Dear old kidnapper,
Please tell my blindfold that I miss her, and say hello to the ropes. I hope chair is doing well, too.
Sincerely,
Kidnappee of '93
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Uh, yeah. I'll write an official entry later tonight.
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Much later,
Yesterday morning, I was sitting and waiting for the head of the English department to call me in for our meeting. There were two comfortable chairs placed in a small recess in the corridor near the door to his office. This narrow hallway is shared between only four or five offices, and so I was not in a waiting area, per se, so much as I was just in a chair that happened to be there, in the hallway. There were no plants, no carpet, and not even windows. Just white walls, wooden ceilings, and the occassional framed print at eye-level. The theme of this Humanities building is to have austere prints of fine art from before the 20th century along the walls, all framed in very heavy glass. This is something I'd appreciated, but it doesn't make alot of sense (aside from being pretentious), because Fine Art and Art History are taught in an entirely seperate building.
Facing me in my chair is the one sole painting for this particular corridor. Bruegal's "Landscape with Fall of Icarus". It's a bit of a silly 16th century painting, with this picturesque hillside being tended to by farmers, a coastal city is down below, and small and off in the corner are two little legs splashing and sticking up, just about to go under the water. That's Icarus. Icarus is the greek boy who fashioned some feather wings stuck together with wax for himself and his father, so they could fly away off their island. The story is that Icarus had too much pride in his own cleverness, he flew too high, too close to the sun, his wings melted, and then he plunged into the ocean and drown.
I was waiting in that misbegotten chair, looking wide-eyed at this metaphor, and suddenly I felt really discouraged. What a piece of psychological genius to place that picture there, for students to think about before their meetings, where they are likely going to make an appeal! The painting whispers in an advising tone: "Don't get too cocky there, boy. We know you want to succeed, but don't forget that hubris (ie. believing you can challenge the department's procedures and decisions) can ruin everything."
They might as well quote Dante: "Abandon all hope ye who enter here."
I'm still waiting on the appeal. We'll see.
Please tell my blindfold that I miss her, and say hello to the ropes. I hope chair is doing well, too.
Sincerely,
Kidnappee of '93
-----
Uh, yeah. I'll write an official entry later tonight.
-----
Much later,
Yesterday morning, I was sitting and waiting for the head of the English department to call me in for our meeting. There were two comfortable chairs placed in a small recess in the corridor near the door to his office. This narrow hallway is shared between only four or five offices, and so I was not in a waiting area, per se, so much as I was just in a chair that happened to be there, in the hallway. There were no plants, no carpet, and not even windows. Just white walls, wooden ceilings, and the occassional framed print at eye-level. The theme of this Humanities building is to have austere prints of fine art from before the 20th century along the walls, all framed in very heavy glass. This is something I'd appreciated, but it doesn't make alot of sense (aside from being pretentious), because Fine Art and Art History are taught in an entirely seperate building.
Facing me in my chair is the one sole painting for this particular corridor. Bruegal's "Landscape with Fall of Icarus". It's a bit of a silly 16th century painting, with this picturesque hillside being tended to by farmers, a coastal city is down below, and small and off in the corner are two little legs splashing and sticking up, just about to go under the water. That's Icarus. Icarus is the greek boy who fashioned some feather wings stuck together with wax for himself and his father, so they could fly away off their island. The story is that Icarus had too much pride in his own cleverness, he flew too high, too close to the sun, his wings melted, and then he plunged into the ocean and drown.
I was waiting in that misbegotten chair, looking wide-eyed at this metaphor, and suddenly I felt really discouraged. What a piece of psychological genius to place that picture there, for students to think about before their meetings, where they are likely going to make an appeal! The painting whispers in an advising tone: "Don't get too cocky there, boy. We know you want to succeed, but don't forget that hubris (ie. believing you can challenge the department's procedures and decisions) can ruin everything."
They might as well quote Dante: "Abandon all hope ye who enter here."
I'm still waiting on the appeal. We'll see.
when you get a chance i'd love to see a new painting x