Oh wow, I love this book so much. I’ve pretty much read it cover to cover with no breaks, just carried away by the amazing language. It made me laugh, at the end, Nabokov lamenting his “second-rate” brand of English (he’s Russian of course, I seem to have a weakness for these Russian writers).
If only 3D didn’t exist and I had, well, more money than I do now – I could buy all of his books and just indulge in them forever. So now I’ve been inside the head of a paedophile and inside the head of a murderer. I keep wanting to try and put down in this post a few of my favourite phrases that he uses, but as I go through a few randomly opened pages I’m just noting everything down which is of course no good at all. The imagery is so evocative, and of course I love him as well for in his notes (“On a book entitled Lolita”) asserting that Lolita has no moral in tow (yay! take that english teachers who make us pick at books ’till they fall apart at the seams). Nabokov says Lolita exists for the purpose of creating “aesthetic bliss” and oh it really really delivers.
Well anyway, random bit :
“She was all rose and honey, dressed in her brightest gingham with a pattern of little red apples, and her arms and legs were of a deep golden brown, with scratches like tiny dotted lines of coagulated rubies, and the rubbed cuffs of her white socks were turned down at the remembered level…”
Edit: Although I’m never going to be able to read about Annabel Lee and her kingdom by the sea again without thinking of Humbert and paedophilia and Poe having a 13 year old wife…
It turns out I celebrate handing in my dissertation by boisterously throwing up all night.
I can’t tell if it’s because I hadn’t slept in 48 hours and even then I had been running on 4 hours of fitful napping, or if it was not eating anything then drinking a lot or whether the nandos I had really was dodgy. Ugh what an awful night though (apart from my lovely friends of course).
I feel very weird now it’s handed in. Bit scared of looking at it again in case I find some of the unedited yak I forgot to take out. But yes, hurrah, it’s over now apart from the presentation and stuff. Oh my god I wish I hadn’t included the rough pdf version of the project too. Why why why did I think that was a good idea?
It’s funny to think almost certainly every single person on the course will be awake right now, frantically working away.
Part of me is constantly delighted by discovering things like Umberto Eco’s essay “Opera Aperta” in the context of my artistic project based on the Impressionists under some of my research on art using new technology (I have long suspected that all the really cool talented people are somehow interconnected), and part of me is grabbing my brain and ramming it about my skull trying to extract one last drop of coherent writing from it and thinking “oh god let it please be over soon”. At the moment I’m on an upside, hurrah!
3am: My god, all of these authors reference each other. Nearly every single one mentions the other at least once in one of their books. I’m not really sure why I’m surprised by that as it should have become obvious to me by now that digital interactive art is an elite little nook that not many seem to know about, but still.
9.30am: Ack I seem to have 20 000 words instead of 10 000 in my report. How did this happen? Gah. Let the process of shoving as much as possible into appendices begin!
11:17am: When all this is over I intend to retire from society, a shattered broken woman. I shall be vague and delicate and whimper whenever I see particularly ugly things. Especially ugly colour combinations and bad typography; I feel very sensitive to them. And wistfulness, I shall cultivate wistfulness and a tragic air, and I shall be absent minded and forget what year it is and drink whisky from crystal decanters. Or maybe in fact I’ll make my millions by selling toasters to the masses and retire to a tropical beach to live my life surrounded by beautiful bronzed young men. They can fan me and bring me cold drinks and listen to me as I ramble on about complete rubbish like the inherent similarities between delicious strawberry sponge cakes and the current political climate.
Is it an idiotic idea to add a seperate framed portrait painting to encompass Cezanne’s long grey beard in the artist profiles bit of my documentation (at the moment they are all headshots, but a seperate painting could very easily go underneath Cezanne’s head for his beard!), or is it the best idea I’ve ever had and one of great genius whose like we shall never see again? I think writing for the past 4 days solid has either driven me insane or brought out the da Vinci in me. Or both!
Oh also, I love writing evaluations
Edit 3 hours later: I hate writing evaluations
Edit many many hours later: No really. And another thing :
“temporarily collapsing boundaries between subject and object, interior and exterior, self and world – in order to facilitate a refreshing change of perception, thereby potentially resensitizing participants to the extraordinariness of being alive, sentient, and embodied, here now, among all this, briefly immersed in the flow of life through space and time.”
Who would have thought it was possible to use 8 commas in a block of text like that without the idea of anything so frivolous as, oh, I don’t know, a full stop maybe springing to mind. Man. (Not my writing by the way, it’s in one of the books I’m trying to decipher). My poor beautiful english, raped by pompous academics
Curiously it is only when there are 3 days to go before the hand in of my dissertation that I actually figure out exactly what it’s really about.
I wonder why it seems so much easier to write straight into an html file without wordwrap than to write a proper word document? I think it has something to do with being forced to be recursive and re-read everything written, as well as essentially having two seperate views of what you are writing – the stylised version and the plain words surrounded by markup. A close up view of a sentence followed by a quick ctrl+s and a refresh of the stylised page with a view of it in context seems to make me concentrate much more on what I’m writing, for some reason.