March 7, 2019

8.00 am: A communion.

The wind beat down upon the house;
and I recalled
the storm
that buffeted my heart, and took away
what I had valued most.

9.00 am: I arrived at the School and departed immediately in order to buy milk for staff (who were getting restless for their first coffee of the day). 9.20 pm: The dispatches, a period of uploading podcasts from the week’s lectures, and register updates. 10.00 am: The Personal Tutorial hour. I’m dismayed by the conditions under which some students must of necessity labour in order to conduct their studies. The world is inequitable. But those who suffer and endure are often more likely to survive as artists or art historians beyond their degree. Pain trains us to engage far worse trials later in life. Whereas a life of ease and plenty leads only to complacency and entirely unrealistic expectations.

This has been a dreadful week for some students. They’ve encountered circumstances that even far more experienced and older people would find utterly distressing. All I can do is listen and demonstrate that I’m genuinely touched by their trouble. To do otherwise would be to renounce my humanity. We should never ‘withhold good from those to whom it is due’, as the proverb goes. We should ‘weep with those who weep’. It’s not part of the job description. Rather, they’re the obligations of calling: an act of obedience, not a choice.

Some principles and observations derived from today’s engagements:

  • You’re not a victim of your work. Remain in charge; show it who’s boss.
  • Seek counsel from those whose views you respect. We aren’t always the best judge of our efforts all the time.
  • Today’s three ‘D’s: dedication, decisiveness, and determination.
  • For better or for worse: it’ll not always be like this.
  • There’s more to life than art. (Therefore, keep things in perspective.) And there’s more to life than living for yourself.

5.30 pm: Mrs H picked me up from the School and took me to the Arts Centre Cinema to see Barry Jenkins’ If Beale Street Could Talk. At the close of the film, I’d received a narrative of texts from my younger son, related to a trespass incident effecting Euston Station, London:

Dreadful. It accorded with the sort of day this had been. I’ve felt distracted (willingly) by ill-winds of many sorts and the gnawing ache of others. We live on the wrong side of Paradise.

8.30 pm: Back to the desk for an hour, with the prospect of a late night ahead. I’m determined to clear my desk of admin and put next week’s arrangements in order before returning to the studio tomorrow.

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March 6, 2019
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March 8, 2019

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