers that Anne had placed about her, was remembered and talked of for years in Avonlea. Ruby had always been beautiful; but her beauty had been of the earth, earthy; it had had a certain insolent quality in it, as if it flaunted itself in the beholder's eye; spirit had never shone through it, intellect had never refined it. But death had touched it and consecrated it, bringing out delicate modelings and purity of outline never seen before -- doing what life and love and great sorrow and deep womanhood joys might have done for Ruby. Anne, looking down through a mist of tears, at her old playfellow, thought she saw the face God had meant Ruby to have, and remembered it so always. "
In so many ways, these books were my first experience with the terrible, as well as the wonderful, things in life. Ruby is the first of Anne's school friends to die, and it opens for her the knowledge that they will all grow up, grow old, and pass away. That's a really difficult thing to think about as a child. It's still hard to think about now.
Throughout the series Anne's friendships also grow and change, and sometimes they even end. She and Diana, who have always been very different, grow progressively apart, though they always remain in some ways "bosom friends." The possibility of losing friends is another hard thing to face as a kid, especially during transitional moments. I remember being afraid that Sara and I wouldn't be friends anymore once we went to NWC, and before we left high school for college, I worried that my friends and I might not stay close as life pulled us in different directions. (Things turned out well in both cases, I'm happy to say!) Other friends in the books marry and move away, even off Prince Edward Island, which in that time period virtually meant saying goodbye forever. Parents and loved ones die, sometimes tragically: Matthew, Anne's adopted father-figure, dies of a heart attack early in the series, and her son Walter, the shy, sensitive one, dies in the trenches of the Great War.
In a lot of ways, these books did for me what I think the Harry Potter series has done for a younger generation: provide a spectrum of life, happy and sad, funny and horrifying, that lets the reader experience those new emotions and events in the books (hopefully) before ever experiencing them in real life. Anne of Green Gables lacks the battle against ultimate evil, of course, but her smaller struggles--whether against prejudice, snobbery, or just that nosy Mrs. Lynde--are, in the long run, more relate-able for me than the adventures of a boy wizard. I think both series will stand the test of time (Anne, at 102 years since her first book, has certainly proved herself), but if I had a choice between offering one series or another to a child, particularly a girl, I think I would choose Anne.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Happy Thesis Dance
I just emailed my draft to Dr. Cooper. Together with my front matter (introduction, acknowledgements, etc) and six pages of bibliography, it's over 70 pages. Throw in my 30 pages' worth of images (which it took an annoyingly long time to collect and format) and my thesis will clock in at more than 100 pages!
I could probably spout something here about feeling like I've just given birth or something, but it really was nowhere near as onerous as I thought it would be. I fully expected to be completely sick of my topic by now, honestly (and some of my friends are definitely feeling that way toward their topics right now, if their Facebook status messages are anything to go by). After all, I've been working on this since October, and while that's peanuts compared to the kind of sustained effort a dissertation topic will require, it's still a larger project than anything I've undertaken before. Unlike a lot of people, I didn't do any kind of thesis in college--my capstone was turning in a portfolio of poems to Dr. Bridgford. Man, those were salad days!
Let us now just hope that Dr. Cooper approves...
I could probably spout something here about feeling like I've just given birth or something, but it really was nowhere near as onerous as I thought it would be. I fully expected to be completely sick of my topic by now, honestly (and some of my friends are definitely feeling that way toward their topics right now, if their Facebook status messages are anything to go by). After all, I've been working on this since October, and while that's peanuts compared to the kind of sustained effort a dissertation topic will require, it's still a larger project than anything I've undertaken before. Unlike a lot of people, I didn't do any kind of thesis in college--my capstone was turning in a portfolio of poems to Dr. Bridgford. Man, those were salad days!
Let us now just hope that Dr. Cooper approves...
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Yay!
Dr. Bolman just emailed me that they've decided to make me the head TA for next year, since Amy is all finished with coursework. During the spring semester I'll also get to teach a section of Heritage in place of one of the AWW sections. That means my resume will show not only two years of being a TA, but at least one course already taught on my own--which will then hopefully lead to real teaching jobs while I'm finishing my degree, both at Temple and other schools in Philadelphia. Granted, the TA coordinator job means more work, plus being the point person for the professors and their sometimes impractical expectations, but still, yay!
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Home Again
What a long week that seemed to be, and despite how fun it was, I'm glad to be back home. Short trips are always much more taxing than long stays.
Friday, our last day in Venice, we went to the Museo Correr, the Archaeological Museum, the Marciana, and the Ducal Palace, none of which particularly wowed me. I've been to the Ducal Palace before, and despite its grand scale and opulence, I just wasn't really feeling it, perhaps because there was no heat and it was so cold you could see your breath in all the fancy rooms. The guards all wore their winter coats with big scarves around their necks. The Correr had one of the guild signs I was interested in for my thesis, but of course there was a guard seated right beside it so I couldn't take a secretive photograph. It was otherwise mostly unremarkable, except for a print of Jacopo de Barbari's 1500 map of Venice, with its birds-eye view of the city that is still surprisingly accurate today. The Archaeological Museum was likewise meh, except for a statue of Mithras sacrificing a bull that was pretty cool. Dr. Cooper had advised me to hit their cafeteria for its excellent fare and enviable view of San Marco, but lo and behold, there was a union strike in Italy on Friday and we found a sign on the door of the cafeteria saying they had closed as a result. Of course.
After that I wandered around a little bit until 6:30, when we staked out Trattoria Ca d'Oro as it opened. We had tried to go there Wednesday, but it was so busy they told us to come back, and inexplicably they're closed on Thursdays, so this was our last shot at a well-recommended restaurant. We weren't the only ones trying this strategy, either, and we wound up sitting with a German couple who turned out to both be professors, one of classics, and the other art history. What are the odds? That was very pleasant, and they have us some travel recommendations, particularly Turkey, where they said you can see more real antiquities than you can find in Greece. Sean is already campaigning for France 2011, but I'm more interested in making Turkey our next destination, so we shall see.
The other reason for our early dinner: we went to bed at 9 and got up at 3:30, catching a vaporetto at 5am and a bus to the airport at 5:40. This all worked smoothly, getting us to the airport a little after 6am for a.....9:40 flight. OK, I tend to be on the early side, but in my defense I was worried about the reliability of the vaporetto and bus schedules that early on a Saturday morning, and if we'd missed the bus there was only one an hour. But it wasn't bad; I paid 7 euro for a souvenir pack of Venice playing cards and we played Crazy Eights for a while. Then we checked in and they forced Sean to check his carry-on, which annoyed him greatly, the more so once he realized he'd left his apartment keys in the bag. Luckily, all luggage arrived on time and unharmed in Philadelphia.
We were also fortunate in Paris; I was worried again that with only 1.5 hours between flights and having to navigate between terminals and go through security we might not make it. However, our terminals were adjoining ones, and the security line was mercifully short, so we made it through quite quickly. Our flight ended up leaving an hour late, and then got stuck in a holding pattern over Philly for an hour, which left me rather nauseous and made it officially my least favorite flight ever. Once we landed I decided to spring for a cab home instead of taking two trains (only to get a voicemail from Phyllis, too late, offering to come pick us us!). Lincoln Drive was flooded due to the rain, we got caught in a huge traffic snarl, our cabbie got lost and didn't know to operate his own GPS, relying on calling the dispatcher instead, so it wound up costing 60 bucks instead of 40, but sometimes the expense is worth it to just get home.
All told, the trip cost about $1800 (not counting the $1400 plane tickets). Not too bad, but definitely more than my projected $1200! Food was much more expensive than on our previous trips together (in Rome and Florence I almost never ate out, so I hardly noticed); even the price of bus ticks and bottles of water, once fixed at a euro apiece, had gone up--bus tickets in Bergamo were 1.05 and water bottles 1.20. There are also the endless incidental expenses that you don't calculate in advance, like bottles of water, snacks in train stations, Sean's endless passion for sampling new and different pastries. I mean, shopping's not even a part of my travel budget; my souvenirs were five postcards, necklaces for me and Linda, truffle oil for Phyllis, and a black bag from the gift shop at the Ducal Palace. Venice had so many beautiful things for sale that I wished I had more money to spend, but in the end, the experience is really what's worth the most to both of us. We agreed: our priorities are art and food. Well, Sean's not so much there for the art unless it's classical, but in general, art and food!
Having dinner at Graziella's was probably our favorite part of the experience this time around. Despite being that most quotidian of events, a simple meal, it was different than anything we'd ever done before, perhaps because it made us feel authentic somehow: not mere tourists but guests in someone's home. We also agreed that if I'm ever going on another short "working trip," Sean will opt not to join me, because the pressure of having a fixed list of things I needed to accomplish, vs. a list of things I'd like to do or see, did not combine well with Sean's general desire to relax and take things easy on a vacation. Of course, we've had this issue before (the most memorable moment being the morning in Olympia when I wanted to get going to the ancient site right away and Sean wanted to sit on our balcony and 'enjoy the view,' which I felt was absurd since all our balcony looked out on was the school across the street) but there was definitely a bit more snarking this time around. Lesson learned, but all in all, it was a great trip.
Friday, our last day in Venice, we went to the Museo Correr, the Archaeological Museum, the Marciana, and the Ducal Palace, none of which particularly wowed me. I've been to the Ducal Palace before, and despite its grand scale and opulence, I just wasn't really feeling it, perhaps because there was no heat and it was so cold you could see your breath in all the fancy rooms. The guards all wore their winter coats with big scarves around their necks. The Correr had one of the guild signs I was interested in for my thesis, but of course there was a guard seated right beside it so I couldn't take a secretive photograph. It was otherwise mostly unremarkable, except for a print of Jacopo de Barbari's 1500 map of Venice, with its birds-eye view of the city that is still surprisingly accurate today. The Archaeological Museum was likewise meh, except for a statue of Mithras sacrificing a bull that was pretty cool. Dr. Cooper had advised me to hit their cafeteria for its excellent fare and enviable view of San Marco, but lo and behold, there was a union strike in Italy on Friday and we found a sign on the door of the cafeteria saying they had closed as a result. Of course.
After that I wandered around a little bit until 6:30, when we staked out Trattoria Ca d'Oro as it opened. We had tried to go there Wednesday, but it was so busy they told us to come back, and inexplicably they're closed on Thursdays, so this was our last shot at a well-recommended restaurant. We weren't the only ones trying this strategy, either, and we wound up sitting with a German couple who turned out to both be professors, one of classics, and the other art history. What are the odds? That was very pleasant, and they have us some travel recommendations, particularly Turkey, where they said you can see more real antiquities than you can find in Greece. Sean is already campaigning for France 2011, but I'm more interested in making Turkey our next destination, so we shall see.
The other reason for our early dinner: we went to bed at 9 and got up at 3:30, catching a vaporetto at 5am and a bus to the airport at 5:40. This all worked smoothly, getting us to the airport a little after 6am for a.....9:40 flight. OK, I tend to be on the early side, but in my defense I was worried about the reliability of the vaporetto and bus schedules that early on a Saturday morning, and if we'd missed the bus there was only one an hour. But it wasn't bad; I paid 7 euro for a souvenir pack of Venice playing cards and we played Crazy Eights for a while. Then we checked in and they forced Sean to check his carry-on, which annoyed him greatly, the more so once he realized he'd left his apartment keys in the bag. Luckily, all luggage arrived on time and unharmed in Philadelphia.
We were also fortunate in Paris; I was worried again that with only 1.5 hours between flights and having to navigate between terminals and go through security we might not make it. However, our terminals were adjoining ones, and the security line was mercifully short, so we made it through quite quickly. Our flight ended up leaving an hour late, and then got stuck in a holding pattern over Philly for an hour, which left me rather nauseous and made it officially my least favorite flight ever. Once we landed I decided to spring for a cab home instead of taking two trains (only to get a voicemail from Phyllis, too late, offering to come pick us us!). Lincoln Drive was flooded due to the rain, we got caught in a huge traffic snarl, our cabbie got lost and didn't know to operate his own GPS, relying on calling the dispatcher instead, so it wound up costing 60 bucks instead of 40, but sometimes the expense is worth it to just get home.
All told, the trip cost about $1800 (not counting the $1400 plane tickets). Not too bad, but definitely more than my projected $1200! Food was much more expensive than on our previous trips together (in Rome and Florence I almost never ate out, so I hardly noticed); even the price of bus ticks and bottles of water, once fixed at a euro apiece, had gone up--bus tickets in Bergamo were 1.05 and water bottles 1.20. There are also the endless incidental expenses that you don't calculate in advance, like bottles of water, snacks in train stations, Sean's endless passion for sampling new and different pastries. I mean, shopping's not even a part of my travel budget; my souvenirs were five postcards, necklaces for me and Linda, truffle oil for Phyllis, and a black bag from the gift shop at the Ducal Palace. Venice had so many beautiful things for sale that I wished I had more money to spend, but in the end, the experience is really what's worth the most to both of us. We agreed: our priorities are art and food. Well, Sean's not so much there for the art unless it's classical, but in general, art and food!
Having dinner at Graziella's was probably our favorite part of the experience this time around. Despite being that most quotidian of events, a simple meal, it was different than anything we'd ever done before, perhaps because it made us feel authentic somehow: not mere tourists but guests in someone's home. We also agreed that if I'm ever going on another short "working trip," Sean will opt not to join me, because the pressure of having a fixed list of things I needed to accomplish, vs. a list of things I'd like to do or see, did not combine well with Sean's general desire to relax and take things easy on a vacation. Of course, we've had this issue before (the most memorable moment being the morning in Olympia when I wanted to get going to the ancient site right away and Sean wanted to sit on our balcony and 'enjoy the view,' which I felt was absurd since all our balcony looked out on was the school across the street) but there was definitely a bit more snarking this time around. Lesson learned, but all in all, it was a great trip.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Coffee with the Countess
I should have written this before my last post, but whatever. Tuesday afternoon, Graziella and I had an appointment with the countess' husband to see the frescoes, not in Trescore Balneario, but in their palace on Via Pignolo, right across the street from Paolo Cassotti's house. Two and only two, he told Giulia by phone, and only if it doesn't rain or snow that day. This after she had to jump through ridiculous hoops even to find a phone number, and then was repeatedly questioned as to why I wanted to see the frescoes, etc. The Suardi don't invite anyone into their home, according to Giulia, even Giovanmario Petro, who wrote a bunch of articles about things they own. So this was kind of big that they were letting us come, and Graziella was extremely excited because she'd never been inside either.
We met at 2:30, and Graziella immediately began talking my ear off, which was a problem because we were once again outside and without Giulia to ask for clarification. However, she'd brought me another gift, this time a couple books about Molise (she had been delighted to discover my grandfather came from Bonefro at dinner the night before), which was very sweet of her. At the proper time, we rang the bell and a woman buzzed us into the massive courtyard of this 18th-century palace. She was an older woman, well-dressed and well-preserved, but it didn't click yet that she was the countess because she didn't introduce herself or anything, she just took our coats and ushered us into the sitting room, which looked like one of those reconstruction rooms in a museum--frescoed ceiling, gilded wall panels, period furniture, and all. And there were two of Previtali's frescoes, sitting on their Oriental carpet. Naturally, I squeed. Then Doctor Solari came out, and I realized who the woman was when he called her his wife. Whoops, there went my "sono molto onorata" greeting, though Graziella must have known from the beginnnig because I heard her say exactly that when we came in.
Anyway, they let me take photos! Then they insisted we sit and have coffee, which I did drink a couple sips of so as not to be rude (though the countess said she didn't drink coffee anyway, and then took our cups literally maybe five or six minutes after she gave them to us. Is that because it was espresso? I don't know). Graziella kept up a running conversation with them, so they didn't ask me many questions that I would have stumbled to answer. We left at three so Graziella could catch a train, and that was that, my brief interlude with Bergamasque nobility.
We met at 2:30, and Graziella immediately began talking my ear off, which was a problem because we were once again outside and without Giulia to ask for clarification. However, she'd brought me another gift, this time a couple books about Molise (she had been delighted to discover my grandfather came from Bonefro at dinner the night before), which was very sweet of her. At the proper time, we rang the bell and a woman buzzed us into the massive courtyard of this 18th-century palace. She was an older woman, well-dressed and well-preserved, but it didn't click yet that she was the countess because she didn't introduce herself or anything, she just took our coats and ushered us into the sitting room, which looked like one of those reconstruction rooms in a museum--frescoed ceiling, gilded wall panels, period furniture, and all. And there were two of Previtali's frescoes, sitting on their Oriental carpet. Naturally, I squeed. Then Doctor Solari came out, and I realized who the woman was when he called her his wife. Whoops, there went my "sono molto onorata" greeting, though Graziella must have known from the beginnnig because I heard her say exactly that when we came in.
Anyway, they let me take photos! Then they insisted we sit and have coffee, which I did drink a couple sips of so as not to be rude (though the countess said she didn't drink coffee anyway, and then took our cups literally maybe five or six minutes after she gave them to us. Is that because it was espresso? I don't know). Graziella kept up a running conversation with them, so they didn't ask me many questions that I would have stumbled to answer. We left at three so Graziella could catch a train, and that was that, my brief interlude with Bergamasque nobility.
Update From Venice
Where even to begin? We went to bed on Tuesday night with a light snow falling in Bergamo, and woke up to an inch of it on the ground. Everything looked beautiful, but Sabrina warned us it was snowing in Venice. We figured, how bad could it be?
BAD. That is the answer. The Venetians were all horrified because they haven't even seen snow in March years, much less yesterday's monstrous weather. We arrived at the station and I almost broke my neck falling down the extremely slippery marble steps, which were covered with an inch of slush. Five minutes later, my sneakers were soaked through and so was the bottom of my suitcase. We took the vaporetto to our hotel's stop, where I immediately spent 15 euro on a pair of rubber boots and Sean bought an extremely sturdy umbrella. Of course, this being Venice, we had a devil of a time finding the way to our hotel even though it was like 100 meters from the vaporetto stop; everything is an alley here. We were miserable, cold and damp when we found it--it wasn't just snowing, it was blowing fiercely right in our faces!
Luckily the hotel was nice. I hopped in the shower and was then immediately up for a stroll to San Marco. Sean originally came out with me, but a few blocks from the hotel, as a particularly strong gust of wind blew in his face, he decided "screw this" and went back to the hotel. I made my slow, frigid way to Piazza San Marco, which was as empty as I think I will ever see it. I stopped in at a glass shop on the square to say hello to Jasmine's friend Heather, and she confirmed that the previous night they'd had hurricane-like winds, and now this, the worst weather anyone could remember.
Then I hightailed it back to the hotel, where Sean was napping and watching the BBC. We went out to dinner, or tried to, at Trattoria Ca D'oro, but when they told us it was a two hour wait we went elsewhere and, naturally, got fleeced. Our dinner cost 70 euro, the most expensive yet, and it wasn't very good. Well, c'est le vie of the hungry traveler in Venice. After that the wind had died down somewhat, so we walked back to San Marco, where I found that the square had actually flooded with like 8 inches of water, so I was able to use my boots to just splash around! (Sean had to wait in the safety of dry land). Sean quickly tired of this, of course, and we went home.
This morning, I woke up to find the bluest possible skies waiting for us outside. Today was the warmest, prettiest day of the whole trip!! We went to San Marco first, and really got fleeced again--you pay to go in the Treasury, to see the Pala D'Oro, and then again to go up on the roof, in total about 10 euro apiece. That's a lot. We took the vaporetto across to S. Giorgio, which was awe-inspiringly gorgeous (and freezing). From there we hopped to the Redentore, which was similar Palladian glory on a more intimate scale. Then we took the vaporetto up to Rialto and went in search of lunch before my meeting with Dr. Schofield, which went quite well! He was a funny British guy with an opinion on everything: all of the Italian educational system is corrupt; professors should have mandatory ages of retirement to make way for younger scholars; Deborah Howard's book on Venice and the East was absolute rubbish (meep, I love Deborah Howard!).
After Schofield, we hit the Frari (Titian's Assumption of the Virgin and the Pala Pesaro are there, along with Canova's tomb, a monument to Titian, and an altarpiece by Bellini). After that we split up; Sean went to climb the belltower at S. Marco (he reported that he was gypped--there was only an elevator, and he wanted to really climb) while I went to the Accademia, which was smaller than I remembered, plus several rooms were closed. However, greatest hits: Bellini and Cima, the Veronese and Tintoretto room, and Titian's Presentation of the Virgin in the Temple.
After leaving the Accademia, I hoofed it down to the Salute, which had beautiful views of the bacino, and then took the vaporetto back to the hotel as the sun was setting along the Grand Canal. Che bello!
BAD. That is the answer. The Venetians were all horrified because they haven't even seen snow in March years, much less yesterday's monstrous weather. We arrived at the station and I almost broke my neck falling down the extremely slippery marble steps, which were covered with an inch of slush. Five minutes later, my sneakers were soaked through and so was the bottom of my suitcase. We took the vaporetto to our hotel's stop, where I immediately spent 15 euro on a pair of rubber boots and Sean bought an extremely sturdy umbrella. Of course, this being Venice, we had a devil of a time finding the way to our hotel even though it was like 100 meters from the vaporetto stop; everything is an alley here. We were miserable, cold and damp when we found it--it wasn't just snowing, it was blowing fiercely right in our faces!
Luckily the hotel was nice. I hopped in the shower and was then immediately up for a stroll to San Marco. Sean originally came out with me, but a few blocks from the hotel, as a particularly strong gust of wind blew in his face, he decided "screw this" and went back to the hotel. I made my slow, frigid way to Piazza San Marco, which was as empty as I think I will ever see it. I stopped in at a glass shop on the square to say hello to Jasmine's friend Heather, and she confirmed that the previous night they'd had hurricane-like winds, and now this, the worst weather anyone could remember.
Then I hightailed it back to the hotel, where Sean was napping and watching the BBC. We went out to dinner, or tried to, at Trattoria Ca D'oro, but when they told us it was a two hour wait we went elsewhere and, naturally, got fleeced. Our dinner cost 70 euro, the most expensive yet, and it wasn't very good. Well, c'est le vie of the hungry traveler in Venice. After that the wind had died down somewhat, so we walked back to San Marco, where I found that the square had actually flooded with like 8 inches of water, so I was able to use my boots to just splash around! (Sean had to wait in the safety of dry land). Sean quickly tired of this, of course, and we went home.
This morning, I woke up to find the bluest possible skies waiting for us outside. Today was the warmest, prettiest day of the whole trip!! We went to San Marco first, and really got fleeced again--you pay to go in the Treasury, to see the Pala D'Oro, and then again to go up on the roof, in total about 10 euro apiece. That's a lot. We took the vaporetto across to S. Giorgio, which was awe-inspiringly gorgeous (and freezing). From there we hopped to the Redentore, which was similar Palladian glory on a more intimate scale. Then we took the vaporetto up to Rialto and went in search of lunch before my meeting with Dr. Schofield, which went quite well! He was a funny British guy with an opinion on everything: all of the Italian educational system is corrupt; professors should have mandatory ages of retirement to make way for younger scholars; Deborah Howard's book on Venice and the East was absolute rubbish (meep, I love Deborah Howard!).
After Schofield, we hit the Frari (Titian's Assumption of the Virgin and the Pala Pesaro are there, along with Canova's tomb, a monument to Titian, and an altarpiece by Bellini). After that we split up; Sean went to climb the belltower at S. Marco (he reported that he was gypped--there was only an elevator, and he wanted to really climb) while I went to the Accademia, which was smaller than I remembered, plus several rooms were closed. However, greatest hits: Bellini and Cima, the Veronese and Tintoretto room, and Titian's Presentation of the Virgin in the Temple.
After leaving the Accademia, I hoofed it down to the Salute, which had beautiful views of the bacino, and then took the vaporetto back to the hotel as the sun was setting along the Grand Canal. Che bello!
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Whee
I can barely feel my fingers at the moment--there is no heat in this internet cafe!! Its been very cold here, unseasonably so--in the streets on Sunday I heard everyone saying "fa freddo!"
Last night Sean and I went to Graziellas house for dinner. It was a lot of fun, and I could understand her so much more when we were in a relaxed setting instead of walking around outside in the freezing cold! Giulia was also on hand to translate, helpful for Sean too since he speaks no Italian whatsoever. Dinner was some sort of pasta pinwheels with cheese and spinach, then a huge platter of cooked vegetables, then another huge platter of sliced meats, then the torta with walnuts and almonds that I had brought as a gift, THEN the strudel Graziella had brought, and then finally an orange. That was a serious feast. Also, she gave me little yellow mimosa flowers because yesterday was Festa delle Donne. Id seen women all over the city carrying them, and then I got some! Heehee.
Today we are going to Palazzo Suardi, which is on Via Pignolo, instead of hauling ass out to Trescore Balneario. Giulia explained last night all the hoops she had to jump through first to even get a phone number for the countess, then to get through to her, only to be passed off to the husband, who repeatedly asked her all these questions about who I was, and why I wanted to see the paintings. We have half an hour and we can see two of them, thats the deal! Still, its ridiculously awesome that Im in Italy, I had dinner at an Italian professors house, and today Im getting in somewhere that Giulia said no one ever gets in, not even the guy who wrote a bunch of articles Im using on palaces in Via Pignolo. Excitement!!
On another note, I have an interview for the internship at the PMA when I get back. Plus Im meeting Richard Schofield, a friend of Dr. Coopers, in Venice. Things are good, yes indeed.
Monday, March 08, 2010
Here in Bergamo
I cant make this a long post (nor can I use apostrophes, damn Italian keyboards); I need to go back to our hotel, collect Sean, and hit the library. But things are going freakishly well! Saturday night when we got in I called Giulia, who speaks perfect English, and then talked to Graziella for 20 minutes. She speaks no English, just a mile-a-minute Italian. Yesterday she and Giulia took me on a tour of the city, with Giulia translating the many things I couldnt understand. Tonight we re going to her house for dinner, and tomorrow morning we may have an appt to see the frescos!!
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Update
Two happy developments! Dr. Hall came through with her cell phone, and Prof. Forcella wrote to tell me that I should be able to go see two of the frescos on Monday or Tuesday, and to call her when I get into town. That's awesome--but of course this means now that I'm actually going to have to carry on a conversation in Italian by phone, and then again with the countess/her husband. Ack. I wonder how many seconds it will take for me to blurt out "Parla Lei inglese?"
Now, naturally, I'm just anxious to be off. I went to check us in and there was a notice that our flight was oversold and that they were looking for volunteers to be bumped. Not I!
Now, naturally, I'm just anxious to be off. I went to check us in and there was a notice that our flight was oversold and that they were looking for volunteers to be bumped. Not I!
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
On Scholarly Generations
This is something that came up in Dr. Hall's class on Monday, though it has certainly appeared in other classes I've taken and is sometimes even directly brought to the fore in the literature: the concept of generational change among scholars, and how their collective life experiences lead them to frame and reframe certain concepts and even entire periods. The context in which it came up was Evonne Levy's book on propaganda and the Jesuits in the late 16th century. In her introduction, she noted that the scholars working after World War II were extremely uncomfortable with using the label "propaganda" to describe the ideological activities of the Jesuits, because they naturally associated the idea with the propaganda machine of the Nazis. It simply wasn't spoken of in those terms. Today, of course, we use propaganda constantly--the Augustus of Prima Porta was imperial propaganda; the commissions of the popes in Baroque Rome was papal propaganda, etc., etc. The scare factor of the term has waned.
It's really fascinating to see how historical context affects scholarly work. When we read Erwin Panofsky's monograph on Durer for Dr. West's class, the new introduction pointed out that one of the goals Panofsky was trying to accomplish in his book was to identify Durer as a true Renaissance man, a man who belonged to European culture and not just Germany alone. Why? Panofsky's book was published in 1943, right in the middle of the war. He was a German who had emigrated to the US in the 1930s rather than remain in Germany under the Nazis. One of the goal's of the Nazi cultural program was the identification of a pure Germanic art, and they used Albrecht Durer as one of the foremost examples. Panofsky wanted to overturn that isolationist viewpoint, so he played up Durer's international connections, his trips to Venice, and his interest in the work of Bellini and Leonardo. His work is still today the canonical text on Durer, of course, but it comes this particular spin. I think this phenomenon is a reminder that we are none of us without bias, though we think of the 20th century as the century of objectivity, as opposed to the often-subjective opinions of the 19th century art historians.
Levy also pointed out that one of the reasons that scholars have avoided looking at the propagandistic art of the Jesuits is that there was a sense that art and propaganda cannot coexist in the same artifact, and that somehow by studying these works, you ran the risk of being tricked by the propaganda itself. She used another Nazi example to explain this, saying that for a long time, no one wanted to admit that they found any aesthetic value in Albert Speer's architecture because there was a sense that by doing so you were somehow validating or implicitly accepting the ideology that was attached to those buildings. If the architecture is Nazism, then liking the architecture means you tacitly approve of the Nazis.
Her point, then, was that because the Jesuits earned a reputation for being fiercely dogmatic and ideological, and because they so readily employed art as a tool to spread and support that ideology, scholars shied away from studying it lest they be seen as tacitly supporting the Jesuit program.
It would help to know here that the Jesuits have a history unlike that of almost any other Catholic order. They started in 1540 with a group of seven or so men around Ignatius of Loyola and then grew both rapidly and exponentially. Their strictly hierarchical, corporation-like structure lent itself well to their far-flung international missions, ensuring a standard of discipline from China to Peru. It was in fact their very international presence that made them a threat, combined with their famous fourth vow of loyalty to the Pope himself (in addition to the vows of poverty, obedience, and chastity that all orders take). Their supposedly divided loyalty made them suspect in whatever kingdom they inhabited--much like the prejudice that faced JFK as a Catholic president in a Protestant country; how could he acknowledge the pope's authority and be an independent leader? In fact they were so suspect that in 1773 the order was suppressed throughout Europe based on international pressure on the pope (though Catherine the Great flipped the pope the bird and maintained the Jesuit order within Russia). They were reinstated as an order in the beginning of the 19th century, but suspicion and distrust remained. Many Jesuits had gone underground during the suppression, operating under false identities, leading to their characterization as men who would do anything to accomplish their goals, even lie.
The negative connotations of Jesuits lasts today (at Fairfield we learned of the term "jesuitical," referring to someone who weasels around the rules), though it was amplified in the 20th century by the Jesuit support for liberation theology, particularly in South America (in short: Jesuits said yay to human rights and boo to capitalism; the Vatican said no, we're on the side of enterprise, so shut your yaps). Wikipedia informed me that upon taking the papal throne Benedict "encouraged" the order to renew their vow of loyalty to him, which they did.
Finally, I just have to say this: I like Albert Speer's architecture. Yes, I also liked the Vittorio Emmanuele monument in Rome, the so-called "Mussolini's typewriter." Does that make me a closet fascist? I hope not.
It's really fascinating to see how historical context affects scholarly work. When we read Erwin Panofsky's monograph on Durer for Dr. West's class, the new introduction pointed out that one of the goals Panofsky was trying to accomplish in his book was to identify Durer as a true Renaissance man, a man who belonged to European culture and not just Germany alone. Why? Panofsky's book was published in 1943, right in the middle of the war. He was a German who had emigrated to the US in the 1930s rather than remain in Germany under the Nazis. One of the goal's of the Nazi cultural program was the identification of a pure Germanic art, and they used Albrecht Durer as one of the foremost examples. Panofsky wanted to overturn that isolationist viewpoint, so he played up Durer's international connections, his trips to Venice, and his interest in the work of Bellini and Leonardo. His work is still today the canonical text on Durer, of course, but it comes this particular spin. I think this phenomenon is a reminder that we are none of us without bias, though we think of the 20th century as the century of objectivity, as opposed to the often-subjective opinions of the 19th century art historians.
Levy also pointed out that one of the reasons that scholars have avoided looking at the propagandistic art of the Jesuits is that there was a sense that art and propaganda cannot coexist in the same artifact, and that somehow by studying these works, you ran the risk of being tricked by the propaganda itself. She used another Nazi example to explain this, saying that for a long time, no one wanted to admit that they found any aesthetic value in Albert Speer's architecture because there was a sense that by doing so you were somehow validating or implicitly accepting the ideology that was attached to those buildings. If the architecture is Nazism, then liking the architecture means you tacitly approve of the Nazis.
Her point, then, was that because the Jesuits earned a reputation for being fiercely dogmatic and ideological, and because they so readily employed art as a tool to spread and support that ideology, scholars shied away from studying it lest they be seen as tacitly supporting the Jesuit program.
It would help to know here that the Jesuits have a history unlike that of almost any other Catholic order. They started in 1540 with a group of seven or so men around Ignatius of Loyola and then grew both rapidly and exponentially. Their strictly hierarchical, corporation-like structure lent itself well to their far-flung international missions, ensuring a standard of discipline from China to Peru. It was in fact their very international presence that made them a threat, combined with their famous fourth vow of loyalty to the Pope himself (in addition to the vows of poverty, obedience, and chastity that all orders take). Their supposedly divided loyalty made them suspect in whatever kingdom they inhabited--much like the prejudice that faced JFK as a Catholic president in a Protestant country; how could he acknowledge the pope's authority and be an independent leader? In fact they were so suspect that in 1773 the order was suppressed throughout Europe based on international pressure on the pope (though Catherine the Great flipped the pope the bird and maintained the Jesuit order within Russia). They were reinstated as an order in the beginning of the 19th century, but suspicion and distrust remained. Many Jesuits had gone underground during the suppression, operating under false identities, leading to their characterization as men who would do anything to accomplish their goals, even lie.
The negative connotations of Jesuits lasts today (at Fairfield we learned of the term "jesuitical," referring to someone who weasels around the rules), though it was amplified in the 20th century by the Jesuit support for liberation theology, particularly in South America (in short: Jesuits said yay to human rights and boo to capitalism; the Vatican said no, we're on the side of enterprise, so shut your yaps). Wikipedia informed me that upon taking the papal throne Benedict "encouraged" the order to renew their vow of loyalty to him, which they did.
Finally, I just have to say this: I like Albert Speer's architecture. Yes, I also liked the Vittorio Emmanuele monument in Rome, the so-called "Mussolini's typewriter." Does that make me a closet fascist? I hope not.
Busy, Cont'd
In two days' time Sean and I will be on our way to Italy! Of course I'm ready to go right now.
There was a flurry of trip-related activity today, partially thanks to yesterday's lunch with Dr. Cooper. Since she's on sabbatical this was the only time I've seen her since the beginning of the semester, and she gave me so much advice that I wished I had seen her a week or two earlier. She strongly urged me to buy an Italian cell phone while I'm there, for use on this and future trips. I see the logic of that, but I don't want to feel rushed into buying a phone in Bergamo just so I can have one immediately and give people the number. I mentioned this idea to Dr. Hall this morning and she offered to lend me her Italian phone if she could dig it up. I haven't heard back from her yet, but that would be great (she also gave me an older guidebook to Bergamo plus a map, which I was sorely lacking!). Jasmine and I also discussed jointly owning a phone, and she'll be there for two weeks in April, so more time to seek out a good price (Dr. Hall admitted to paying a small fortune for hers).
Dr. Cooper asked if I had business cards to give people, and of course I didn't, so one of my stops today was Staples to pick up my internet-ordered business cards that introduce me as a doctoral student at Temple. (It also turns out that I had accidentally been describing myself in emails as a bachelor's student, "una studentessa di laurea," when in fact I should have been saying "una studentessa di un corso di dottorato," or "dottoranda" for short. That makes it even more surprising that people were willing to help me!!)
Dr. Cooper also decided I should have a letter of introduction in Italian to smooth my way should I try to get into any libraries or archives that give me a hard time, which I really don't think is going to happen on this trip, since the library in Bergamo has already been very helpful. It can also be used to get into museums and such for free--Jasmine did that during her semester in Venice--but since it's just a week, and since Sean is with me as well, I'm really OK with just buying tickets. However, Dr. Cooper was set on this. So today I picked up some letterhead while I was at school and she emailed me the letter, and told me to have Sean forge her name.
Oh, she also suggested that I bring an "offering" of pastries or chocolates to anyone who proves particularly helpful.
She then reminded me to make sure my health insurance covers me overseas (it does, I called), and sent me a huge email today reminding me to take as many photographs as I can and to buy museum catalogues and ephemera where possible. True to form, she also suggested I contact her friend Richard Schofield again and set up a meeting while I'm in Venice. An awkward coffee date, yay! Actually, it could be interesting, because he contributed a paper to the volume that we're editing for Dr. Hall's class this semester, so we'll see.
Finally, she gave me some tips on how formal to be with the Countess, if I meet her (still no word back from Dr. Forcella on that): I should address her as egregia signora contessa (basically, Exellent Mrs. Countess) and tell her that sono molto onorata to meet her. Meep. I have a Skype date with Carla tomorrow morning so she can quiz me on some conversational Italian.
Both Dr. Cooper and Jasmine have been very helpful in terms of suggesting places to eat as well, which of course is an integral part of any trip Sean and I take. Jasmine even made me a Google map with all her favorite places on it, which I spent an hour today transferring to my paper map along with Dr. Cooper's suggestions. Venice is so wacky that places don't generally have a street address; they have a sestiere and a number, like "Cannareggio 3121." I was happy to discover that Jasmine's number one recommendation, also highly recommended by guidebooks, the Trattoria Ca' d'Oro, is literally almost on top of our hotel. She also told me to go find her friend Heather's glass shop on Piazza San Marco, though she warned me it's all definitely marked up. It's much easier to go say hello to a friend of a friend in a foreign city, rather than to meet up with a scholar who you feel the conspicuous need to impress!
There was a flurry of trip-related activity today, partially thanks to yesterday's lunch with Dr. Cooper. Since she's on sabbatical this was the only time I've seen her since the beginning of the semester, and she gave me so much advice that I wished I had seen her a week or two earlier. She strongly urged me to buy an Italian cell phone while I'm there, for use on this and future trips. I see the logic of that, but I don't want to feel rushed into buying a phone in Bergamo just so I can have one immediately and give people the number. I mentioned this idea to Dr. Hall this morning and she offered to lend me her Italian phone if she could dig it up. I haven't heard back from her yet, but that would be great (she also gave me an older guidebook to Bergamo plus a map, which I was sorely lacking!). Jasmine and I also discussed jointly owning a phone, and she'll be there for two weeks in April, so more time to seek out a good price (Dr. Hall admitted to paying a small fortune for hers).
Dr. Cooper asked if I had business cards to give people, and of course I didn't, so one of my stops today was Staples to pick up my internet-ordered business cards that introduce me as a doctoral student at Temple. (It also turns out that I had accidentally been describing myself in emails as a bachelor's student, "una studentessa di laurea," when in fact I should have been saying "una studentessa di un corso di dottorato," or "dottoranda" for short. That makes it even more surprising that people were willing to help me!!)
Dr. Cooper also decided I should have a letter of introduction in Italian to smooth my way should I try to get into any libraries or archives that give me a hard time, which I really don't think is going to happen on this trip, since the library in Bergamo has already been very helpful. It can also be used to get into museums and such for free--Jasmine did that during her semester in Venice--but since it's just a week, and since Sean is with me as well, I'm really OK with just buying tickets. However, Dr. Cooper was set on this. So today I picked up some letterhead while I was at school and she emailed me the letter, and told me to have Sean forge her name.
Oh, she also suggested that I bring an "offering" of pastries or chocolates to anyone who proves particularly helpful.
She then reminded me to make sure my health insurance covers me overseas (it does, I called), and sent me a huge email today reminding me to take as many photographs as I can and to buy museum catalogues and ephemera where possible. True to form, she also suggested I contact her friend Richard Schofield again and set up a meeting while I'm in Venice. An awkward coffee date, yay! Actually, it could be interesting, because he contributed a paper to the volume that we're editing for Dr. Hall's class this semester, so we'll see.
Finally, she gave me some tips on how formal to be with the Countess, if I meet her (still no word back from Dr. Forcella on that): I should address her as egregia signora contessa (basically, Exellent Mrs. Countess) and tell her that sono molto onorata to meet her. Meep. I have a Skype date with Carla tomorrow morning so she can quiz me on some conversational Italian.
Both Dr. Cooper and Jasmine have been very helpful in terms of suggesting places to eat as well, which of course is an integral part of any trip Sean and I take. Jasmine even made me a Google map with all her favorite places on it, which I spent an hour today transferring to my paper map along with Dr. Cooper's suggestions. Venice is so wacky that places don't generally have a street address; they have a sestiere and a number, like "Cannareggio 3121." I was happy to discover that Jasmine's number one recommendation, also highly recommended by guidebooks, the Trattoria Ca' d'Oro, is literally almost on top of our hotel. She also told me to go find her friend Heather's glass shop on Piazza San Marco, though she warned me it's all definitely marked up. It's much easier to go say hello to a friend of a friend in a foreign city, rather than to meet up with a scholar who you feel the conspicuous need to impress!
Busy, Busy
Yesterday Agnes, Jasmine and I went up to Princeton for the day. We had lunch with Dr. Cooper, who lives in the next town over, at one of the school's cafes (and the food was both pricey and excellent. How Princeton-ish.) Then we spent a few hours in the art library, which was probably the nicest library I have ever seen, anywhere. It's got to be one of the top five, maybe, in the country (I'm thinking that Yale, Harvard, Princeton, and Berkeley might be able to compete, and I haven't seen any of those). They had so many books. In fact, they had so many all of their stacks were those giant rolling stacks that you have to wheel open. It was an art historian's wet dream. It pretty much made our libary, which of course is not an art library, look like crap, but then again, it's really not hard to make Temple look bad next to Princeton. However I am not like Agnes, who has a serious inferiority complex about Princeton caused by some bitchy grad student she met at the PMA who told her condescendingly, "Oh, that's OK," when Agnes told her what program she was in. Incidentally, we spotted this same person at the reception later that night and she totally looked like a bitch.
The real reason we went was to hear a lecture by Horst Bredekamp on "the activity of the image." I think we all thought it was going to be about relics or icons, which is why Byzantine and Renaissance people like the three of us were interested. However, it turned out to be much more philosophically oriented--and when I say philosophical, let me tell you that in the question and answer, this guy moved effortlessly between talking about Plato and Pliny to Hegel and Freud, among others. We commented to one another afterward that he just seemed devastatingly knowledgeable, and how the hell does one head contain all of that information? Well, surprise surprise, Dr. Bredekamp is German. Sometimes I think those German scholars just sit in their carrels and read for like, 15 years, because they seem to produce such rigorously systematic thinkers who are able to synthesize a vast array of literature.
His talk did in fact do a lot of synthesizing. His examples ranged from Archaic Greek statues to Jan van Eyck's portraits of himself and his wife, up to a 20th-century French sculptor, Niki de Saint Phalle. I doubt I could really sum up his talk well, but he said that he's trying to formulate a philosophical approach to the object as a living entity, specifically objects that have inscriptions that refer to the object in the third person, such as a Greek inscription on a cup that says "I am the cup of Phiedias" or the double inscriptions on van Eyck's self-portrait: "As I can" and "Johann van Eyck made me." He made an interesting point that in its origins, what was written was always meant to be spoken aloud; thus, when we look at van Eyck's portrait and say those words aloud, we are speaking for the object as if it were a real person, endowing it with life.
One of the examples I found most interesting was the one he began with, something Leonardo da Vinci wrote about a painting that was exhibited with a cover over it that read "if you love freedom, do not uncover me." The idea, of course, is that what's under that covering has the power to act on the viewer, to make an object of them, instead of simply being the passive receiver of the viewer's gaze. This would have been a very interesting talk to incorporate into Dr. Cooper's seminar on the spectator last semester. Although Bredekamp definitely began to lose me once he started to talk about "phenomenology" and other weighty philosophical terms, he had the sexiest German accent I think I've ever heard, so I was content to listen. Yes, I know that "sexy" and "German accent" rarely go together, but trust me on this.
After the talk we went to the reception, which was suitably deluxe considering that we weren't just at Princeton, but at the Institute for Advanced Study, which is its own separate and even more deluxe campus. Basically, the Institute just offers fellowships for scholars to come and live for 6 months or a year and do research with all the resources Princeton has to offer. If you're at the Institute, you are officially A Big Deal (and just to make that extra clear, it's located on Einstein Drive).
Now, when you have a reception crowded with well-known scholars and your advisor is there, and your advisor is Dr. Cooper, specifically, she's going to make you introduce yourself to a whole bunch of people and have conversations with them of varying degrees of awkwardness. On the whole, we got off light, since she brought two or three people over to us and we talked in a group. Toward the end, though, she came over and told Jasmine to go talk to Irving Lavin while I was to talk to his wife Marilyn, who's written on fresco cycles. Sigh. Luckily for me, as I walked over the person to whom she was speaking walked away, so I just introduced myself and we chatted for a few minutes at a relatively low awkwardness level. Dr. Cooper had told her about my project, which she thought was interesting, but since she only works on narrative cycles she really didn't have much advice to share, so I thanked her and walked away. Jasmine, meanwhile, had a devil of a time getting a word in with Irving Lavin, and finally had to stalk him to the buffet table to talk to him. It's a rock and a hard place when you don't want to have to introduce yourself randomly to people, but when your adviser is in the same room and will later ask you if you spoke to person X. In other words, you must suck it up and do it.
We didn't end up getting home until about 9:30, which made it an incredibly long day, but it was well worth it. Oh, and the best part was finding out the truth to a certain mystery about Agnes: last year she mentioned offhand having gotten married in Vegas, but I never knew what the deal was. Well, Jasmine sort of spilled the beans for her when she joked about Agnes having married her sister's boyfriend...then she HAD to tell me. As it turns out, Agnes, who is an American citizen, married her sister's boyfriend because both the sister and boyfriend were here illegally. Both now have green cards, (and one baby plus another on the way) but he and Agnes are going to stay married until they both get citizenship. Talk about sisterly devotion! They had to pass that interview last year when the government tries to find out if your marriage is real, and that's the reason she mentioned her marriage to me and Jasmine in the first place--she said she was worried someone would call us and we would profess no knowledge of her marriage. Crafty girl! She was so apologetic about it, but hey, do what you've got to do, I say. Thus ends the great secret of Agnieska!
The real reason we went was to hear a lecture by Horst Bredekamp on "the activity of the image." I think we all thought it was going to be about relics or icons, which is why Byzantine and Renaissance people like the three of us were interested. However, it turned out to be much more philosophically oriented--and when I say philosophical, let me tell you that in the question and answer, this guy moved effortlessly between talking about Plato and Pliny to Hegel and Freud, among others. We commented to one another afterward that he just seemed devastatingly knowledgeable, and how the hell does one head contain all of that information? Well, surprise surprise, Dr. Bredekamp is German. Sometimes I think those German scholars just sit in their carrels and read for like, 15 years, because they seem to produce such rigorously systematic thinkers who are able to synthesize a vast array of literature.
His talk did in fact do a lot of synthesizing. His examples ranged from Archaic Greek statues to Jan van Eyck's portraits of himself and his wife, up to a 20th-century French sculptor, Niki de Saint Phalle. I doubt I could really sum up his talk well, but he said that he's trying to formulate a philosophical approach to the object as a living entity, specifically objects that have inscriptions that refer to the object in the third person, such as a Greek inscription on a cup that says "I am the cup of Phiedias" or the double inscriptions on van Eyck's self-portrait: "As I can" and "Johann van Eyck made me." He made an interesting point that in its origins, what was written was always meant to be spoken aloud; thus, when we look at van Eyck's portrait and say those words aloud, we are speaking for the object as if it were a real person, endowing it with life.
One of the examples I found most interesting was the one he began with, something Leonardo da Vinci wrote about a painting that was exhibited with a cover over it that read "if you love freedom, do not uncover me." The idea, of course, is that what's under that covering has the power to act on the viewer, to make an object of them, instead of simply being the passive receiver of the viewer's gaze. This would have been a very interesting talk to incorporate into Dr. Cooper's seminar on the spectator last semester. Although Bredekamp definitely began to lose me once he started to talk about "phenomenology" and other weighty philosophical terms, he had the sexiest German accent I think I've ever heard, so I was content to listen. Yes, I know that "sexy" and "German accent" rarely go together, but trust me on this.
After the talk we went to the reception, which was suitably deluxe considering that we weren't just at Princeton, but at the Institute for Advanced Study, which is its own separate and even more deluxe campus. Basically, the Institute just offers fellowships for scholars to come and live for 6 months or a year and do research with all the resources Princeton has to offer. If you're at the Institute, you are officially A Big Deal (and just to make that extra clear, it's located on Einstein Drive).
Now, when you have a reception crowded with well-known scholars and your advisor is there, and your advisor is Dr. Cooper, specifically, she's going to make you introduce yourself to a whole bunch of people and have conversations with them of varying degrees of awkwardness. On the whole, we got off light, since she brought two or three people over to us and we talked in a group. Toward the end, though, she came over and told Jasmine to go talk to Irving Lavin while I was to talk to his wife Marilyn, who's written on fresco cycles. Sigh. Luckily for me, as I walked over the person to whom she was speaking walked away, so I just introduced myself and we chatted for a few minutes at a relatively low awkwardness level. Dr. Cooper had told her about my project, which she thought was interesting, but since she only works on narrative cycles she really didn't have much advice to share, so I thanked her and walked away. Jasmine, meanwhile, had a devil of a time getting a word in with Irving Lavin, and finally had to stalk him to the buffet table to talk to him. It's a rock and a hard place when you don't want to have to introduce yourself randomly to people, but when your adviser is in the same room and will later ask you if you spoke to person X. In other words, you must suck it up and do it.
We didn't end up getting home until about 9:30, which made it an incredibly long day, but it was well worth it. Oh, and the best part was finding out the truth to a certain mystery about Agnes: last year she mentioned offhand having gotten married in Vegas, but I never knew what the deal was. Well, Jasmine sort of spilled the beans for her when she joked about Agnes having married her sister's boyfriend...then she HAD to tell me. As it turns out, Agnes, who is an American citizen, married her sister's boyfriend because both the sister and boyfriend were here illegally. Both now have green cards, (and one baby plus another on the way) but he and Agnes are going to stay married until they both get citizenship. Talk about sisterly devotion! They had to pass that interview last year when the government tries to find out if your marriage is real, and that's the reason she mentioned her marriage to me and Jasmine in the first place--she said she was worried someone would call us and we would profess no knowledge of her marriage. Crafty girl! She was so apologetic about it, but hey, do what you've got to do, I say. Thus ends the great secret of Agnieska!