I read Jill's blog everyday. Infact, it's the first site I log onto each morning. I like her writing style- which is intelligent and insightful and friendly. Invariably I find something that is of use to me- some thought that I mull over for the rest of the day, or some useful link. Jill has been incredibly generous to me in terms of advice and observations and encouragement over the last year. And I got to meet her at Christmas time when she was visiting Australia and can confirm she's just as fab in person. I think she's great.
So it was a bit of a shock to log on today and realise that for the few weeks while I've been blithely reading her blog she's been going through a tough time. I felt bad that I hadn't realised, even though I know this is silly and impossible. And as Jill herself says, this boils down to "voice" and what voice you want your blog to have. Some people want their blog to be personal, it's a cathartic thing, that's why they do it. But a research blog fits into a funny grey area- it deals with academic matters but then, it's also a diary and it charts the trials and tribulations of the research process.
I think what made me saddest reading Jill's post today was the sense that she felt she had created a voice for her blog that didn't allow her to mention that crappy things were going on in her life- that this was a space for academic matters only and not for the more personal.I understand entirely that she might not want to say too much about her life outside of the blog- I wouldn't want to either, but I'm glad that in the end she decided to mention, in her typically understated way, a little of what has been going on for her.
Hi Oliver- How are you? I came to see you yesterday for the first time. I think you are the youngest person I've ever met- 2 days. You are certainly one very very cute baby- so much hair! Apparently there was enough of it to warrant a comb soon after you were born. It was great to meet you, although I don't think you'll remember me, especially as you had your eyes tightly closed the whole time. You've been doing a lot of sleeping which I think is a very good idea, although your mum and dad told me that you are doing most of it during the day and then waking up to do a bit of poo-ing and crying in the middle of the night. I think they're rather hoping that this pattern might swap around.
I got to see some pictures of you from when you were half the age you are now. Just born. You looked rather surprised and I daresay you were, but you also looked amazing, especially considering what you'd just gone through. Your mum looked amazing too, especially considering what she'd just gone through. Your parents, Oliver, let me tell you. You are a lucky kid. They are great. They are so glad that you are here. I don't think they've had much sleep over the last couple of days but you couldn't see two happier people- the room was filled to bursting point with happiness.
I got to hold you for a while and stare at you. This is probably a bit rude, but you were asleep so I don't think you noticed. You are so small and so perfect and yes, I know all babies are beautiful, but Oliver, you really are spectacularly gorgeous. I watched your little face shifting as you had your baby dreams- so much expression on such a little face. You must have been having some amazing dreams.
Oliver, I should warn you that from now on whenever I see you I'll be unable to help myself from saying "I knew you when you were this big" and I'll gesture with my hands to show you how tiny you were. And yes, it will probably be rather annoying but I won't be able to help myself. There's this other thing too, Oliver. The world has been a bit depressing of late- lots of people killing each other and all kinds of other awful things. Everyone is feeling a bit anxious and down about it. So it was especially nice that you arrived when you did. I met you at the time I normally watch the news and I can assure you that I spent a much more pleasant half hour watching you than I have recently watching the news. So thanks.
I seem to be getting a little sentimental here, Oliver, so I'll stop soon, before it gets undignified. I hope you like the elephant. It rattles, and this is always a good thing in an elephant.
Did my annual talk yesterday to the students at AIM about what I've done since graduating from the course in 1999. I lugged the laptop over from work to show them what we've been working on. It weighs a tonne (who's lap, exactly, are these things made for?). Of course, once I got it there, I couldn't get the stupid thing to work and so all that lugging, for nothing! Oh woe.
Still, it was fine. They paid attention and looked interested (looking interested is the most important thing). They asked a few questions. They gave me pizza.
As a regime finishes there are always those symbolic acts that take place- the tanks rolling through the streets for no other reason than because they can, the renaming of public buildings, the replacing of one flag with another, the pulling down of statues. This last act in particular seems to positively shiver with symbolic magnitude- is it because the statues are figurative and so it is almost as if the ruler himself is being removed from his plinth? The pictures from these scenes are always dramatic and impressive- the statue becomes awkward and ridiculous as it is pulled down- arms that were once triumphantly held aloft suddenly look as if the figure is reaching out, either to stop itself from plummeting to the ground, or trying to get someone's attention.
And then, what do you put in its place? A fountain? A plaque? Perhaps another statue, but this time celebrating freedom? Perhaps nothing at all- a sort of anti statue, a statue made of air, so that people look at the space and remember what used to be there. I'm always interested to see how quickly this removal of public art happens. This may be the digital age, but there is obviously still a great deal of power in a monument.
MA / art site / non text blogs- link Consumer site
The obsessive consumption website is an online art project- the creator photographs every item she buys and publishes it on the site. I guess this could be considered a blog of sorts- especially as it is so linked to time. The idea fills me with horror, I must say. It seems like such a labour-intensive task to set yourself and then imagine having everyone know exactly how wasteful you were, or how bad your diet was. Still, perhaps it is cathartic- the creator claims to enjoy the process and has kept it going for much longer than she initially intended.
An article in today's Age discusses the problems that will arise as a result of the hundreds of landmines that have been planted in the country during the war- an unwelcome addition to the millions of mines that are there as the result of three wars in 20 years.
In Cambodia there are aproximately 500 deaths or injuries per week caused by landmines- mostly children and rural workers.
The Age article quotes Human Rights Watch saying that
It will take five to 10 years to clear the high-priority areas in Iraq... for people to be able to move about freely and to engage in the main economic activities.
Bounding fragmentation mines pop up before exploding, in order to disperse shrapnel over widest possible area. Mines with little or no metal content have been designed to evade detection. Further impeding demining, some are equipped with "anti-handling" devices, exploding when an effort is made to disable the mine. Most fiendishly, mines masquerading as toys have been developed particularly to appeal to children.
is concerned with issues of poetry and poetics, but with frequent digressions into politics, visual arts, satire, digital culture, etc.
The blog also contains some experiments in new media poetry and poetics as well as some flash-based pieces that have used other poets' words as the starting point.
I've been thinking about comic blogs recently. These two sites: American Elf: The Sketchbook Diaries of James Kochalka and cartoon journal do not exactly call themselves blogs, but they have daily, or near daily comic strip entries. I like the simplicity of the entries that Todd (?) posts- the smallness and casualness of the stories matches perfectly with the quick, sketchbook style.
Despite the best intentions I did not actually do much in the way of homework this weekend (besides a short burst on Sunday morning.) However, I had a most enjoyable weekend instead, seeing some comedy in the Comedy Festival and going to a bbq. Thieu and I went out to Werribee Park to look at the Helen Lempriere National Sculpture exhibition which is positioned in the grounds of the mansion. It was really very pleasant, although my face got sunburnt and is now red and itchy. Thieu and I entertained ourselves by guessing what we thought each piece was about before reading the blurb. We often felt that our interpretation was superior.
On the way home we dropped in on a friend who is in hospital, having just had his appendix removed. I was sitting at the end of the bed and noticed a lever sticking out that said "Tilt bed." I really really wanted to push the lever, but did not, and mused instead on what sadistic urge it was in me that made me even contemplate such a thing. It is the same urge that sometimes makes me want to stick out my foot when I see someone on crutches. A bad urge.
