(no subject)
These are times I wish I had a laptop to take to class with me. It's
day two of the gimpy left hand, and I almost cried during my
presentation today when I had to turn a page in a book. Lame! It's a
good thing typing can be done by resorting to the method of "Hunt and
Peck" or nothing would have been accomplished for class today.
Can you see me trying to explain not having a research paper, because I fell on my ass and landed on my hand? Perhaps if the limb had been amputated, that might have furthered the excuse. Alas, no, my hand is fully intacted...just sore as fuck!
I went to bed at 8pm last night. I don't think I have done that since I was last deathly ill or 7 years old. However, after ten hours of paper writing and presentation prepping, my eyes called it a night. I arose at 5am to snow trucks scrapping the black asphalt outside my building and got back to work for my 9am class.
At 9am I had to deliver a 45 minute presentation about the revival of the Women's Movement, how it affected Feminist Art Culture, it's relation to feminism and censorship and do a comparative analysis of Barthes' "The Death of the Author" to Griselda Pollock's Intoduction to "Framing Feminism". My co-hort in class has a similar presentation to deliver, and I was so happy when he volunteered to go first.
Aside from his lack of preperation for a 45 mintue talk on the comparative issues of Barthes and Pollock, he tried to use the fact that he was male for why he was unable to wrap his head around Pollock's writing. Barthes' writing was so much more dense and deliberately non-senseical than Pollock's ever could have been, and my professor saw right through it. She pretty much kept interupting him for his 45 minutes and kept throwing out the most difficult questions. When he tried using his maleness as an excuse for his failure, she reminded him that he was a fourth year Cultural Studies student, so he should have the ability to decipher feminist issues.
After a quick smoke break, I was up. I felt my delivery, although heavily fueled by caffeine at this time, and my knowledge of the subject was easily grasped. She had no critisms of my research and we discussed me furthering my research so I could formulate a paper examining the censorship of women in a male hegemonic society and women's ability to self-censor in avoidance of the "male gaze". Yummy, huh?
Next week we meet at the AGNS to look at the new exhibit deplaying posthumous casts of Rodin's work. I have between now and then to find a feminist outlook for this discussion, and I felt I would kick it all off by reading about Rodin's lover, Camille Claudel, who was an artist, as well, and went completely bonkers.
Can you see me trying to explain not having a research paper, because I fell on my ass and landed on my hand? Perhaps if the limb had been amputated, that might have furthered the excuse. Alas, no, my hand is fully intacted...just sore as fuck!
I went to bed at 8pm last night. I don't think I have done that since I was last deathly ill or 7 years old. However, after ten hours of paper writing and presentation prepping, my eyes called it a night. I arose at 5am to snow trucks scrapping the black asphalt outside my building and got back to work for my 9am class.
At 9am I had to deliver a 45 minute presentation about the revival of the Women's Movement, how it affected Feminist Art Culture, it's relation to feminism and censorship and do a comparative analysis of Barthes' "The Death of the Author" to Griselda Pollock's Intoduction to "Framing Feminism". My co-hort in class has a similar presentation to deliver, and I was so happy when he volunteered to go first.
Aside from his lack of preperation for a 45 mintue talk on the comparative issues of Barthes and Pollock, he tried to use the fact that he was male for why he was unable to wrap his head around Pollock's writing. Barthes' writing was so much more dense and deliberately non-senseical than Pollock's ever could have been, and my professor saw right through it. She pretty much kept interupting him for his 45 minutes and kept throwing out the most difficult questions. When he tried using his maleness as an excuse for his failure, she reminded him that he was a fourth year Cultural Studies student, so he should have the ability to decipher feminist issues.
After a quick smoke break, I was up. I felt my delivery, although heavily fueled by caffeine at this time, and my knowledge of the subject was easily grasped. She had no critisms of my research and we discussed me furthering my research so I could formulate a paper examining the censorship of women in a male hegemonic society and women's ability to self-censor in avoidance of the "male gaze". Yummy, huh?
Next week we meet at the AGNS to look at the new exhibit deplaying posthumous casts of Rodin's work. I have between now and then to find a feminist outlook for this discussion, and I felt I would kick it all off by reading about Rodin's lover, Camille Claudel, who was an artist, as well, and went completely bonkers.