He said I haven't updated this blog in a while.
All I want to post is this.
“Love is by definition an unmerited gift; being loved without meriting it is the very proof of real love. If a woman tells me: I love you because you’re intelligent, because you’re decent, because you buy me gifts, because you don’t chase women, because you do the dishes, then I’m disappointed; such love seems a rather self-interested business. How much finer it is to hear: I’m crazy about you even though you’re neither intelligent nor decent, even though you’re a liar, an egotist, a bastard.” - Milan Kundera
Nothing gets my mind ticking like Kundera quotes.
I'm not sure I entirely agree with this. But it's some food for thought.
Tuesday 20 November 2012
Wednesday 26 September 2012
"I once essentially bullied a boy in to giving me a valentines card and then corrected his spelling"
I knew the blog posts would kick in once I had work to do.
After spending most of my afternoon writing an essay and listening to indie/soft rock music from my teenage years (the sort of stuff I was blasting when the world 'just didn't understand meeeee!' Think Paramore, All American Rejects etc.) I feel sufficiently prepared to tackle a subject that has been on my mind for a little while.
Let me set the scene. I've just started watching 'That 70s Show' again. I love it so much - it never fails to make me laugh. Last night I ended up watching one of the earlier episodes before Donna and Eric get together. So, it's the usual set-up - she likes him, he likes her, you just want to bash their heads together and scold them for being so blind etc. Well, in this episode a problem arises. The pair are playing basketball and Donna beats Eric. The rest of the episode focuses on Eric getting mocked for being 'beaten by a girl', but what really hit home is that Donna then had to face the all too familiar decision as to whether she should behave in a more feminine manner so that a boy will like her? I really do love this show, and I'm sure this later scene was meant as a joke, but it still horrified me - Donna's mother pretends she can't open a jar of pickles and calls for Donna's father's help so that he gets a masculine ego boost and then fawns all over her because she's so cute and helpless. The episode kind of deals with this issue, but I'm not sure it did strongly enough for my satisfaction - Donna continues as she is but not before momentarily conceding and attempting to be a dainty, simpering girl. Finally Donna and Eric continue to play games but just stop keeping score. Hmmm. I wouldn't really call that a solution to the problem.
I'm painfully aware that I can easily write about this with scorn and have a clear idea in my head of what the right response to this issue is, but I know deep down it's something that has always plagued my concerns. As fate would have it, from a young age I have never been the sweet, petite girl on the playground - I was always more like a loud, ungainly hippo (good feminist upbringing - girls can do what boys do - aka I threw myself around the place with little delicacy). Actually, I was friends with the sweet, petite girl - she had very long hair, fluttering eyelashes and a voice that honestly resembled a twittering disney bird. Ah yes, another thing, my spectacularly low voice. Yes, Rachel has never been called 'cute' or 'sweet' - I certainly never had the physique for it, and I think my personality has always matched. No boy thinks a girl who corrects their spelling is cute (yes, I did that a lot - I once essentially bullied a boy in to giving me a valentines card and then corrected his spelling).
So, naturally, when the boys started flaunting over the little, charming girls the alarm bells started to go off. What am I doing wrong? Why does no one think I'm adorable? What should I do? My chubby, boisterous childhood, right through to my awkwardly curvy, aggressively academic teenage years were shadowed by the looming threat that no boy would ever like me because I'm really in no way feminine.
I think that's something people really don't pay enough attention to (yes I've read enough feminist articles about it to make your eyes fall out but I think society as a whole has really not taken this information on board) - from my experience and that of my friends, I get this overwhelming feeling that girls are expected to be boy magnets - it is so rough to be the awkward girl at school (not even awkward in a cute Juno-esque way).
And really, it's a natural science right? Boys like girls? (Well, some boys) So clearly boys want a girl who really IS a girl? So I should have done all in my power to be a girly girl?
I make this light and jokey, but that's probably a nicer way to deal with it - ask me about this again on a day where I've been weeping about how I never had an adolescence where I felt remotely attractive to the opposite sex because I've never felt like one of the 'pretty girls'.
Sadly, this anxiety doesn't really disappear. The Art History department was really a bad choice in this respect. The department of immaculately dressed, sexy, beautiful girls. Seriously boys, get yourselves over there - it's where they all are. You really never feel more troll-like than when you crash in to an Art History lecture with unbrushed hair and realise no one told you it was dress-like-you're-on-a-catwalk day (which I've now gathered seems to be every day...)
It feels like there's no in between a lot of the time. Either you can be a walking Vogue editorial or accept your status as a lamp (Haha, I can't believe I haven't shared my wonderful metaphor with more people - I once explained to a friend that I considered myself a lamp - a random household object - no one looks at a lamp with lust - sure, it's a nice object but no one looks at it in that way - see, perfect metaphor!)
So, I can be a dirty great liberated feminist who doesn't get up early to put my face on but does that mean I have to be lonely forever?
I've found myself trying to be more feminine. Of course I have. I think it had pretty much the same result Donna reached - people wondering what on earth is wrong with you and making yourself even more strange than usual. And then of course afterwards I have to scold myself. 'Bad bad feminist! Go sacrifice something at the altar of Germaine Greer and repent for your sins!'
So, what do I do?
And then, of course, the warm embrace of feminism brings me to my answer.
I've been reading Caitlin Moran's book 'How to be a Woman' this summer (a lot of it similarly concerns her awkward childhood and the question of feminine vs. feminist). This book has become my personal bible. Another big 'Oh thank god a woman who felt this way too' moment. Seriously, read this book. I adore it. There are a number of books I keep with me wherever I happen to be living at the time (my all time favourites to turn to) - this is my newest addition. I may be buried with it. What I think, and what goddess Caitlin has reinforced, that what is really wrong here is the assumption that there is a way to 'be a woman' and if you're not that way you're clearly a cave troll. We need to break this. We need a culture of confident women - not the dainty darlings on pedestals and girls who feel like toads hoping to meet a somewhat attractive blind man one day.
Of course, not all is lost. There are already strong female characters out there. An interview with J.K. Rowling about the character Hermione really struck me - Hermione never apologises for who she is or complies with the needs of the boys - she takes command, reads stupidly big books and isn't afraid to have a not-so-delicate moment because that's who she is - a feisty, independent young woman (god I love a good feisty, independent young woman). How exhausting would it be to keep up the girl act if that's not who you are? (Extremely. Believe me, I've tried. The make-up application every morning stopped on day three). Furthermore, I read about a new theory that in situations where children should be praised adults are now being encouraged to tell young girls that they are clever not beautiful. Lets make brains and brilliance the criteria for a 'great girl'. How refreshing would it be to hear someone say: "Oh godddd. She just has it all. I mean, the way she grasped Kant's criteria for the aesthetic experience... I just wanted to applaud her! What a brain! What a woman!"
So, I think we know the answer to the original debate of this post is that you should never compromise on your ability or personality to make yourself more 'desirable'. You don't need to change - expectations need to change.
After spending most of my afternoon writing an essay and listening to indie/soft rock music from my teenage years (the sort of stuff I was blasting when the world 'just didn't understand meeeee!' Think Paramore, All American Rejects etc.) I feel sufficiently prepared to tackle a subject that has been on my mind for a little while.
Let me set the scene. I've just started watching 'That 70s Show' again. I love it so much - it never fails to make me laugh. Last night I ended up watching one of the earlier episodes before Donna and Eric get together. So, it's the usual set-up - she likes him, he likes her, you just want to bash their heads together and scold them for being so blind etc. Well, in this episode a problem arises. The pair are playing basketball and Donna beats Eric. The rest of the episode focuses on Eric getting mocked for being 'beaten by a girl', but what really hit home is that Donna then had to face the all too familiar decision as to whether she should behave in a more feminine manner so that a boy will like her? I really do love this show, and I'm sure this later scene was meant as a joke, but it still horrified me - Donna's mother pretends she can't open a jar of pickles and calls for Donna's father's help so that he gets a masculine ego boost and then fawns all over her because she's so cute and helpless. The episode kind of deals with this issue, but I'm not sure it did strongly enough for my satisfaction - Donna continues as she is but not before momentarily conceding and attempting to be a dainty, simpering girl. Finally Donna and Eric continue to play games but just stop keeping score. Hmmm. I wouldn't really call that a solution to the problem.
I'm painfully aware that I can easily write about this with scorn and have a clear idea in my head of what the right response to this issue is, but I know deep down it's something that has always plagued my concerns. As fate would have it, from a young age I have never been the sweet, petite girl on the playground - I was always more like a loud, ungainly hippo (good feminist upbringing - girls can do what boys do - aka I threw myself around the place with little delicacy). Actually, I was friends with the sweet, petite girl - she had very long hair, fluttering eyelashes and a voice that honestly resembled a twittering disney bird. Ah yes, another thing, my spectacularly low voice. Yes, Rachel has never been called 'cute' or 'sweet' - I certainly never had the physique for it, and I think my personality has always matched. No boy thinks a girl who corrects their spelling is cute (yes, I did that a lot - I once essentially bullied a boy in to giving me a valentines card and then corrected his spelling).
So, naturally, when the boys started flaunting over the little, charming girls the alarm bells started to go off. What am I doing wrong? Why does no one think I'm adorable? What should I do? My chubby, boisterous childhood, right through to my awkwardly curvy, aggressively academic teenage years were shadowed by the looming threat that no boy would ever like me because I'm really in no way feminine.
I think that's something people really don't pay enough attention to (yes I've read enough feminist articles about it to make your eyes fall out but I think society as a whole has really not taken this information on board) - from my experience and that of my friends, I get this overwhelming feeling that girls are expected to be boy magnets - it is so rough to be the awkward girl at school (not even awkward in a cute Juno-esque way).
And really, it's a natural science right? Boys like girls? (Well, some boys) So clearly boys want a girl who really IS a girl? So I should have done all in my power to be a girly girl?
I make this light and jokey, but that's probably a nicer way to deal with it - ask me about this again on a day where I've been weeping about how I never had an adolescence where I felt remotely attractive to the opposite sex because I've never felt like one of the 'pretty girls'.
Sadly, this anxiety doesn't really disappear. The Art History department was really a bad choice in this respect. The department of immaculately dressed, sexy, beautiful girls. Seriously boys, get yourselves over there - it's where they all are. You really never feel more troll-like than when you crash in to an Art History lecture with unbrushed hair and realise no one told you it was dress-like-you're-on-a-catwalk day (which I've now gathered seems to be every day...)
It feels like there's no in between a lot of the time. Either you can be a walking Vogue editorial or accept your status as a lamp (Haha, I can't believe I haven't shared my wonderful metaphor with more people - I once explained to a friend that I considered myself a lamp - a random household object - no one looks at a lamp with lust - sure, it's a nice object but no one looks at it in that way - see, perfect metaphor!)
So, I can be a dirty great liberated feminist who doesn't get up early to put my face on but does that mean I have to be lonely forever?
I've found myself trying to be more feminine. Of course I have. I think it had pretty much the same result Donna reached - people wondering what on earth is wrong with you and making yourself even more strange than usual. And then of course afterwards I have to scold myself. 'Bad bad feminist! Go sacrifice something at the altar of Germaine Greer and repent for your sins!'
So, what do I do?
And then, of course, the warm embrace of feminism brings me to my answer.
I've been reading Caitlin Moran's book 'How to be a Woman' this summer (a lot of it similarly concerns her awkward childhood and the question of feminine vs. feminist). This book has become my personal bible. Another big 'Oh thank god a woman who felt this way too' moment. Seriously, read this book. I adore it. There are a number of books I keep with me wherever I happen to be living at the time (my all time favourites to turn to) - this is my newest addition. I may be buried with it. What I think, and what goddess Caitlin has reinforced, that what is really wrong here is the assumption that there is a way to 'be a woman' and if you're not that way you're clearly a cave troll. We need to break this. We need a culture of confident women - not the dainty darlings on pedestals and girls who feel like toads hoping to meet a somewhat attractive blind man one day.
Of course, not all is lost. There are already strong female characters out there. An interview with J.K. Rowling about the character Hermione really struck me - Hermione never apologises for who she is or complies with the needs of the boys - she takes command, reads stupidly big books and isn't afraid to have a not-so-delicate moment because that's who she is - a feisty, independent young woman (god I love a good feisty, independent young woman). How exhausting would it be to keep up the girl act if that's not who you are? (Extremely. Believe me, I've tried. The make-up application every morning stopped on day three). Furthermore, I read about a new theory that in situations where children should be praised adults are now being encouraged to tell young girls that they are clever not beautiful. Lets make brains and brilliance the criteria for a 'great girl'. How refreshing would it be to hear someone say: "Oh godddd. She just has it all. I mean, the way she grasped Kant's criteria for the aesthetic experience... I just wanted to applaud her! What a brain! What a woman!"
So, I think we know the answer to the original debate of this post is that you should never compromise on your ability or personality to make yourself more 'desirable'. You don't need to change - expectations need to change.
Monday 3 September 2012
Woe is me, I am a slug.
This blog title is something one of my friends said when she'd done something wrong. I think it's a good phrase for when you understand that you've been a bit useless. I realise I haven't blogged since July... Whoops. So, I am a slug, and I apologise.
Life has been somewhat busy recently and now I find myself with a week to go until I officially return to university for my (ugh... I don't want to say it...) 3RD YEAR... Where did my carefree youth go?! You know what's equally scary? I'm 21 in a month exactly. 2-freaking-1!!! I can feel myself crumbling already. Strap me to my zimmer-frame and get it over with. This can't be seen on a blog but I'm pouting now... I think I'll just spend my return to university and 21st birthday in denial. Yes. Hiding in a corner somewhere with a nice art history book and endless supply of coffee to ease my pain. I'm not American, I don't have drinking to look forward to - just a reflection upon how I'm really not that close to being a teenager anymore. What on earth am I going to blame my bouts of stupidity on now?! Good God, the world may truly know - it's not hormones, she's just an idiot.
Still, onwards, to happier things! I thought I should probably write a little summary of my summer excursions. When I say little I think anyone who keeps up with my blog will know by now that I use that term loosely - we'll see how small I can keep this on the word front...
Croatia
My first trip abroad this summer (I was lucky enough to make quite a couple of these) was to Rovinj in Croatia. My father befriended a Croatian woman through work and now I have come to be close with her, her sister and her mother. They are all wonderfully strong but empathic women. There are certain people in the world who you talk to, and when you talk to them you feel like life is logical and sorted - they are so certain in everything they say - these women are these sorts of people. To be around them is to be reassured. On top of their great company, Croatia is a beautiful place. The trip was a soul vacation for me - I swam in the sea, cycled along the coast, explored back streets, caught up with some personal writing - essentially took some time to myself in an extraordinary location.
German Romanticism to Expressionism Course at The Courtauld
Following my relaxed getaway (nothing clears your mind like lying on a boat in the middle of the sea in the baking sun) I returned to London for a week at The Courtauld Institute. I'm one of those people who needs to feed my mind - I actively enjoy lectures (I can imagine what's going across some people's minds now - "KILL IT! KILL IT WITH FIRE!") Agh, I'm a self-confessed nerd - I love to think and learn. So, yes, in my summer 'break' I signed up for a course about German art, ranging from Romanticism to Expressionism. I adored it. When people think of famous art, who are the greats that come in to conversation? Michelangelo, Van Gogh, Monet, Picasso etc. etc. Do any Germans spring to mind? Not really. Perhaps Albrecht Durer - but many people really aren't familiar with him. German art has an incredibly complicated and neglected history. There is a sense of insecurity that has run through their practice for hundreds of years. Yes, in the sphere of music they have paved the way (practically dominated it), but in visual art they have been in a constant fight to define themselves. I strongly recommend that people become closer acquainted with their culture and work - it is fascinating.
The Olympics
How could I discuss this summer without mentioning the olympics? It has been my everyday and obsession nearly all summer. I think with fondness about the buzz leading up to the opening ceremony, the pride and thrill of the games and now our new excitement over the Paralympics. Hmmm, how to put this? British people... We're renowned for our self-deprecation. The key difference I notice between myself and my American friends is confidence. I'm part of a culture that really doesn't expect to do well and loves the underdog. In the build up to the olympics we were all wondering if Britain could pull off hosting the games (Mitt Romney had the nerve to voice this - yes, we may be worrying about it but if anyone else strides in here and claims we're not ready we'll turn on them like a pack of hyenas!) To actually rank third in the games was unreal. We're a small, odd, anxious country (we don't charge in loaded with confidence like the Americans, or have the cool skill of the Chinese) and to perform like this made us turn around and think "Okay. We've got something to be proud of." Honestly, to just walk in the streets and see other Brits gave you such a sense of pride - everyone came together in this excited buzz and thought "Yes, this tiny nation has some fight in it". I managed to attend a morning of swimming heats (my favourite olympic sport to watch) and an evening of athletics (things like pole vaulting, hurdles, shot put, the steeple chase). My time at the olympic park was just extraordinary. The joy in those venues was overwhelming - the whole time I thought "This can't be real. I can't be at the olympics. I must soak up every second, every detail". Britain is going to have such terrible Olympic withdrawal by the end of this summer.
Florence
I returned to Florence in early August. Last year I travelled to Florence with the company Art History Abroad and this summer I got to share one of my favourite places with my family. I dragged the poor things around so many museums, churches, streets etc. - they were very patient with me. We began to joke that I should hold up an umbrella like the other tour guides and get a handheld microphone for my talks - I did subject them to mini lectures in front of numerous pieces of art (I did say that they were very patient). You could probably worry about returning to a place so soon after visiting it and becoming bored, but for me Florence could never be boring - I was still overwhelmed when standing in front of the Duomo, somewhat teary again in front of Donatello's Magdalene and at peace before Pontormo's Gabriel. Such sensational work could never be dull however many times I stand before it. Plus, given that I had my family with me, they would draw me to new discoveries and experiences. It was such a pleasure to be back and I know it won't be the last time.
Portugal
To end my travelling this summer I had a small break this weekend in Porto - a large city in Portugal (a world heritage site). Once again, I was travelling thanks to one of my father's work connections. He recently befriended a Portuguese woman so we visited her and her family. She has two young daughters (aged five and nine) - they are exactly like my younger sister and I were when we were young. The elder is very serious, quieter and academic, whilst the younger is a loud, funny, bubble of energy. To spend time with these girls was to really revisit my childhood - I kept looking at that serious little girl thinking "Oh yes, that was me alright. She really isn't going to change that much." Porto itself is beautiful - as you would expect from a world heritage site... Sadly we only had two days to explore so time was limited to wonderful old bookshops, cafes, churches, an art gallery and a palace. One thing that really struck me about the magnificent architecture was the use of tiles - lots of buildings, instead of having a plain facade, are covered in patterned tiles - so so lovely. Being English I must mention the weather! It was spectacularly sunny - I soaked up my last rays and basked in the heat, knowing I'll need to live off these memories in Scotland!
So, that's my summer in a nutshell. Plenty more happened but I won't bore everyone with all the minute details. Perhaps a catch-up over a pot of tea will be required for a greater reflection upon my summer? Honestly, that's what I'm really looking forward to soon. I have so many dear university friends to reunite with.
I promise I'll try to be more vigilant on the blog front from now on! I've got a post about films that I've been working on for an age - fingers crossed I'll move faster with it. Plus, when I'm back to university with urgent work to be done, naturally hundreds of blog ideas will fly in to my head and I'll put my degree at risk to indulge in writing my usual nonsense!
Life has been somewhat busy recently and now I find myself with a week to go until I officially return to university for my (ugh... I don't want to say it...) 3RD YEAR... Where did my carefree youth go?! You know what's equally scary? I'm 21 in a month exactly. 2-freaking-1!!! I can feel myself crumbling already. Strap me to my zimmer-frame and get it over with. This can't be seen on a blog but I'm pouting now... I think I'll just spend my return to university and 21st birthday in denial. Yes. Hiding in a corner somewhere with a nice art history book and endless supply of coffee to ease my pain. I'm not American, I don't have drinking to look forward to - just a reflection upon how I'm really not that close to being a teenager anymore. What on earth am I going to blame my bouts of stupidity on now?! Good God, the world may truly know - it's not hormones, she's just an idiot.
Still, onwards, to happier things! I thought I should probably write a little summary of my summer excursions. When I say little I think anyone who keeps up with my blog will know by now that I use that term loosely - we'll see how small I can keep this on the word front...
Croatia
My first trip abroad this summer (I was lucky enough to make quite a couple of these) was to Rovinj in Croatia. My father befriended a Croatian woman through work and now I have come to be close with her, her sister and her mother. They are all wonderfully strong but empathic women. There are certain people in the world who you talk to, and when you talk to them you feel like life is logical and sorted - they are so certain in everything they say - these women are these sorts of people. To be around them is to be reassured. On top of their great company, Croatia is a beautiful place. The trip was a soul vacation for me - I swam in the sea, cycled along the coast, explored back streets, caught up with some personal writing - essentially took some time to myself in an extraordinary location.
Following my relaxed getaway (nothing clears your mind like lying on a boat in the middle of the sea in the baking sun) I returned to London for a week at The Courtauld Institute. I'm one of those people who needs to feed my mind - I actively enjoy lectures (I can imagine what's going across some people's minds now - "KILL IT! KILL IT WITH FIRE!") Agh, I'm a self-confessed nerd - I love to think and learn. So, yes, in my summer 'break' I signed up for a course about German art, ranging from Romanticism to Expressionism. I adored it. When people think of famous art, who are the greats that come in to conversation? Michelangelo, Van Gogh, Monet, Picasso etc. etc. Do any Germans spring to mind? Not really. Perhaps Albrecht Durer - but many people really aren't familiar with him. German art has an incredibly complicated and neglected history. There is a sense of insecurity that has run through their practice for hundreds of years. Yes, in the sphere of music they have paved the way (practically dominated it), but in visual art they have been in a constant fight to define themselves. I strongly recommend that people become closer acquainted with their culture and work - it is fascinating.
The Olympics
How could I discuss this summer without mentioning the olympics? It has been my everyday and obsession nearly all summer. I think with fondness about the buzz leading up to the opening ceremony, the pride and thrill of the games and now our new excitement over the Paralympics. Hmmm, how to put this? British people... We're renowned for our self-deprecation. The key difference I notice between myself and my American friends is confidence. I'm part of a culture that really doesn't expect to do well and loves the underdog. In the build up to the olympics we were all wondering if Britain could pull off hosting the games (Mitt Romney had the nerve to voice this - yes, we may be worrying about it but if anyone else strides in here and claims we're not ready we'll turn on them like a pack of hyenas!) To actually rank third in the games was unreal. We're a small, odd, anxious country (we don't charge in loaded with confidence like the Americans, or have the cool skill of the Chinese) and to perform like this made us turn around and think "Okay. We've got something to be proud of." Honestly, to just walk in the streets and see other Brits gave you such a sense of pride - everyone came together in this excited buzz and thought "Yes, this tiny nation has some fight in it". I managed to attend a morning of swimming heats (my favourite olympic sport to watch) and an evening of athletics (things like pole vaulting, hurdles, shot put, the steeple chase). My time at the olympic park was just extraordinary. The joy in those venues was overwhelming - the whole time I thought "This can't be real. I can't be at the olympics. I must soak up every second, every detail". Britain is going to have such terrible Olympic withdrawal by the end of this summer.
Florence
I returned to Florence in early August. Last year I travelled to Florence with the company Art History Abroad and this summer I got to share one of my favourite places with my family. I dragged the poor things around so many museums, churches, streets etc. - they were very patient with me. We began to joke that I should hold up an umbrella like the other tour guides and get a handheld microphone for my talks - I did subject them to mini lectures in front of numerous pieces of art (I did say that they were very patient). You could probably worry about returning to a place so soon after visiting it and becoming bored, but for me Florence could never be boring - I was still overwhelmed when standing in front of the Duomo, somewhat teary again in front of Donatello's Magdalene and at peace before Pontormo's Gabriel. Such sensational work could never be dull however many times I stand before it. Plus, given that I had my family with me, they would draw me to new discoveries and experiences. It was such a pleasure to be back and I know it won't be the last time.
Portugal
To end my travelling this summer I had a small break this weekend in Porto - a large city in Portugal (a world heritage site). Once again, I was travelling thanks to one of my father's work connections. He recently befriended a Portuguese woman so we visited her and her family. She has two young daughters (aged five and nine) - they are exactly like my younger sister and I were when we were young. The elder is very serious, quieter and academic, whilst the younger is a loud, funny, bubble of energy. To spend time with these girls was to really revisit my childhood - I kept looking at that serious little girl thinking "Oh yes, that was me alright. She really isn't going to change that much." Porto itself is beautiful - as you would expect from a world heritage site... Sadly we only had two days to explore so time was limited to wonderful old bookshops, cafes, churches, an art gallery and a palace. One thing that really struck me about the magnificent architecture was the use of tiles - lots of buildings, instead of having a plain facade, are covered in patterned tiles - so so lovely. Being English I must mention the weather! It was spectacularly sunny - I soaked up my last rays and basked in the heat, knowing I'll need to live off these memories in Scotland!
So, that's my summer in a nutshell. Plenty more happened but I won't bore everyone with all the minute details. Perhaps a catch-up over a pot of tea will be required for a greater reflection upon my summer? Honestly, that's what I'm really looking forward to soon. I have so many dear university friends to reunite with.
I promise I'll try to be more vigilant on the blog front from now on! I've got a post about films that I've been working on for an age - fingers crossed I'll move faster with it. Plus, when I'm back to university with urgent work to be done, naturally hundreds of blog ideas will fly in to my head and I'll put my degree at risk to indulge in writing my usual nonsense!
Friday 20 July 2012
Apple Pie Cake
I haven't written about food in a while. Odd, considering it's something I invest quite a fair amount of time in...
Over time I have come to accept that I am not a bright-eyed, blonde, bean pole with biologically impossible breasts and a wardrobe to die for. I am short, dark, have an 'unusual face' (yes, I have been told that), 'good child-bearing hips' (yes, I've been told that too) and as my little sister would say, 'the wardrobe of a hobo'. Still, there may be someone out there who finds the combination of 'good child-bearing hips' and the 'wardrobe of a hobo' to be everything they were looking for? Haha. Still, it's what I embrace and I know my cooking habits would not bring me anywhere near the blonde bean-pole dream, especially my most recent project...
The apple pie cake.
My dear friend Naomi (who I met on my wonderful art history course last summer) turned eighteen recently. I know... She's so young! I must admit that I felt spectacularly old (I'm only twenty...) when I attended her birthday party recently. That young thing and all of her friends were talking about university worries, the elation of leaving senior school and the dreaded A Level results day - I felt like I'd stepped in to a bizarre time machine. I am so old - my teenage years have vanished - I am half way through my degree - how did this happen?!
Anyway, my quarter-life-crisis can wait. Back to the cake. Ahh the cake... I wanted to make something special for the occasion and a generic victoria sponge or chocolate cake would not do. I wanted to branch out and challenge myself. Well, this cake certainly did that. It became my new monster.
A three tier cake. Light vanilla and apple sauce sponge. Apples stewed with cinnamon and nutmeg to separate the tiers. A caramel buttercream frosting to complete it.
This is all actually relatively simple to create. What matters is timing and organisation. There are a lot of things to manage at once - sponge, filling, icing (making caramel yourself is so challenging - impatience could get the better of you and make you burn it) and then of course there's stacking it all together. Did I mention this is hard to do when you have three pet cats lurking around the kitchen ready to thwart your efforts at any moment?
Oh, and travelling with it. That can be an issue. When I arrived at Naomi's home the poor thing had barely time to register my arrival as I crashed through the front door stressed over a cake where the top two tiers had slid off the base one with the icing all askew. Never mind, some readjustment got things back on track.
Over time I have come to accept that I am not a bright-eyed, blonde, bean pole with biologically impossible breasts and a wardrobe to die for. I am short, dark, have an 'unusual face' (yes, I have been told that), 'good child-bearing hips' (yes, I've been told that too) and as my little sister would say, 'the wardrobe of a hobo'. Still, there may be someone out there who finds the combination of 'good child-bearing hips' and the 'wardrobe of a hobo' to be everything they were looking for? Haha. Still, it's what I embrace and I know my cooking habits would not bring me anywhere near the blonde bean-pole dream, especially my most recent project...
The apple pie cake.
My dear friend Naomi (who I met on my wonderful art history course last summer) turned eighteen recently. I know... She's so young! I must admit that I felt spectacularly old (I'm only twenty...) when I attended her birthday party recently. That young thing and all of her friends were talking about university worries, the elation of leaving senior school and the dreaded A Level results day - I felt like I'd stepped in to a bizarre time machine. I am so old - my teenage years have vanished - I am half way through my degree - how did this happen?!
Anyway, my quarter-life-crisis can wait. Back to the cake. Ahh the cake... I wanted to make something special for the occasion and a generic victoria sponge or chocolate cake would not do. I wanted to branch out and challenge myself. Well, this cake certainly did that. It became my new monster.
A three tier cake. Light vanilla and apple sauce sponge. Apples stewed with cinnamon and nutmeg to separate the tiers. A caramel buttercream frosting to complete it.
This is all actually relatively simple to create. What matters is timing and organisation. There are a lot of things to manage at once - sponge, filling, icing (making caramel yourself is so challenging - impatience could get the better of you and make you burn it) and then of course there's stacking it all together. Did I mention this is hard to do when you have three pet cats lurking around the kitchen ready to thwart your efforts at any moment?
Oh, and travelling with it. That can be an issue. When I arrived at Naomi's home the poor thing had barely time to register my arrival as I crashed through the front door stressed over a cake where the top two tiers had slid off the base one with the icing all askew. Never mind, some readjustment got things back on track.
I think it's definitely something you'd enjoy the comfort of on a cold winter day (I'm thinking of any day in St Andrews to be honest... but especially when it gets horribly dark, cold and wet in winter). However, I was able to make it this summer because heat has still not reached England! Just rain and grey sky!
It's a good mixture of sweetness and spice - the stewed apples become almost caramelised, the frosting is just the right balance before being sickly and the sponge gives a warm kick. In terms of texture, the soft sponge (I think the apple sauce is what makes it so moist) is a great contrast with the slight crunch of the apple.
I refuse to let this be a one time creation. It will resurface at some point. I'll be going in to the third year of my degree in September so I'm sure there will be many opportunities for baking procrastination!
Wednesday 4 July 2012
Identity
I think a lot of my friends know by now that I have a bit of an arty background - perhaps a couple of university ones don't? I was very close to going to art college at one point in time but honestly, I didn't have the talent or complete passion for it. After two years at university on a 'more academic route' I've confirmed to myself that I am more suited to Art History than creating art myself. Still, from time to time I dabble and return to my old ways - I dip in and out of life drawing classes when my workload isn't too much. Today I found myself creating this (it's not finished yet - whole right side to go - but I think I'm going to leave finishing it for a while).
I'm not entirely happy with it, as usual - I don't know an artist who is ever completely happy with their work (one eye is definitely larger than the other and I don't think it really resembles me that strongly - bah, self portraits are so hard).
Still, this is the start of an idea that I have been playing with for a while. There was a painting in the living room of one of my childhood friends that I always fixated upon when I was younger (my art historian roots already forming) - I sadly don't know the title of it or who it was by but I can picture it so clearly even now - it was a profile portrait of a man and he was composed entirely of different flowers e.g. his nose was made of rose petals. I always thought it was so clever. So, since quite a young age, I've always had this idea kicking around about creating faces out of different objects (not just flowers).
The final aim for this work is to have my whole face covered in different quotes, images, symbols etc. that I think 'sum up' the making of me. For example, next to my eye on the right of the page is the moon, stars and the quote 'Dare to disturb the universe'. I've always had a fascination with the solar system (again this was something I've been attached to from a very young age), then this focus developed in to my awe about the vastness of the universe and power of nature. I thought the quote fitted in that it mentions the universe, but it also has two more links for me. It was the quote I used to structure my retiring speech as head girl to my senior school around, so it has a strong emotional attachment. Also, 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock' was the poem I studied for A Level English Literature - I had one on one classes and they were such a joy - the poem spoke so strongly to me and I really look back on those studies as a time where I grew and found myself.
The struggle with this work hit me today when I took a break from it. Firstly, it made me start to think the spectacularly frustrating question of 'Who am I?' Didn't I go to university to answer that question? I suspect I might get glimpses in to an answer (I have never felt so comfortable in myself as I do at university) but somehow I think I may have to settle with the fact that it is one of life's maddening unanswerable questions. To even fully know yourself can be hard - I still manage to surprise myself from time to time. Furthermore, you can have the amazing moments of finding those special people who bring things out of you that you didn't know you were capable of. Ahhh, back to the same track, the wonderfully complicated nature of human beings. Another less pressing but still tricky issue is how to depict parts of what make me - my drawing remains at a basic stage - the question of how to depict music or academia is going to be a challenge. Still, I remain hopeful that things will work and I'm not going to come back to this work straight away. I need some time to step back and think about what to do next, I'm just glad I finally got it started.
Thursday 28 June 2012
'Here Comes The Sun'
Pah! The sun is not here! It's almost JULY and it is RAINING. Come on London!! What is this??
Still, I was trying to think of a song about summer for a good title - it was either my favourite song 'Here Comes The Sun' or 'Summer Lovin' from Grease (such a cringe inducing song that I have to be in an incredibly particular mood for!) So, divine song versus cheesy musical song - 'Here Comes The Sun' wins.
Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I've been meaning to write a post about my summer for a while. I've had lots of blog post inspiration recently (posts about odd things like Damien Hirst to come!), but was strict with myself and said I can't write any of them until I have finished this one.
Summer. Now I'm a university student it's actually quite an odd time. It's an adjustment to move back to an old life from another life far away (which is very different - I run my own house, work to my own timetable - essentially I do what suits me in an independent manner). I can sometimes feel like I'm not quite settled - I go to one place, gradually get in to my routine, and then I'm off to the other. It's tough to articulate this without sounding like I don't want to be home - I am really happy to be home, it's hard being without my family during term time (to lose proximity with your greatest source of support is hard). Being home is something I love but, of course, there is a routine I have to get back in to which takes time. Furthermore, there's the question of what to do with myself for three months? Again, the contrast is pretty strong - at university you know exactly what you're doing (going to lectures, dying in the library etc.) but with the three months at home I shape my time as I choose.
Summer 2012, what to do? As a student there's the task of getting the balance of doing some things that, frankly, look good on your CV and enjoying your free time. I think there's quite a good mixture that has been going on, and will continue this summer.
In terms of being a good student, I've got a few things to work on. I have been home for a month now and have been attending lectures at a Senior Executive Programme at London Business School. I am incredibly fortunate to know one of the lectures at the school who gave me the chance of following him for a while. Initially, the artsy student in me was wary and wondered whether Rachel the Art Historian would enjoy or benefit from observing a business course. I was so foolish to worry. The lectures have been so inspiring and intellectually challenging. I went in a blank slate and have come out with a greater understanding of 'the business world', which to be honest is in everything - my eyes were really opened. This enthusiasm has taken me over so completely that the lecturer I was following and I came to the delirious heights of discussing taking a Business MA at the school after my Art History degree. We'll see how things go... Focusing on at least getting an Art History degree is probably not a bad idea for the moment.
Later this summer I am also due to attend a course at The Courtauld for a week. The course focuses on German art from the Romanticists to the Expressionists. I am so excited it's unreal. Just doing my preparation reading has me in a state of euphoria. The first two years of the Art History degree at St Andrews, naturally, provide you with an overview of art from the Renaissance to Contemporary art - I can't wait for the opportunity to study the art of a particular culture, and various styles, more closely. I'm getting all excited and tingly just thinking of Caspar David Friedrich and Emil Nolde.
On a more minor level, there are some other things I'm trying to get on top of this summer that wouldn't really hurt me to do. I am organising returning to help out at Somerset House like I did last summer - the great thing about working for them is that if you have once you're in their system and can work when suits you. On a sadder note, I was prepared to take part in a cheese-making course this summer but that fell through. No homemade cheese for me - a tragic blow to myself and my foodie friends. I'm looking in to possibly taking part in a patisserie course instead - not the same, but I'm sure homemade croissants could never be a bad thing. On top of all of this, I'm retaking my driving test... Ugh. Yes, I'm trying again. After getting back behind the wheel I'm not as anxious and know I can drive - it's just proving to a stranger that I can without getting spooked. We shall see... I will not allow myself to be taking this test forevermore!
On the less intellectual side, I am lucky enough to be carrying out some exciting travelling this summer. In a couple of weeks time I will be spending just under a week in Croatia. I am staying with a couple of Croatian women my family has come to know (and love) through my father's work. They're all wonderful. I met the oldest of these women in my kitchen one morning when I groggily came downstairs for breakfast and was not aware she was in the house - we then spent two hours having the most bizarre but wonderful conversation of my life over a very long breakfast. I'm certain this trip is going to be just as spectacular as our first meeting. Then, later this summer I am travelling to Florence with my family. I went to Florence with the company AHA last summer and fell in love - I have now managed to convince my family that we should all go. I'm already fantasising about all of the art I will be able to see again, the beautiful streets and the food which is nectar from heaven (Italian cooking just makes British people look so incompetent). In Florence there is a bronze statue of a wild boar ('Il Porcellino') very close to Piazza della Signoria and apparently if you rub its snout you will return to Florence in your lifetime (I did this on my AHA trip) - who knew that this wild boar was so efficient? I'm impressed that I'm already back in a year! The final destination for my family this summer will be Portugal just before I return to university (I will seriously have something like four days to get myself together and say good bye to everyone in London before I'm back in St Andrews!) This was a wonderful spur of the moment Prosser decision. Once again, thanks to my father's work, he has a contact over there who suggested that we visit. I am so excited - I have been conscious that I really need to explore more of Europe and gosh what I'm just seeing of Portugal from books, the internet etc. just has my heart fluttering.
All in all, not a bad summer? My little sister has a game we play when we are stressed - we take it in turns to say one thing that we're looking forward to in the future - we spent a good half hour playing this game when thinking of the summer ahead. All of these magnificent experiences on top of catching up with friends and family! So, if the English weather could just get back on track, that would be marvellous.
Still, I was trying to think of a song about summer for a good title - it was either my favourite song 'Here Comes The Sun' or 'Summer Lovin' from Grease (such a cringe inducing song that I have to be in an incredibly particular mood for!) So, divine song versus cheesy musical song - 'Here Comes The Sun' wins.
Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I've been meaning to write a post about my summer for a while. I've had lots of blog post inspiration recently (posts about odd things like Damien Hirst to come!), but was strict with myself and said I can't write any of them until I have finished this one.
Summer. Now I'm a university student it's actually quite an odd time. It's an adjustment to move back to an old life from another life far away (which is very different - I run my own house, work to my own timetable - essentially I do what suits me in an independent manner). I can sometimes feel like I'm not quite settled - I go to one place, gradually get in to my routine, and then I'm off to the other. It's tough to articulate this without sounding like I don't want to be home - I am really happy to be home, it's hard being without my family during term time (to lose proximity with your greatest source of support is hard). Being home is something I love but, of course, there is a routine I have to get back in to which takes time. Furthermore, there's the question of what to do with myself for three months? Again, the contrast is pretty strong - at university you know exactly what you're doing (going to lectures, dying in the library etc.) but with the three months at home I shape my time as I choose.
Summer 2012, what to do? As a student there's the task of getting the balance of doing some things that, frankly, look good on your CV and enjoying your free time. I think there's quite a good mixture that has been going on, and will continue this summer.
In terms of being a good student, I've got a few things to work on. I have been home for a month now and have been attending lectures at a Senior Executive Programme at London Business School. I am incredibly fortunate to know one of the lectures at the school who gave me the chance of following him for a while. Initially, the artsy student in me was wary and wondered whether Rachel the Art Historian would enjoy or benefit from observing a business course. I was so foolish to worry. The lectures have been so inspiring and intellectually challenging. I went in a blank slate and have come out with a greater understanding of 'the business world', which to be honest is in everything - my eyes were really opened. This enthusiasm has taken me over so completely that the lecturer I was following and I came to the delirious heights of discussing taking a Business MA at the school after my Art History degree. We'll see how things go... Focusing on at least getting an Art History degree is probably not a bad idea for the moment.
Later this summer I am also due to attend a course at The Courtauld for a week. The course focuses on German art from the Romanticists to the Expressionists. I am so excited it's unreal. Just doing my preparation reading has me in a state of euphoria. The first two years of the Art History degree at St Andrews, naturally, provide you with an overview of art from the Renaissance to Contemporary art - I can't wait for the opportunity to study the art of a particular culture, and various styles, more closely. I'm getting all excited and tingly just thinking of Caspar David Friedrich and Emil Nolde.
On a more minor level, there are some other things I'm trying to get on top of this summer that wouldn't really hurt me to do. I am organising returning to help out at Somerset House like I did last summer - the great thing about working for them is that if you have once you're in their system and can work when suits you. On a sadder note, I was prepared to take part in a cheese-making course this summer but that fell through. No homemade cheese for me - a tragic blow to myself and my foodie friends. I'm looking in to possibly taking part in a patisserie course instead - not the same, but I'm sure homemade croissants could never be a bad thing. On top of all of this, I'm retaking my driving test... Ugh. Yes, I'm trying again. After getting back behind the wheel I'm not as anxious and know I can drive - it's just proving to a stranger that I can without getting spooked. We shall see... I will not allow myself to be taking this test forevermore!
On the less intellectual side, I am lucky enough to be carrying out some exciting travelling this summer. In a couple of weeks time I will be spending just under a week in Croatia. I am staying with a couple of Croatian women my family has come to know (and love) through my father's work. They're all wonderful. I met the oldest of these women in my kitchen one morning when I groggily came downstairs for breakfast and was not aware she was in the house - we then spent two hours having the most bizarre but wonderful conversation of my life over a very long breakfast. I'm certain this trip is going to be just as spectacular as our first meeting. Then, later this summer I am travelling to Florence with my family. I went to Florence with the company AHA last summer and fell in love - I have now managed to convince my family that we should all go. I'm already fantasising about all of the art I will be able to see again, the beautiful streets and the food which is nectar from heaven (Italian cooking just makes British people look so incompetent). In Florence there is a bronze statue of a wild boar ('Il Porcellino') very close to Piazza della Signoria and apparently if you rub its snout you will return to Florence in your lifetime (I did this on my AHA trip) - who knew that this wild boar was so efficient? I'm impressed that I'm already back in a year! The final destination for my family this summer will be Portugal just before I return to university (I will seriously have something like four days to get myself together and say good bye to everyone in London before I'm back in St Andrews!) This was a wonderful spur of the moment Prosser decision. Once again, thanks to my father's work, he has a contact over there who suggested that we visit. I am so excited - I have been conscious that I really need to explore more of Europe and gosh what I'm just seeing of Portugal from books, the internet etc. just has my heart fluttering.
All in all, not a bad summer? My little sister has a game we play when we are stressed - we take it in turns to say one thing that we're looking forward to in the future - we spent a good half hour playing this game when thinking of the summer ahead. All of these magnificent experiences on top of catching up with friends and family! So, if the English weather could just get back on track, that would be marvellous.
Thursday 21 June 2012
'Every man must decide whether he will walk in the light of creative altruism or in the darkness of destructive selfishness' - Martin Luther King Jr.
Altruism. The number of people that must feel murderous when I bring up this subject is insane. I've been debating with one friend for almost two years about whether it exists - I don't see either of us backing down from our views any time soon. Our debate mainly consists of my providing him with what I consider to be examples of altruism. Apparently I haven't provided an example yet. Hmph. I disagree, I think I have.
I think it's pretty sad that I'm in a minority for believing that altruism is real.
I believe in extraordinary human kindness. I don't think every action is self-motivated. That is the main argument against altruism - that every action, is in some way, going to have a positive outcome for the person doing it, which they are inherently motivated by - suggesting that no action is selfless.
For example, a person who carries out a good deed, such as helping an old lady cross the street (don't you think old ladies must get so sick of that?), is not doing so out of the pure goodness of their heart but because they are aware that they will receive the admiration of others. A friend of mine went as far as to suggest that society conditions us to carry out good deeds because the notion of the reward we will receive is deep in our subconscious. We help others because of an underlying understanding that we will be rewarded.
I think I may waver in to sounding like an emotional hippy (a regular occurrence) but I just feel this is so wrong. Yes, looking back over history, even at the present day, man has proved that we are capable of unbelievable cruelty. But, I think this can often make people cynical and overshadow the incredible good we are capable of - I think this good can be selfless.
When I get in to this argument with people I have a primary example that I think is a genuine case of altruism. Yes, I'll accept altruism is not your everyday occurrence but it does happen.
So, my primary example - the bravery and selflessness of Wesley Autry - the New York Subway Hero. Wesley Autry was a fifty year old construction worker and about four years ago he was extraordinarily selfless for a stranger. He was standing on a subway platform with his two young daughters when another man started having a seizure and fell on to the tracks - just as a train was pulling in to the station. There were seventy five other people on the platform and they all froze - inevitably waiting to watch this man die. However, Mr Autry, a man with no greater excuse than anyone else to help this stranger (in fact, a man with a reason not to get involved - he had his two daughters present) jumped down on to the tracks. He placed the man having a seizure in a drainage trench between the tracks and then proceeded to lie on top of him to hold him still. The height of the two men lying on the floor was twenty and a half inches - the train clearance was twenty one inches - they survived by half an inch. Wesley Autry put his life at risk, completely uncertain of whether he would survive, for a complete stranger.
I think this is a pure example of the great kindness man is capable of. Yes, I'm not certain there are many people who would display such bravery, but the world is not entirely void of these people.
Even if you don't believe my hippy rantings, I still think you can just marvel at this example of human compassion. This goes beyond the call of duty. I remember learning about this man in my A Level psychology class and some of my class mates being adamant that they would have done the same. However, I think if we are honest with ourselves many of us would have frozen like the rest of the people on that platform. I think this is why people do not believe in altruism - it is rare - it's not a phenomenon I'm claiming happens all the time - but it is possible.
A further thing I frequently find myself saying to people, not so much as an argument but as an explanation, is that I view altruism like many people view religion - I have faith in it - I do not require constant evidence - I have faith in human goodness - as I have said many times before, I think human beings are extraordinary.
To return to the title of this blog - the words of Martin Luther King Jr. Sometimes I wonder whether the issue with altruism may lie with decision-making. The complete denial of it may be seen as 'letting you off the hook' in regards to selfless behaviour. We can all make the active decision to sacrifice for others. My engagement with this subject has made it something I'm certainly aware of and strive towards. So, whether you believe in it, are sceptical or completely deny it, you can still strive towards an altruistic attitude.
I think it's pretty sad that I'm in a minority for believing that altruism is real.
I believe in extraordinary human kindness. I don't think every action is self-motivated. That is the main argument against altruism - that every action, is in some way, going to have a positive outcome for the person doing it, which they are inherently motivated by - suggesting that no action is selfless.
For example, a person who carries out a good deed, such as helping an old lady cross the street (don't you think old ladies must get so sick of that?), is not doing so out of the pure goodness of their heart but because they are aware that they will receive the admiration of others. A friend of mine went as far as to suggest that society conditions us to carry out good deeds because the notion of the reward we will receive is deep in our subconscious. We help others because of an underlying understanding that we will be rewarded.
I think I may waver in to sounding like an emotional hippy (a regular occurrence) but I just feel this is so wrong. Yes, looking back over history, even at the present day, man has proved that we are capable of unbelievable cruelty. But, I think this can often make people cynical and overshadow the incredible good we are capable of - I think this good can be selfless.
When I get in to this argument with people I have a primary example that I think is a genuine case of altruism. Yes, I'll accept altruism is not your everyday occurrence but it does happen.
So, my primary example - the bravery and selflessness of Wesley Autry - the New York Subway Hero. Wesley Autry was a fifty year old construction worker and about four years ago he was extraordinarily selfless for a stranger. He was standing on a subway platform with his two young daughters when another man started having a seizure and fell on to the tracks - just as a train was pulling in to the station. There were seventy five other people on the platform and they all froze - inevitably waiting to watch this man die. However, Mr Autry, a man with no greater excuse than anyone else to help this stranger (in fact, a man with a reason not to get involved - he had his two daughters present) jumped down on to the tracks. He placed the man having a seizure in a drainage trench between the tracks and then proceeded to lie on top of him to hold him still. The height of the two men lying on the floor was twenty and a half inches - the train clearance was twenty one inches - they survived by half an inch. Wesley Autry put his life at risk, completely uncertain of whether he would survive, for a complete stranger.
I think this is a pure example of the great kindness man is capable of. Yes, I'm not certain there are many people who would display such bravery, but the world is not entirely void of these people.
Even if you don't believe my hippy rantings, I still think you can just marvel at this example of human compassion. This goes beyond the call of duty. I remember learning about this man in my A Level psychology class and some of my class mates being adamant that they would have done the same. However, I think if we are honest with ourselves many of us would have frozen like the rest of the people on that platform. I think this is why people do not believe in altruism - it is rare - it's not a phenomenon I'm claiming happens all the time - but it is possible.
A further thing I frequently find myself saying to people, not so much as an argument but as an explanation, is that I view altruism like many people view religion - I have faith in it - I do not require constant evidence - I have faith in human goodness - as I have said many times before, I think human beings are extraordinary.
To return to the title of this blog - the words of Martin Luther King Jr. Sometimes I wonder whether the issue with altruism may lie with decision-making. The complete denial of it may be seen as 'letting you off the hook' in regards to selfless behaviour. We can all make the active decision to sacrifice for others. My engagement with this subject has made it something I'm certainly aware of and strive towards. So, whether you believe in it, are sceptical or completely deny it, you can still strive towards an altruistic attitude.
Thursday 7 June 2012
"Think left and think right and think low and think high. Oh, the thinks you can think up if only you try!" - Dr Seuss
This is going to be a shorter post for a change - I say this now, it might get longer as I go on.
I believe that mankind is constantly striving for an understanding of human nature (and the world at large), but I am not certain whether this understanding can be achieved. I've mentioned before how complex I think human beings are - can we really break ourselves down to a simple, all-encompassing formula? From the perspective of someone at university, I often focus on the fact that everyone has decided upon different subjects, and I see these subjects as people's different approaches to understanding ourselves. For example, in Art History lectures we're constantly reflecting upon the human condition using a variety of works - from the extremes of Caspar David Friedrich to Mark Rothko. When I took Psychology, we were assessing humans from all angles - developmental, social, neurological. Yes, all of these subjects have different approaches but we are after the same thing - a greater understanding of ourselves. And whilst we're doing this, we are creating our own ideas to get tangled in but at the same time, we are also reflecting upon the ideas of other people - there is a never ending spiral of thought. Since time immemorial, we have been trying to understand ourselves and have a wealth of academic discussion, art, technological development etc. as a result. Yes, many historical figures felt that they had discovered a pure truth and that their theory defied all others - just think of the style of Nietzsche's writing and have a chuckle to yourself. But, I think it can be argued, that no one has found the one answer, theory, equation to cancel all others. If they had we would not be continuing in our endeavours. So, sometimes, it seems to me that we are constantly searching for an understanding, from all angles, but maybe this truth cannot be unearthed in this manner?
I'm home for the summer earlier than most people and have university friends dotted across the globe at the moment. I have a large amount of free time on my hands (I'll expand on how I'm going to use it in another post) but I have spent a lot of it talking to old home friends or my friends across the world. In a lot of my conversations and debates I keep coming to the same, more general conclusion about thought and mankind.
I believe that mankind is constantly striving for an understanding of human nature (and the world at large), but I am not certain whether this understanding can be achieved. I've mentioned before how complex I think human beings are - can we really break ourselves down to a simple, all-encompassing formula? From the perspective of someone at university, I often focus on the fact that everyone has decided upon different subjects, and I see these subjects as people's different approaches to understanding ourselves. For example, in Art History lectures we're constantly reflecting upon the human condition using a variety of works - from the extremes of Caspar David Friedrich to Mark Rothko. When I took Psychology, we were assessing humans from all angles - developmental, social, neurological. Yes, all of these subjects have different approaches but we are after the same thing - a greater understanding of ourselves. And whilst we're doing this, we are creating our own ideas to get tangled in but at the same time, we are also reflecting upon the ideas of other people - there is a never ending spiral of thought. Since time immemorial, we have been trying to understand ourselves and have a wealth of academic discussion, art, technological development etc. as a result. Yes, many historical figures felt that they had discovered a pure truth and that their theory defied all others - just think of the style of Nietzsche's writing and have a chuckle to yourself. But, I think it can be argued, that no one has found the one answer, theory, equation to cancel all others. If they had we would not be continuing in our endeavours. So, sometimes, it seems to me that we are constantly searching for an understanding, from all angles, but maybe this truth cannot be unearthed in this manner?
I wouldn't see this as a negative thing or cause to give up on our efforts. There is so much personal gain to be made from trying to understand human nature. I just think of the euphoria I felt when I first read the work of T.S. Eliot, or the personal understanding upon standing before the work of Van Gogh. These experiences are not a waste. This is going to sound horrendously nerd-ish, but there are real transcendental moments in academia. Furthermore, perhaps the answer is to change our approach to accessing an understanding of mankind? I still think humans are far too complex to be broken down by an all encompassing theory. However, further insight can be gained by potentially combining the approaches of numerous theories. At university, especially in philosophy classes, I have been so often encouraged to come down on one side of the argument and promote it entirely. I frequently do not do this and get reprimanded. But, I think doesn't that just show some sort of greater understanding? I appreciate that no theory can defy all others - that's why there are conflicting theories. Would it not be more sensible to draw from numerous theories or in proposing a theory admit that there may be other possibilities?
I'm sure the idea I have been proposing is in itself is flawed - sometimes it's much more succinct to just come down on the side of one idea. Furthermore, there are numerous people out there who are convinced that one theory is undeniable, for example ardent Kantian philosophers. Still, this is not a perfect thought and will probably need some tweaking over time - it was just a constant conclusion I needed to express.
I'm sure the idea I have been proposing is in itself is flawed - sometimes it's much more succinct to just come down on the side of one idea. Furthermore, there are numerous people out there who are convinced that one theory is undeniable, for example ardent Kantian philosophers. Still, this is not a perfect thought and will probably need some tweaking over time - it was just a constant conclusion I needed to express.
Sunday 3 June 2012
Change Your Mind
This blog has become somewhat serious recently and I quite like it. My latest post produced a lot of conversations for me - notably, I was contacted by an acquaintance who thanked me for sharing my experience as they related to it, and as a result we have now become friends. So I'm glad that it came to something - and it shows that if you put yourself out there people can reach out in return.
This year has been about change and a time of extensive personal growth, so naturally I think the tone of my blog followed.
With that focus in mind, this post has come about.
I was talking to a friend earlier who drew attention to one of the changes in my lifestyle this year - I have started drinking alcohol again after roughly four years without it. I realised that I have not really discussed this change with anyone or properly articulated my feelings about it. So, as it often goes, a talk with a friend has led to another blog post.
I made the decision to not drink alcohol when I was sixteen (not that I'd had much experience of it before then). The events that triggered this decision were the deaths of my great aunt and uncle. I think I've only come to realise the extent of my pain regarding this subject and the true nature of my response to it.
I was particularly distressed by the nature of their deaths. My great uncle was the first to die (probably a result of his drinking and smoking habits) and my aunt struggled to handle caring for him towards the end of his life, which led her to drinking more. On the final night of my great uncle's life he was taken in to hospital and died early the next morning. My aunt was unable to be with him because she was too drunk to go in the ambulance with him. My uncle died alone in an unfamiliar place. I was aware of my anger towards my aunt at the time (something I now see as not completely reasonable because she was in an emotional state that could not handle the severity of the situation) and my distress over the nature of the nature of my uncle's death and the rest of my aunt's life (which consisted of further drinking to cope with being without him). However, I do not think I completely engaged with my feelings.
I believe that in my mind, in a very simple sense, I created a link between drinking and pain. It was something strongly negative for me. Therefore, I decided to not drink alcohol myself. I think I made this decision because of my bad association, but also because I felt I was in some way compensating for the nature of my uncle's death. I was so upset that he had to be alone that I vowed to never let that happen to anyone else.
Now I can see that this was not the best way to cope with my feelings. I masked my pain by focusing my energies on not drinking. I was also solely concentrating on the sad endings of their lives by taking this negative response. I did not focus on happy memories from my childhood - walking their dogs in the summer, having them over for christmas, listening to music in my family living room. I also disconnected from their characters - my uncle's wicked humour, my aunt's sweet nature (they both had such wonderful laughs). I was not taking in the whole picture anymore - I fixated on the sadness.
However, last summer things began to change. My family has most of their possessions and we have been sorting through them. This began to remind me of their lives as a whole. If I could use one word to describe them it would be 'joy'. There was such a pure joy and contentment surrounding them - to be near them was to be part of a constant celebration of life. I also began to talk about them and their deaths with people. I explored my emotions properly. I only really discussed them with my parents and I had neglected preserving a positive memory of them. I particularly remember walking through Rome with a tutor from the art history course I took last year - I had to describe them to someone who did not know them and began to remember how important it is to share them and celebrate their lives. Through things like this, I began to break away from my attitude towards alcohol and my sadness over them (naturally I will always be sad about them but not to such an extent).
This past academic year, as many know, has been hard. One evening I got particularly upset and went for the extreme response, which resulted in drinking a lot with some friends. Once again, I was associating drinking with pain. I thought it would be a good way to escape my distress for an evening. I have not drunk that much since - although by the standards of some other students I was hardly drinking anything. Afterwards I realised that it was a silly response to my sadness (hence not letting it happen again), but also took some time to reflect upon it.
I realised that the link with my aunt and uncle, and my pain had diminished since I had made the decision to not drink. My decision was something that I no longer had to cling to. I found that I could finally let go. I think we can often get caught up in our own patterns of behaviour and forget why we do them. It is positive to challenge yourself and see whether what you are doing is necessary anymore. I realised that four years was enough and that I was not properly engaging with my feelings - just hiding behind a lifestyle choice. Furthermore, it was not a particularly positive choice as it reinforced my focus upon the negative.
Now I am able to recall the positive memories of my aunt and uncle, and also go to the pub with friends from time to time.
To be honest, I think I'd still prefer a good cup of coffee but am developing an appreciation for a soothing glass of wine or a sweet cider.
This year has been about change and a time of extensive personal growth, so naturally I think the tone of my blog followed.
With that focus in mind, this post has come about.
I was talking to a friend earlier who drew attention to one of the changes in my lifestyle this year - I have started drinking alcohol again after roughly four years without it. I realised that I have not really discussed this change with anyone or properly articulated my feelings about it. So, as it often goes, a talk with a friend has led to another blog post.
I made the decision to not drink alcohol when I was sixteen (not that I'd had much experience of it before then). The events that triggered this decision were the deaths of my great aunt and uncle. I think I've only come to realise the extent of my pain regarding this subject and the true nature of my response to it.
I was particularly distressed by the nature of their deaths. My great uncle was the first to die (probably a result of his drinking and smoking habits) and my aunt struggled to handle caring for him towards the end of his life, which led her to drinking more. On the final night of my great uncle's life he was taken in to hospital and died early the next morning. My aunt was unable to be with him because she was too drunk to go in the ambulance with him. My uncle died alone in an unfamiliar place. I was aware of my anger towards my aunt at the time (something I now see as not completely reasonable because she was in an emotional state that could not handle the severity of the situation) and my distress over the nature of the nature of my uncle's death and the rest of my aunt's life (which consisted of further drinking to cope with being without him). However, I do not think I completely engaged with my feelings.
I believe that in my mind, in a very simple sense, I created a link between drinking and pain. It was something strongly negative for me. Therefore, I decided to not drink alcohol myself. I think I made this decision because of my bad association, but also because I felt I was in some way compensating for the nature of my uncle's death. I was so upset that he had to be alone that I vowed to never let that happen to anyone else.
Now I can see that this was not the best way to cope with my feelings. I masked my pain by focusing my energies on not drinking. I was also solely concentrating on the sad endings of their lives by taking this negative response. I did not focus on happy memories from my childhood - walking their dogs in the summer, having them over for christmas, listening to music in my family living room. I also disconnected from their characters - my uncle's wicked humour, my aunt's sweet nature (they both had such wonderful laughs). I was not taking in the whole picture anymore - I fixated on the sadness.
However, last summer things began to change. My family has most of their possessions and we have been sorting through them. This began to remind me of their lives as a whole. If I could use one word to describe them it would be 'joy'. There was such a pure joy and contentment surrounding them - to be near them was to be part of a constant celebration of life. I also began to talk about them and their deaths with people. I explored my emotions properly. I only really discussed them with my parents and I had neglected preserving a positive memory of them. I particularly remember walking through Rome with a tutor from the art history course I took last year - I had to describe them to someone who did not know them and began to remember how important it is to share them and celebrate their lives. Through things like this, I began to break away from my attitude towards alcohol and my sadness over them (naturally I will always be sad about them but not to such an extent).
This past academic year, as many know, has been hard. One evening I got particularly upset and went for the extreme response, which resulted in drinking a lot with some friends. Once again, I was associating drinking with pain. I thought it would be a good way to escape my distress for an evening. I have not drunk that much since - although by the standards of some other students I was hardly drinking anything. Afterwards I realised that it was a silly response to my sadness (hence not letting it happen again), but also took some time to reflect upon it.
I realised that the link with my aunt and uncle, and my pain had diminished since I had made the decision to not drink. My decision was something that I no longer had to cling to. I found that I could finally let go. I think we can often get caught up in our own patterns of behaviour and forget why we do them. It is positive to challenge yourself and see whether what you are doing is necessary anymore. I realised that four years was enough and that I was not properly engaging with my feelings - just hiding behind a lifestyle choice. Furthermore, it was not a particularly positive choice as it reinforced my focus upon the negative.
Now I am able to recall the positive memories of my aunt and uncle, and also go to the pub with friends from time to time.
To be honest, I think I'd still prefer a good cup of coffee but am developing an appreciation for a soothing glass of wine or a sweet cider.
Saturday 21 April 2012
'No one can make you feel inferior without your consent'
When blogging I think there is always a degree of personal information that comes out. In my opinion, the best work is somewhat emotional - how can you write well and passionately about something if you aren't invested in it?
This post is something I have been playing with in my mind for a while. I have been mulling over my exact focus, details and overall tone. Do I want to go there? Do I want to keep more of this confined to my diary? (Yes I have a personal diary - which is facing some neglect whilst I blog - still, that's for knowledge I would never make public).
As some people reading this will know, this year has been rough. A long romantic relationship came to an end and due to circumstances everything was not closed off in one go - more like an earthquake with painful aftershocks. I recently found the hilarious question 'On a scale of 1 to Adele how bad was it?' Yeah, this was an 'Adele'. I'm not going to delve in to the details of the collapse (that's between myself and the guy concerned - who, despite everything, I don't want to hurt). In fact, I'm not really going to write about him. I don't want this to be a bitter reflection or uninhibited attack - I'll always value what we had and maintain the respect I had for him during our time together. It's easy to walk away and brand the other person as an unspeakable monster, but I think people forget there was something that drew you to them in the first place and you did have the joy of sharing something special with them - unless they did something unforgivable like eat the final peanut butter cookie - then brand away!
As I noted at the beginning of this post, there have to be considerations of what you want to make public. What purpose could it serve? In this case, I think I could certainly get away with not sharing anything - save it for my private pages. Naturally, as I stated earlier, I'm not going in to the painful details. However, I think it is worthwhile that I engage with this. It could help someone in the future and serves as a concrete reminder for me. So, I aim for this to be a source of strength, not sadness.
A while ago I had a conversation with a friend about the books we were reading. I'm still going strong with 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' (sadly reading has to be saved as a treat between pieces of coursework so I still haven't finished it). I was telling my friend that I had come to the worrying realisation that I strongly relate to the character Tereza. She is a woman who cannot cope with her husband's infidelity and is essentially, systematically bullied by all the other characters. Honestly, I relate with her on more of a philosophical level than a situational one - her thoughts and views are strikingly familiar. However, this discussion led my friend to jokily ask whether I felt bullied by everyone. At the time I laughed and responded that I didn't (which I would like to clarify I still don't - I have numerous wonderfully kind friends) but the question did trigger some thought.
Upon reflection I realised that my friend's question had raised a deeper enquiry within me about how I felt in relation to other people. (On a side note, it's quite amazing how one question can take you to thoughts completely removed from the initial enquiry.) I certainly don't feel bullied by people, but I think this year I have felt that I must prove my worth to others.
The way the previously mentioned relationship ended resulted in a crippling feeling of worthlessness that I don't think I could ever fully articulate. I understand that not sharing details makes this harder to understand but I'd rather not have them floating around the internet. Essentially, the way things ended sent me the message that there was no care or respect for me - which, sadly, resulted in my losing a large amount of respect for myself. If I look back on the time following the relationship ending, I see that I have not been completely myself for a long time and at the beginning my confidence was so shot I was a bit of a ghost. I believed the message that I was worthless, and I accepted that other people would think I was too.
At the beginning of this academic year I was afraid. I would purposefully avoid people and kept my head down. Specifically, I remember approaching a lecture where I saw a group of people I knew standing in front of the building and thinking 'What if they know? What if they know that I'm not worth their time?', before taking a ridiculous route around the side of the building to slip in to the back of the lecture theatre alone. This is pretty laughable when I read it back, but at the time that fear was horribly real - I was so scared that other people would reinforce the message I had been given. I cut myself off because I believed that I had nothing to offer people. As a result, I spent a fair amount of this year feeling that I had to prove I was worth other people's time and fight what I saw to be the horrible conclusion they would all reach.
Whilst doing this, I came to realise that I was in fact fighting myself. I thought I was trying to prove myself to every one else, but I was really reintroducing myself to 'me'. On a more positive note, I frequently got the pleasant surprise of new friends and people who persevered with my reclusive behaviour. Through other people building me up, and the fact that I kept pushing myself to be 'brave' and face others I began to remember that I had something to offer. I was going down a completely deluded road (no one really thought badly of me) but it was one that started to restore me nonetheless.
Reading this back I can't tell you how angry I am with myself. At the time when I needed the most care and support, I bailed on myself. I let someone else determine how I feel about myself and what I deserve. I would be lying if I said I had no anger for this guy suggesting that I am worthless, but I am responsible for taking it on - I accepted it. So, back to the title of this blog - the wise words of Eleanor - 'No one can make you feel inferior without your consent'. I consented. And I so hope that no one else does. I hope that maybe anyone reading this can learn from my failing?
For someone to take away your strength is unreal. I believe in the extraordinary nature of humans - no one should ever feel that they do not have something to give to the world. We are all so complicated and interesting - think of even the five minute conversations you can have with strangers - you see just a glimpse of someone with an entirely new way of being that they could share with you. Everyone has their strengths and you should hold on to them even when the rest of the world is telling you that you have nothing to give.
So, among many things this year, I've learned to love myself. I let someone make me lose touch with myself. I believed their evaluation of me. And how ridiculous was I to do that? The person who knows you best is yourself - you know what sort of person you are and you know what you deserve. I can't stress enough that you should never let another person dictate those things for you - I spent far too long letting opportunities pass me by and hiding myself from the world because of ungrounded fear. I'm not entirely at peace with myself yet, but I don't think I've been so aware of myself in a long time. I am by no means a perfect soul (just spend a day with me when I haven't had enough sleep!) but I am worth your while if you enjoy being harassed with artistic knowledge and baked goods. If I was to get very 'hippyish' about this I would say that everyone has a sort of 'essence' to them, and it is usually what people really love about you, so treasure it and don't let it go missing.
I really wanted to write this to remind people to respect themselves. A lot easier said than done, but I thought if people could read about someone else's experience that may bring the message home in a different way. People often talk about 'losing themselves' - this is an easy thing to do but something I, and I hope anyone who reads this, could be more aware of in the future.
A while ago I had a conversation with a friend about the books we were reading. I'm still going strong with 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' (sadly reading has to be saved as a treat between pieces of coursework so I still haven't finished it). I was telling my friend that I had come to the worrying realisation that I strongly relate to the character Tereza. She is a woman who cannot cope with her husband's infidelity and is essentially, systematically bullied by all the other characters. Honestly, I relate with her on more of a philosophical level than a situational one - her thoughts and views are strikingly familiar. However, this discussion led my friend to jokily ask whether I felt bullied by everyone. At the time I laughed and responded that I didn't (which I would like to clarify I still don't - I have numerous wonderfully kind friends) but the question did trigger some thought.
Upon reflection I realised that my friend's question had raised a deeper enquiry within me about how I felt in relation to other people. (On a side note, it's quite amazing how one question can take you to thoughts completely removed from the initial enquiry.) I certainly don't feel bullied by people, but I think this year I have felt that I must prove my worth to others.
The way the previously mentioned relationship ended resulted in a crippling feeling of worthlessness that I don't think I could ever fully articulate. I understand that not sharing details makes this harder to understand but I'd rather not have them floating around the internet. Essentially, the way things ended sent me the message that there was no care or respect for me - which, sadly, resulted in my losing a large amount of respect for myself. If I look back on the time following the relationship ending, I see that I have not been completely myself for a long time and at the beginning my confidence was so shot I was a bit of a ghost. I believed the message that I was worthless, and I accepted that other people would think I was too.
At the beginning of this academic year I was afraid. I would purposefully avoid people and kept my head down. Specifically, I remember approaching a lecture where I saw a group of people I knew standing in front of the building and thinking 'What if they know? What if they know that I'm not worth their time?', before taking a ridiculous route around the side of the building to slip in to the back of the lecture theatre alone. This is pretty laughable when I read it back, but at the time that fear was horribly real - I was so scared that other people would reinforce the message I had been given. I cut myself off because I believed that I had nothing to offer people. As a result, I spent a fair amount of this year feeling that I had to prove I was worth other people's time and fight what I saw to be the horrible conclusion they would all reach.
Whilst doing this, I came to realise that I was in fact fighting myself. I thought I was trying to prove myself to every one else, but I was really reintroducing myself to 'me'. On a more positive note, I frequently got the pleasant surprise of new friends and people who persevered with my reclusive behaviour. Through other people building me up, and the fact that I kept pushing myself to be 'brave' and face others I began to remember that I had something to offer. I was going down a completely deluded road (no one really thought badly of me) but it was one that started to restore me nonetheless.
Reading this back I can't tell you how angry I am with myself. At the time when I needed the most care and support, I bailed on myself. I let someone else determine how I feel about myself and what I deserve. I would be lying if I said I had no anger for this guy suggesting that I am worthless, but I am responsible for taking it on - I accepted it. So, back to the title of this blog - the wise words of Eleanor - 'No one can make you feel inferior without your consent'. I consented. And I so hope that no one else does. I hope that maybe anyone reading this can learn from my failing?
For someone to take away your strength is unreal. I believe in the extraordinary nature of humans - no one should ever feel that they do not have something to give to the world. We are all so complicated and interesting - think of even the five minute conversations you can have with strangers - you see just a glimpse of someone with an entirely new way of being that they could share with you. Everyone has their strengths and you should hold on to them even when the rest of the world is telling you that you have nothing to give.
So, among many things this year, I've learned to love myself. I let someone make me lose touch with myself. I believed their evaluation of me. And how ridiculous was I to do that? The person who knows you best is yourself - you know what sort of person you are and you know what you deserve. I can't stress enough that you should never let another person dictate those things for you - I spent far too long letting opportunities pass me by and hiding myself from the world because of ungrounded fear. I'm not entirely at peace with myself yet, but I don't think I've been so aware of myself in a long time. I am by no means a perfect soul (just spend a day with me when I haven't had enough sleep!) but I am worth your while if you enjoy being harassed with artistic knowledge and baked goods. If I was to get very 'hippyish' about this I would say that everyone has a sort of 'essence' to them, and it is usually what people really love about you, so treasure it and don't let it go missing.
I really wanted to write this to remind people to respect themselves. A lot easier said than done, but I thought if people could read about someone else's experience that may bring the message home in a different way. People often talk about 'losing themselves' - this is an easy thing to do but something I, and I hope anyone who reads this, could be more aware of in the future.
Sunday 8 April 2012
Yada Yada Yada
I wrote this a while back and never got round to editing it, so this may actually seem like a long time ago - bizarrely, right now is my last afternoon of spring break (after two lecture-free weeks you think I'd have got on top of this?).
In a not so wise move on my part, I drank a latte at 9pm this evening to fire myself up and get through a tutorial reading. Here I am at 2am - utterly wired. I've undergone the recent discovery that I react pretty quickly and strongly to stimulants - I honestly can only have one cup of coffee a day (even something like a latte which is more milky) - any more and I'm off the wall. Still, this provides me with a golden opportunity to catch up on some blogging.
I was having a conversation with a friend the other day that left me a little shocked. I can't entirely remember why, but it came to the point where he said "Back home [he's from the States] it's not uncommon for a girl to sleep with five different guys during one week. It is embarrassing for her but it's seen as the norm." This seems rather extreme, but I think there is some truth in one night stands having become a norm - especially at university.
This is where my personality gets rather scrambled. I have some hippy-ish tendencies but when it comes to things like 'free love' I can't really go there. I want to clarify initially that just because I would not be inclined towards a one night stand, does not mean that I think any less of someone who would be - if they are comfortable and happy then that's fine - it is just not a situation I would want for myself. I think I appear rather outdated - especially for a university student - shouldn't I be going rampant or something right about now? Haha, quite the contrary - I'm home blogging whilst sat next to a tray of cinnamon rolls I just made.
Bluntly, I am only comfortable with sex in a committed romantic relationship. By contrast, I've been present for frequent recollections of one night stands or the discussions of whether it's acceptable to sleep with someone you don't really know. I've been building up different reflections about casual sex and my stance for a while and recently they appear to have come together so I thought I'd articulate some of my ideas.
I recently read an article and came across a concept I am particularly fond of. I wanted to make sure my understanding of this idea was right so I checked with a friend who is fluent in Hebrew and she confirmed it is correct. The Hebrew word 'yada', whilst having numerous meanings depending upon context, has one that I thought was striking. 'Yada' means 'to know', and in a sexual context, it can mean to know physically. The example my friend provided is that in the Old Testament if it is mentioned that a woman becomes pregnant, it is often said that a husband knew his wife, and thus they conceived a child. I found this particular meaning to be rather beautiful. I think to engage with a person on that level is 'to know' them, and 'to know' them in a way that is unique and special to your relationship. When you think about it at a more basic level, it is special to know some people at all - just be acquainted or good friends with - it's regular for me to say 'I'm so glad I know you' to a friend. Then, there are degrees of knowing people - we all have that friend who knows exactly what we're thinking. However, (at least this is regular for me) it is rare to know people on a different level romantically. To 'know' someone in that way is unique - it is just between the two of you and is not shared with other people. I think 'yada' is a beautifully romantic concept.
Furthermore, I think this idea about 'knowing' suggests some sort of vulnerability and trust. To truly know someone, you both have to open up emotionally in a way that you would not in normal, every day conversation. With a lot of my closest friends defences have been stripped back and weaknesses are known. Playing on the word stripped here... But, yes to be physically close is to be vulnerable. So, surely this should happen with someone you know and trust?
This debate reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend over the summer about clubs. We concluded that in a club you are a body - you are not a person - and really should you settle for that? I get a similar feeling with one night stands - you're a body - you are purely physical. I think this seems sad when you come to understand how intellectually and emotionally extraordinary human beings are.
I thought I'd finish this post by recalling a rather silly conversation I had with my friend about the subject. During our discussion he said: 'Well, I'm open to it because everyone else seems to think it's okay'. My argument (which upon reflection I have realised was a pretty poor parallel) in return was: 'But if people just started murdering each other for no reason and everyone thought it was okay that doesn't mean you would'. His wonderful reply? 'Rachel, you can't really compare having sex and the slaying of innocent people. Although... I guess if you were a preppy guy you could talk about slaying some babes?'
So I leave you with that. The killing of the innocent and slaying some babes with your sexual prowess.
In a not so wise move on my part, I drank a latte at 9pm this evening to fire myself up and get through a tutorial reading. Here I am at 2am - utterly wired. I've undergone the recent discovery that I react pretty quickly and strongly to stimulants - I honestly can only have one cup of coffee a day (even something like a latte which is more milky) - any more and I'm off the wall. Still, this provides me with a golden opportunity to catch up on some blogging.
I was having a conversation with a friend the other day that left me a little shocked. I can't entirely remember why, but it came to the point where he said "Back home [he's from the States] it's not uncommon for a girl to sleep with five different guys during one week. It is embarrassing for her but it's seen as the norm." This seems rather extreme, but I think there is some truth in one night stands having become a norm - especially at university.
This is where my personality gets rather scrambled. I have some hippy-ish tendencies but when it comes to things like 'free love' I can't really go there. I want to clarify initially that just because I would not be inclined towards a one night stand, does not mean that I think any less of someone who would be - if they are comfortable and happy then that's fine - it is just not a situation I would want for myself. I think I appear rather outdated - especially for a university student - shouldn't I be going rampant or something right about now? Haha, quite the contrary - I'm home blogging whilst sat next to a tray of cinnamon rolls I just made.
Bluntly, I am only comfortable with sex in a committed romantic relationship. By contrast, I've been present for frequent recollections of one night stands or the discussions of whether it's acceptable to sleep with someone you don't really know. I've been building up different reflections about casual sex and my stance for a while and recently they appear to have come together so I thought I'd articulate some of my ideas.
I recently read an article and came across a concept I am particularly fond of. I wanted to make sure my understanding of this idea was right so I checked with a friend who is fluent in Hebrew and she confirmed it is correct. The Hebrew word 'yada', whilst having numerous meanings depending upon context, has one that I thought was striking. 'Yada' means 'to know', and in a sexual context, it can mean to know physically. The example my friend provided is that in the Old Testament if it is mentioned that a woman becomes pregnant, it is often said that a husband knew his wife, and thus they conceived a child. I found this particular meaning to be rather beautiful. I think to engage with a person on that level is 'to know' them, and 'to know' them in a way that is unique and special to your relationship. When you think about it at a more basic level, it is special to know some people at all - just be acquainted or good friends with - it's regular for me to say 'I'm so glad I know you' to a friend. Then, there are degrees of knowing people - we all have that friend who knows exactly what we're thinking. However, (at least this is regular for me) it is rare to know people on a different level romantically. To 'know' someone in that way is unique - it is just between the two of you and is not shared with other people. I think 'yada' is a beautifully romantic concept.
Furthermore, I think this idea about 'knowing' suggests some sort of vulnerability and trust. To truly know someone, you both have to open up emotionally in a way that you would not in normal, every day conversation. With a lot of my closest friends defences have been stripped back and weaknesses are known. Playing on the word stripped here... But, yes to be physically close is to be vulnerable. So, surely this should happen with someone you know and trust?
This debate reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend over the summer about clubs. We concluded that in a club you are a body - you are not a person - and really should you settle for that? I get a similar feeling with one night stands - you're a body - you are purely physical. I think this seems sad when you come to understand how intellectually and emotionally extraordinary human beings are.
I thought I'd finish this post by recalling a rather silly conversation I had with my friend about the subject. During our discussion he said: 'Well, I'm open to it because everyone else seems to think it's okay'. My argument (which upon reflection I have realised was a pretty poor parallel) in return was: 'But if people just started murdering each other for no reason and everyone thought it was okay that doesn't mean you would'. His wonderful reply? 'Rachel, you can't really compare having sex and the slaying of innocent people. Although... I guess if you were a preppy guy you could talk about slaying some babes?'
So I leave you with that. The killing of the innocent and slaying some babes with your sexual prowess.
"Rachel, grow some balls"
If I was given a pound for every time the title of this blog post was said to me I reckon I would have enough money to acquire said balls, along with the rest of a sex change.
I've been home for two weeks (spring break!) and used my valuable time to meet up with the wise and wonderful of London. Essentially, lots of nattering over cups of coffee and mooching across the city with friends (random side note - go to the Lucien Freud exhibition hell or high water!)
During these discussions with friends the need for me to stop worrying about other people or 'grow a pair' has come up more than once. I wrote an earlier blog 'One plus one plus one plus one does not equal four' which covers this subject. This is a kind of follow-up to some further thinking - a more practical rather than philosophical musing.
There was a concept I learned about during Psychology A Level that pretty much covers what I'm like. It has been suggested that people have either an external or internal locus of control. If you have an external locus you regard what happens to you as depending upon things out of your control - so if you fail a test it's because the test is too hard or you were just unlucky that day. If you have an internal locus then you hold yourself responsible for events - if you fail a test it's your fault. I have an internal locus of control to the nth degree - I am my worst critic by a mile - everything is certainly my fault (we're working on this folks). Unfortunately, my internal locus also extends to other people. I am extremely conscious of other people's problems or imposing myself upon them.
My father's final words before I left home to travel back to university today - "Stop worrying about everyone else's bloody problems and focus on yourself"
What a sweetheart.
My sense of responsibility is ridiculous - but I am working on it. It takes time like anything else. However, I am proud of the fact that I think I've made a conscious effort towards having what my mum calls some 'sensible self-interest' and being more honest with people (not in the sense that I'm wandering around telling horrendous lies - 'Oh yeah, I'm engaged to Joseph Gordon Levitt - come to my wedding!' - more that I hold back sometimes and suppress). In this process I've become more open and relaxed - which, in turn, has led to my making some new and dear friends this year - essentially more crazed individuals who think and indulge in tea with me (I love nothing more than a cafe date).
So, this is not entirely negative - I think I have progressed.
Anyway, there was a particular point made during one of these coffee-sessions that I hadn't really considered before. These little ideas always help me and make me more comfortable with what I'm trying to achieve. I recently met with a tutor from the art history course I went on last summer (she's a goddess) and she has the incredible ability to make you feel wonderful on the crummiest day. This week she stressed to me that you really should speak your mind (had this drummed in to me by everyone!) but then also reminded me that if you say something you don't agree with on reflection, you can apologise for it - you can take it back. She's a teacher, and her example was that if she feels a student is not working hard she will call them lazy, and then if they work hard to prove her wrong, she can tell them she judged too quickly. Furthermore, she stressed that sometimes honesty (in this case in the form of criticism) is needed to bring good. Honesty can improve a situation, and upon that improvement you can retract your statement.
I had never thought of having the confidence (or balls) to say what I feel or stop concerning myself with other people so much as having a positive outcome. My worry about other people gets to the point where it can defeat itself - I try to avoid harm and then cause it in a round about way.
The phrase 'cruel to be kind' springs to mind. Of course, I think a part of me is always going to be measured and careful not to hurt people (it's how I was raised) but I can cut myself some slack.
Maybe, just maybe, I'll post a blog one day that I've finally managed to overcome my anxiety about upsetting others? I've already made progress. Or this could go horribly wrong and I'll end up publishing a post about how rude and unkind I've become!
Below is a song by Julia Nunes (one of my favourite youtube artists - she's a dream) called 'Grown a Pair'. Just thought it was a nice end to the subject!
I've been home for two weeks (spring break!) and used my valuable time to meet up with the wise and wonderful of London. Essentially, lots of nattering over cups of coffee and mooching across the city with friends (random side note - go to the Lucien Freud exhibition hell or high water!)
During these discussions with friends the need for me to stop worrying about other people or 'grow a pair' has come up more than once. I wrote an earlier blog 'One plus one plus one plus one does not equal four' which covers this subject. This is a kind of follow-up to some further thinking - a more practical rather than philosophical musing.
There was a concept I learned about during Psychology A Level that pretty much covers what I'm like. It has been suggested that people have either an external or internal locus of control. If you have an external locus you regard what happens to you as depending upon things out of your control - so if you fail a test it's because the test is too hard or you were just unlucky that day. If you have an internal locus then you hold yourself responsible for events - if you fail a test it's your fault. I have an internal locus of control to the nth degree - I am my worst critic by a mile - everything is certainly my fault (we're working on this folks). Unfortunately, my internal locus also extends to other people. I am extremely conscious of other people's problems or imposing myself upon them.
My father's final words before I left home to travel back to university today - "Stop worrying about everyone else's bloody problems and focus on yourself"
What a sweetheart.
My sense of responsibility is ridiculous - but I am working on it. It takes time like anything else. However, I am proud of the fact that I think I've made a conscious effort towards having what my mum calls some 'sensible self-interest' and being more honest with people (not in the sense that I'm wandering around telling horrendous lies - 'Oh yeah, I'm engaged to Joseph Gordon Levitt - come to my wedding!' - more that I hold back sometimes and suppress). In this process I've become more open and relaxed - which, in turn, has led to my making some new and dear friends this year - essentially more crazed individuals who think and indulge in tea with me (I love nothing more than a cafe date).
So, this is not entirely negative - I think I have progressed.
Anyway, there was a particular point made during one of these coffee-sessions that I hadn't really considered before. These little ideas always help me and make me more comfortable with what I'm trying to achieve. I recently met with a tutor from the art history course I went on last summer (she's a goddess) and she has the incredible ability to make you feel wonderful on the crummiest day. This week she stressed to me that you really should speak your mind (had this drummed in to me by everyone!) but then also reminded me that if you say something you don't agree with on reflection, you can apologise for it - you can take it back. She's a teacher, and her example was that if she feels a student is not working hard she will call them lazy, and then if they work hard to prove her wrong, she can tell them she judged too quickly. Furthermore, she stressed that sometimes honesty (in this case in the form of criticism) is needed to bring good. Honesty can improve a situation, and upon that improvement you can retract your statement.
I had never thought of having the confidence (or balls) to say what I feel or stop concerning myself with other people so much as having a positive outcome. My worry about other people gets to the point where it can defeat itself - I try to avoid harm and then cause it in a round about way.
The phrase 'cruel to be kind' springs to mind. Of course, I think a part of me is always going to be measured and careful not to hurt people (it's how I was raised) but I can cut myself some slack.
Maybe, just maybe, I'll post a blog one day that I've finally managed to overcome my anxiety about upsetting others? I've already made progress. Or this could go horribly wrong and I'll end up publishing a post about how rude and unkind I've become!
Below is a song by Julia Nunes (one of my favourite youtube artists - she's a dream) called 'Grown a Pair'. Just thought it was a nice end to the subject!
Sunday 25 March 2012
Plans
First things first. Oh wow.
This isn't really a blog about how beautiful Gabriel Byrne is. I just wanted to put something interesting here and yeah, he fits that criteria.
I was having a 'reminisce about old films' moment with some friends the other day - some of the old classics I watched when I was younger. I remember always being a bit weak at the knees when Gabriel came on screen. He's so charming. Plus, as I will always assert, knowledge is sexy - so his character in 'Little Women' is insanely sexy.
Still, more time for him later.
What this blog is really about is to firstly confirm that I have not died.
Secondly, to just cover what ideas I've got going that I can now get round to writing. I've had insane amounts of work and extra curricular things to get on top of the first half of this semester. Naturally, whenever I don't have time to blog all of the ideas come pouring out of my head. So, what to expect now I have a break - blogs about altruism (I drive people crazy with debating this so I thought I'd get it all down on here), one night stands (this blog is really in the gutter isn't it?!), my first article for a group of feminist bloggers who have invited me to join them (so excited!!) and potentially some book reviews (I'm in the middle of reading about four books in one go and they're wonderful).
So happy break to all and I'll try to get on top of all my writing!
Thursday 1 March 2012
The Herman Project
I'm not sure how familiar people are with Herman the Friendship Cake. He's starting to circulate but there are a fair number of people who are unaware of him. Herman is a sourdough cake. However, you do not receive Herman in cake form - you receive Herman as cake mixture. Once receiving this mixture your task is set. You must keep the mixture (consisting of yeast, sugar, flour and milk) alive for nine days - some days you simply stir the mixture, others you add more ingredients. Once you've kept Herman alive for this long you divide the mixture in to quarters, giving away three - that's where the friendship part comes in - Herman is passed between friends who then pass the mixture on to other friends etc. The quarter you keep is what you bake for yourself.
When I received Herman I was over the moon. What a great idea - a small baking project for you to carry out (he honestly doesn't require that much maintenance) and a way to share something fun with your friends - well, certain friends - some of my nearest and dearest would happily kill Herman within days.
So, I started out with one batch of Herman - how did I end up with five cakes? As I said, Herman has circulated a lot, and by the time I had successfully got rid of my first batch, another container of Herman mixture arrived on my doorstep. I didn't particularly want to grow and share another Herman - I'd been a good friend with my first batch already right? - so I decided to carry out a project - my Herman Project. When I looked at the basic structure of Herman I realised this was something I could experiment with! I could add some ingredients, take others way - go crazy! Well... cake crazy - Rachel crazy.
The past couple of weeks, to the varying delight and torment of my housemates and friends, I have been forcing cake upon people. I've been dashing around St Andrews always laden with tupperware boxes full of cake begging people to eat it so it stops cluttering up my kitchen - it certainly made a recent Greenpeace meeting more chirpy and was the perfect addition to a catch up with an old friend!
Here we go, the many Hermans that have emerged over the past couple of weeks:
1. Regular Herman - pure and simple
This is the regular Herman that you are given instructions to make at the end of caring for the mixture. He is not the most elegant cake in the world but he was delicious. The regular Herman consisted of vanilla, cinnamon, apple and raisins. I made sure the apple chunks were especially large because soft, warm apple is so divine. I made the mistake of adding too much cinnamon to the mixture - making this cake quite spicy but, personally, I think that improved it. This mistake inspired the rest of my experiments - I think we often abide by recipes to the nth degree and forget how much fun it is to experiment with flavour - there's no one standing over you to make sure you follow the rules so go with your instincts!
2. Nuts and Spice Herman
This Herman consisted of vanilla, chopped mixed nuts and cinnamon. He was very much a case of creating a balance between sweet and spicy, seeing as the frosting on top was vanilla. He came out with a nice sweet flavour followed by a small spicy kick. This cake purely resulted from a rummage in my kitchen cupboards to see what I could experiment with.
3. Chocolate and Raspberry Herman
I'm sorry about the picture quality for this Herman - by the time I had remembered to document my efforts he had been attacked by my housemates. This Herman consisted of chunks of milk chocolate and raspberries. I made another mistake with this recipe that led to a new discovery - I added more vegetable oil than suggested, but as a result I ended up with a perfectly moist cake. This Herman was the perfect pick me up alongside a cup of tea after a heavy day at the library.
4. Banoffee Herman
This Herman was my monster. This cake got out of control. I've always loved banoffee pie and thought I'd experiment by replacing the pie factor with cake - it works out rather nicely - although I can appreciate the need for the subtle pie crust to tone down the sweet toffee, bananas and cream. Speaking of, I am tragically proud of whipping the cream for this cake all by myself!
5. Peanut Butter Herman
The final Herman consisted of a plain vanilla base with milk chocolate chunks which was then smothered in peanut butter frosting. I stand by the rule that peanut butter makes everything better - you can't go wrong with it. It's been an addiction since childhood - we Prossers aren't a family to buy lots of spreads but peanut butter is a constant in our cupboard (a minimum of three jars on the go). Making this frosting was a balancing act between getting enough of a peanut taste but not making it sickly sweet - I've epically failed with other peanut butter recipes before but this one turned out alright!
It's rather funny to look back on these monsters and think they all emerged from the same basic mixture.
However, a further reflection is that I don't want to look at another cake for months. Ugh. There is such a thing as a cake overload sadly.
When I received Herman I was over the moon. What a great idea - a small baking project for you to carry out (he honestly doesn't require that much maintenance) and a way to share something fun with your friends - well, certain friends - some of my nearest and dearest would happily kill Herman within days.
So, I started out with one batch of Herman - how did I end up with five cakes? As I said, Herman has circulated a lot, and by the time I had successfully got rid of my first batch, another container of Herman mixture arrived on my doorstep. I didn't particularly want to grow and share another Herman - I'd been a good friend with my first batch already right? - so I decided to carry out a project - my Herman Project. When I looked at the basic structure of Herman I realised this was something I could experiment with! I could add some ingredients, take others way - go crazy! Well... cake crazy - Rachel crazy.
The past couple of weeks, to the varying delight and torment of my housemates and friends, I have been forcing cake upon people. I've been dashing around St Andrews always laden with tupperware boxes full of cake begging people to eat it so it stops cluttering up my kitchen - it certainly made a recent Greenpeace meeting more chirpy and was the perfect addition to a catch up with an old friend!
Here we go, the many Hermans that have emerged over the past couple of weeks:
1. Regular Herman - pure and simple
This is the regular Herman that you are given instructions to make at the end of caring for the mixture. He is not the most elegant cake in the world but he was delicious. The regular Herman consisted of vanilla, cinnamon, apple and raisins. I made sure the apple chunks were especially large because soft, warm apple is so divine. I made the mistake of adding too much cinnamon to the mixture - making this cake quite spicy but, personally, I think that improved it. This mistake inspired the rest of my experiments - I think we often abide by recipes to the nth degree and forget how much fun it is to experiment with flavour - there's no one standing over you to make sure you follow the rules so go with your instincts!
2. Nuts and Spice Herman
This Herman consisted of vanilla, chopped mixed nuts and cinnamon. He was very much a case of creating a balance between sweet and spicy, seeing as the frosting on top was vanilla. He came out with a nice sweet flavour followed by a small spicy kick. This cake purely resulted from a rummage in my kitchen cupboards to see what I could experiment with.
3. Chocolate and Raspberry Herman
I'm sorry about the picture quality for this Herman - by the time I had remembered to document my efforts he had been attacked by my housemates. This Herman consisted of chunks of milk chocolate and raspberries. I made another mistake with this recipe that led to a new discovery - I added more vegetable oil than suggested, but as a result I ended up with a perfectly moist cake. This Herman was the perfect pick me up alongside a cup of tea after a heavy day at the library.
4. Banoffee Herman
This Herman was my monster. This cake got out of control. I've always loved banoffee pie and thought I'd experiment by replacing the pie factor with cake - it works out rather nicely - although I can appreciate the need for the subtle pie crust to tone down the sweet toffee, bananas and cream. Speaking of, I am tragically proud of whipping the cream for this cake all by myself!
5. Peanut Butter Herman
The final Herman consisted of a plain vanilla base with milk chocolate chunks which was then smothered in peanut butter frosting. I stand by the rule that peanut butter makes everything better - you can't go wrong with it. It's been an addiction since childhood - we Prossers aren't a family to buy lots of spreads but peanut butter is a constant in our cupboard (a minimum of three jars on the go). Making this frosting was a balancing act between getting enough of a peanut taste but not making it sickly sweet - I've epically failed with other peanut butter recipes before but this one turned out alright!
It's rather funny to look back on these monsters and think they all emerged from the same basic mixture.
However, a further reflection is that I don't want to look at another cake for months. Ugh. There is such a thing as a cake overload sadly.
Sunday 12 February 2012
Poison and Wine
A new band I've discovered recently. They make such beautiful music. This song especially is so chilling.
'Your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine. You think your dreams are the same as mine.'
Thursday 9 February 2012
Weight or lightness?
'But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid?
The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfilment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.
Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into the heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant.
What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?' - 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being'
I think even if I found lightness I would always crave weight.
The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man's body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life's most intense fulfilment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.
Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into the heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant.
What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?' - 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being'
I think even if I found lightness I would always crave weight.
Sunday 22 January 2012
'B is for breasts, of which ladies have two; once prized for the function, now for the view'
I have recently come across an interesting cooking group - what sets them apart is that they are a naked vegan cooking group. They have a blog full of delicious recipes alongside pictures of them cooking in whatever state the individuals involved feel comfortable (some have the confidence to be completely naked whilst others stop at underwear). Whilst they have produced some delicious recipes, the aim of the group is to promote a positive body image. Their campaigns have involved both men and women going shirtless in public places. Within minutes of women taking their shirts off on these campaigns they are approached by police officers and asked to cover up. By contrast, the men are allowed to remain shirtless. On the naked vegan cooking group blog a woman, who has been asked more than once by policemen to not be shirtless in public, has expressed her thoughts about the situation. I think she brings some interesting ideas to light but I'm not entirely sure I agree with everything she claims. I've been going over this in my head and disturbing friends by sharing my thoughts for a while now, so I thought I'd mash something together in a blog.
I'll try to create a summary of what she wrote about here. Her main focus is the discrimination between a shirtless man and woman (I'll save my thoughts on this for after this summary). In situations where she has been asked to cover herself, summer festivals or during campaigns, her frustration lies in the fact that men have not been asked to do the same - a shirtless man is acceptable in public. Her indignation resides over the sexualised public response towards a shirtless woman. By contrast, a man who wants to soak in the sunshine on a warm day will not risk harassment. In the same context, a man's behaviour is neutral, whereas a woman's is indecent. This woman mainly stresses that there is a societal attitude towards a woman's body as 'a sexual object first and foremost'. I'm sort of with her up to this point, not entirely, but I'll expand on this in a moment. This woman continues in her article to suggest that the issue 'is not having breasts, it is being a woman'. She proposes that the deciding factor of allowing someone to go topless is their gender - for example, if an androgynous person were to go topless she proposes the deciding factor is whether they are a woman.
This is the link to her article, it's definitely worth a read - http://nakedvegancooking.com/2012/01/15/632
So, there you have it. I think she certainly raises some interesting points but I have my doubts about a few.
There are aspects of nudism I admire. When you think about it, the human body is a beautiful thing. Thinking from an art historian's perspective, consider, for example, the delicacy and power in the muscles of the back. I attend life drawing classes and whilst there is the initial phenomena of the naked individual amongst a clothed group, there is a move to observing the model as a work of art - a neutral figure. So, I can appreciate the desire to embrace your body as a neutral, beautiful thing and, therefore, see no difference between a man and a woman appearing shirtless in public. I often get the feeling that bodies are overly sexualised and it's wonderful to just appreciate them as works of art without further implications.
I can sympathise with this woman's frustration over being asked to cover up in public. Many articles written about her experience have been condescending and suggested that she was asking for harassment - one applauded a policeman for not openly staring at her chest. What needs to be noted is that she was not inviting people to sexualise her. From her perspective she was enjoying nature and trying to share her view of the human body with others. It seems bizarre, but I see her as having more dignity than women who dress overly provocatively on a night out. Whilst I don't want to completely shoot myself in the foot here, and do respect that it is enjoyable as a woman to dress nicely, possibly expose more flesh than one would normally, there is a line that I have seen crossed where I wonder why some women bother wearing clothes at all. I think the difference between this female nudist and scantily clad women is purpose. It would be foolish to deny your awareness as a woman of what message you are sending with your body and what response you may receive to that message.
However, there are a couple of ideas she raised that I do not agree with.
I came across a concept in Philosophy this term that has cleared up a lot of ideas for me - equality of consideration. Equality of consideration takes account of the differences between certain groups, therefore, giving them equal weight in a decision, but not treating them in exactly the same way. For example, when applying equality of consideration to animal rights it would seem ridiculous to provide animals with the same political rights as humans because they don't have the capacity to exercise those rights - but their needs can be considered equally. I think this is a positive way to account for difference.
I feel it would be more productive to consider the shirtless case using equality of consideration. It seems to me that this female nudist has not really acknowledged the difference in male and female anatomy. I don't think the discrimination between a shirtless man and woman is because of gender. The female breast plays a fundamentally different role to that of a man. Firstly, consider breastfeeding. That function is linked to procreation, so the female breast has more of a sexual role than the male chest. Furthermore, the female breast is linked to sexual stimulation in a way that the male chest is not. I don't intend to justify the way the female chest is sexualised, but I do want to point out that it's sexual nature is not entirely ungrounded. However, I do agree with this woman's view that female breasts have been and are overly sexualised - consider the ridiculous fuss people create over a woman breastfeeding in public. Therefore, the sexualised female chest does have a biological basis, but society has exacerbated this focus, and I find the nudist approach of admiring the body in a naturally beautiful manner refreshing.
A further point that I do not think is entirely correct is the assertion that a shirtless man is viewed neutrally. Women enjoy ogling shirtless men. Simple as that. Everyone knows that scenario where men go shirtless in the park on a summer day and women indulge in a little eye-candy. I've had male friends share anxieties over experiences such as this because they are aware of the way they are being observed and want to be viewed positively. I'm not denying that there is certainly a more sexual element to observing a shirtless woman, however, it should be acknowledged that a shirtless man is not entirely neutral either.
I wrote this blog to try and sort out my ideas, however, I think I've probably complicated the matter for myself. I think this complication resides over the balance between considering the body as a natural or sexual thing. And then of course there is the further complication of debating the relationship between nature and sex. I think there is a greater difference between the male and female chest than this woman is willing to admit, however, I do agree with her that this difference has been exacerbated and I sympathise with her frustration.
When sharing with friends that I was writing this blog I have been frequently asked if I would consider nudism. In fact, I got a text from a friend who had seen a perfume advertised and suggested it become my new scent - 'sensuous nude' by Estee Lauder! Personally, I don't have the confidence to engage in nudism but have concluded that I could tie being a nudist in to my future plan - when reaching the age of about seventy I intend to live in Florence, eat copious amounts of Italian food, harass people in the Uffizi with my artistic knowledge and... possibly engage in some casual nudism on the side?
I'll try to create a summary of what she wrote about here. Her main focus is the discrimination between a shirtless man and woman (I'll save my thoughts on this for after this summary). In situations where she has been asked to cover herself, summer festivals or during campaigns, her frustration lies in the fact that men have not been asked to do the same - a shirtless man is acceptable in public. Her indignation resides over the sexualised public response towards a shirtless woman. By contrast, a man who wants to soak in the sunshine on a warm day will not risk harassment. In the same context, a man's behaviour is neutral, whereas a woman's is indecent. This woman mainly stresses that there is a societal attitude towards a woman's body as 'a sexual object first and foremost'. I'm sort of with her up to this point, not entirely, but I'll expand on this in a moment. This woman continues in her article to suggest that the issue 'is not having breasts, it is being a woman'. She proposes that the deciding factor of allowing someone to go topless is their gender - for example, if an androgynous person were to go topless she proposes the deciding factor is whether they are a woman.
This is the link to her article, it's definitely worth a read - http://nakedvegancooking.com/2012/01/15/632
So, there you have it. I think she certainly raises some interesting points but I have my doubts about a few.
There are aspects of nudism I admire. When you think about it, the human body is a beautiful thing. Thinking from an art historian's perspective, consider, for example, the delicacy and power in the muscles of the back. I attend life drawing classes and whilst there is the initial phenomena of the naked individual amongst a clothed group, there is a move to observing the model as a work of art - a neutral figure. So, I can appreciate the desire to embrace your body as a neutral, beautiful thing and, therefore, see no difference between a man and a woman appearing shirtless in public. I often get the feeling that bodies are overly sexualised and it's wonderful to just appreciate them as works of art without further implications.
I can sympathise with this woman's frustration over being asked to cover up in public. Many articles written about her experience have been condescending and suggested that she was asking for harassment - one applauded a policeman for not openly staring at her chest. What needs to be noted is that she was not inviting people to sexualise her. From her perspective she was enjoying nature and trying to share her view of the human body with others. It seems bizarre, but I see her as having more dignity than women who dress overly provocatively on a night out. Whilst I don't want to completely shoot myself in the foot here, and do respect that it is enjoyable as a woman to dress nicely, possibly expose more flesh than one would normally, there is a line that I have seen crossed where I wonder why some women bother wearing clothes at all. I think the difference between this female nudist and scantily clad women is purpose. It would be foolish to deny your awareness as a woman of what message you are sending with your body and what response you may receive to that message.
However, there are a couple of ideas she raised that I do not agree with.
I came across a concept in Philosophy this term that has cleared up a lot of ideas for me - equality of consideration. Equality of consideration takes account of the differences between certain groups, therefore, giving them equal weight in a decision, but not treating them in exactly the same way. For example, when applying equality of consideration to animal rights it would seem ridiculous to provide animals with the same political rights as humans because they don't have the capacity to exercise those rights - but their needs can be considered equally. I think this is a positive way to account for difference.
I feel it would be more productive to consider the shirtless case using equality of consideration. It seems to me that this female nudist has not really acknowledged the difference in male and female anatomy. I don't think the discrimination between a shirtless man and woman is because of gender. The female breast plays a fundamentally different role to that of a man. Firstly, consider breastfeeding. That function is linked to procreation, so the female breast has more of a sexual role than the male chest. Furthermore, the female breast is linked to sexual stimulation in a way that the male chest is not. I don't intend to justify the way the female chest is sexualised, but I do want to point out that it's sexual nature is not entirely ungrounded. However, I do agree with this woman's view that female breasts have been and are overly sexualised - consider the ridiculous fuss people create over a woman breastfeeding in public. Therefore, the sexualised female chest does have a biological basis, but society has exacerbated this focus, and I find the nudist approach of admiring the body in a naturally beautiful manner refreshing.
A further point that I do not think is entirely correct is the assertion that a shirtless man is viewed neutrally. Women enjoy ogling shirtless men. Simple as that. Everyone knows that scenario where men go shirtless in the park on a summer day and women indulge in a little eye-candy. I've had male friends share anxieties over experiences such as this because they are aware of the way they are being observed and want to be viewed positively. I'm not denying that there is certainly a more sexual element to observing a shirtless woman, however, it should be acknowledged that a shirtless man is not entirely neutral either.
I wrote this blog to try and sort out my ideas, however, I think I've probably complicated the matter for myself. I think this complication resides over the balance between considering the body as a natural or sexual thing. And then of course there is the further complication of debating the relationship between nature and sex. I think there is a greater difference between the male and female chest than this woman is willing to admit, however, I do agree with her that this difference has been exacerbated and I sympathise with her frustration.
When sharing with friends that I was writing this blog I have been frequently asked if I would consider nudism. In fact, I got a text from a friend who had seen a perfume advertised and suggested it become my new scent - 'sensuous nude' by Estee Lauder! Personally, I don't have the confidence to engage in nudism but have concluded that I could tie being a nudist in to my future plan - when reaching the age of about seventy I intend to live in Florence, eat copious amounts of Italian food, harass people in the Uffizi with my artistic knowledge and... possibly engage in some casual nudism on the side?
Saturday 7 January 2012
One plus one plus one plus one does not make four.
I had a recent conversation with a friend where we concluded that one plus one plus one plus one does not make four.
I'm aware that I have a need to control things. I think we all like the feeling of control. To be in a position of understanding makes you feel secure. I try to put things in boxes - a neat format where things don't feel complicated. I try to reach conclusions and generate a summary of how I feel about things. 'I feel this way so I must act this way'. I try to control my future by controlling myself. It's struck me how insane and unachievable this need is. There is no such thing as control and I can never really have it.
In keeping with this need, I'm also aware that I have a need to please others. I avoid conflict like the plague - I am the definition of a flighty person. I run away and I withhold what I'm thinking or feeling from others to control the situation. 'I can control this by not pushing out feelings where I'm uncertain of how others may react'. Again, there's no way I could control things so that other people are constantly happy.
I over think experiences. I'm presented with a possibility and I want to understand what will happen. I want to know. So, I spend my time going over and over what could be. I can do this enough so that I back away from experiences because I've over thought about what could happen to me. If there's some uncertainty I run.
These needs are so ridiculous I don't know where to begin.
Humans are not explainable. Feelings are not explainable. If we were so easy to understand then the debates and research would not exist. The way people are going to react, the series of events that will unfold, how I am going to feel - none of that is certain. None of that can be under my control - even though I think we can all make pretty convincing cases to ourselves that we do know what's going on. Constantly I surprise myself, situations surprise me and other people surprise me. Human beings are all so different and complicated it's extraordinary. Just think, when two people interact, regardless of what may have brought this exchange to be, it's not simply two people coming together to communicate - it's two deeply complicated beings and all of their personal history, characteristics and desires interacting. The slightest alteration in perhaps what has brought them together or a personal detail about them brings a unique situation. This world and every minute we spend in it is so unique - how could control ever be gained over that?
This made me reflect further that there is no such thing as an adult. They're a complete myth. I remember my awe at a young age over the concept of 'grown-ups' and how in control of everything they appeared to be. For them life was solved - they had the answers and they knew what they were doing. Now I'm getting 'old' I've realised this is not the case. We're all uncertain and I think it's good to recognise that everyone is in that same position of uncertainty. Undeniably, we create these facades for each other and can give off an air of understanding. But deep down I don't think anyone is completely on top of anything. I'm aware this is sounding negative and worrying but actually I think it's just natural. Perhaps it's what keeps us exploring? And what keeps life so extraordinary? As I previously noted, each moment in life is so complex and different there is no way anyone can be that prepared - we're all improvising and drawing from what we can.
These reflections put me in a new place and I've decided that often I need to 'push and not think'. It sounds rather bizarre that my thoughts have encouraged me not to think? Well, not to think but to change my way of thinking. Every moment of life is unique and I need to take them without a worry. I cannot control things, particularly the constant happiness of others. Naturally, I think it's good to avoid conflict but not to such an extent. Each individual is so different there is no way you can perfectly come together all the time and you are not going to be the perfect person for everyone. I've concluded, that for me, there needs to be: more letting go, less thought and more uninhibited action.
So, why does one plus one plus one plus one not make four?
Each one is so different they couldn't all come together and make a perfect number.
I think you can tell that by the end of this conversation my friend and I had reached a slight state of euphoria - possibly the Beanscene coffee? It's addictive.
I'm aware that I have a need to control things. I think we all like the feeling of control. To be in a position of understanding makes you feel secure. I try to put things in boxes - a neat format where things don't feel complicated. I try to reach conclusions and generate a summary of how I feel about things. 'I feel this way so I must act this way'. I try to control my future by controlling myself. It's struck me how insane and unachievable this need is. There is no such thing as control and I can never really have it.
In keeping with this need, I'm also aware that I have a need to please others. I avoid conflict like the plague - I am the definition of a flighty person. I run away and I withhold what I'm thinking or feeling from others to control the situation. 'I can control this by not pushing out feelings where I'm uncertain of how others may react'. Again, there's no way I could control things so that other people are constantly happy.
I over think experiences. I'm presented with a possibility and I want to understand what will happen. I want to know. So, I spend my time going over and over what could be. I can do this enough so that I back away from experiences because I've over thought about what could happen to me. If there's some uncertainty I run.
These needs are so ridiculous I don't know where to begin.
Humans are not explainable. Feelings are not explainable. If we were so easy to understand then the debates and research would not exist. The way people are going to react, the series of events that will unfold, how I am going to feel - none of that is certain. None of that can be under my control - even though I think we can all make pretty convincing cases to ourselves that we do know what's going on. Constantly I surprise myself, situations surprise me and other people surprise me. Human beings are all so different and complicated it's extraordinary. Just think, when two people interact, regardless of what may have brought this exchange to be, it's not simply two people coming together to communicate - it's two deeply complicated beings and all of their personal history, characteristics and desires interacting. The slightest alteration in perhaps what has brought them together or a personal detail about them brings a unique situation. This world and every minute we spend in it is so unique - how could control ever be gained over that?
This made me reflect further that there is no such thing as an adult. They're a complete myth. I remember my awe at a young age over the concept of 'grown-ups' and how in control of everything they appeared to be. For them life was solved - they had the answers and they knew what they were doing. Now I'm getting 'old' I've realised this is not the case. We're all uncertain and I think it's good to recognise that everyone is in that same position of uncertainty. Undeniably, we create these facades for each other and can give off an air of understanding. But deep down I don't think anyone is completely on top of anything. I'm aware this is sounding negative and worrying but actually I think it's just natural. Perhaps it's what keeps us exploring? And what keeps life so extraordinary? As I previously noted, each moment in life is so complex and different there is no way anyone can be that prepared - we're all improvising and drawing from what we can.
These reflections put me in a new place and I've decided that often I need to 'push and not think'. It sounds rather bizarre that my thoughts have encouraged me not to think? Well, not to think but to change my way of thinking. Every moment of life is unique and I need to take them without a worry. I cannot control things, particularly the constant happiness of others. Naturally, I think it's good to avoid conflict but not to such an extent. Each individual is so different there is no way you can perfectly come together all the time and you are not going to be the perfect person for everyone. I've concluded, that for me, there needs to be: more letting go, less thought and more uninhibited action.
So, why does one plus one plus one plus one not make four?
Each one is so different they couldn't all come together and make a perfect number.
I think you can tell that by the end of this conversation my friend and I had reached a slight state of euphoria - possibly the Beanscene coffee? It's addictive.
Tuesday 3 January 2012
And the warmth rang true inside these bones.
The result of an evening's doodling. Well, if I'm beyond revising I might as well do something productive so I don't feel too bad?
Sunday 1 January 2012
For my lover.
First blog of the new year.
I've been having one of those funny, lazy afternoons where you don't do much but your mind feels like its been in to overdrive. I'm packing to go back to university. I'm sitting alone on my bedroom floor listening to music. The fire is lit in the living room below me so I get the warmth and lovely smell of burning wood. My light is dim and everything is very still. I love these moments so much - having time to just be. Lying on the floor, thinking and singing. If I want to engage with and tackle ideas in my head I can. If I don't want to I don't have to - I can just sing along with Tracy Chapman.
I think there was a lot of reflection this holiday and it certainly happens before the new year. When I was turning twenty I told people I felt too young and not ready. At times like these when I lie back and think, I feel twenty. I feel especially old after this year. Maybe not so much wiser? I feel that I'm clued up in most respects but there are others where I still feel so naive. I'm an emotional person. I'm still deciding whether this is a gift or a curse. Tracy Chapman's 'For my lover' made me reflect on the fact that if I feel strongly maybe I become 'the fool'? I can't decide whether there's a maturity in my feeling or a mindless girlishness. I make strong ties to people and this has its own rewards and punishments. I get the intense benefits and the crushing lows.
'Two weeks in the Virginia jail for my lover, for my lover. Twenty thousand dollar bail for my lover, for my lover'
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