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.