Twelve students, three academics, and over two millennia of art, literature, architecture. Our Liberal Arts and Natural Sciences Rome trip 2016!
I love the frisson of terror that live theatre produces. For me, in the audience, it's as thrilling as a high-wire act to see people transformed by stepping into performance space, becoming something entirely other to their everyday selves. Will that transformation stick? Will I suspend or wallow in my disbelief? Will some element of the … Continue reading Shepherding thought (and a coda from Varro)
As the centenary of Ireland's Easter 1916 Rising approaches, no doubt with all sorts of moving, surprising, challenging, thought-provoking events encouraging reflexion on a century's accretion of meaning, as so often, my thoughts return to Rome. I like to think that Rome's ever-presence in my frame of reference is charming. It certainly draws on my … Continue reading Echoes of Garibaldi
I used to think it was a terrible thing to feel out of place; you know, perhaps, that sense that one is subtly (or totally) out-of-step with the world? That was how I spent much of my childhood; teenage years at school didn't bring huge respite, despite some lovely class-mates. I still just seemed to … Continue reading unheimlich
Making distinctions and observing boundaries are two activities central to my working life. They tend to bleed through, inevitably, to the rare minutes when I believe myself instead to be at liberty. I was struck in various ways, recently, by the near-impossibility of delivering crisp limits in an increasingly greyscale academic/life framework. Three images are … Continue reading b/w
With two papers to fashion on today's to-do list, after a crushingly productive few days here in Rome without seeing anyone, I was dubious about my chances of ticking both off. I'm weary. Things started badly when I switched off the morning alarm and went back to sleep (a reconstructed explanation: I have no memory … Continue reading Buswoman’s holiday
Wow. I wish I’d been strolling down Via Galvani to smell the sizzling — while my stomach often rumbles for sage leaves fried just so, I strip the plants even more often to make tiny cups of soothing sage tea. When the annual summer transhumance (Birmingham to Testaccio) happens properly, a pot of sage for the windowsill (no balcony. Sigh) is one of our first purchases…
There is something forgotten and faded about sage, its musty nature reminiscent of somewhere that’s been shut up for too long, its dusty-green hue like something dulled by too much sunlight. Musty and dusty, lemon and camphour tinged, soft as moleskin yet rugged as my removal man, sage is one of my favourite herbs.
It had only been shuttered up for three months, but our new flat had a sage-like feel to it before I flung open the wooden shutters and windows on Saturday. I wonder if that was the reason I bought the plant? An unconscious herbal response to our new home! It’s the first of many pots that will eventually line our long, narrow balcony, providing me with kitchen herbs and Luca plenty of leaf-tugging and pot-pulling temptation.
Ignorning all advice, sage and otherwise, opting instead for the furious adrenaline fueled frenzy that spontaneously erupts when you leave…
View original post 1,158 more words