aftermath

I think it went pretty well.  That is to say, given the worst case scenarios I had been imagining, it was a spectacular success.  I would like to apologize to my panel-mates for going overtime by a LOT. That’s what happens when you ad lib your way through something that isn’t entirely finished.  So, of course, my relief at having survived it and having had good work to talk about is quickly followed by all sorts of post factum remorse of various kinds.  But I’ll refrain from going into all that.  Doesn’t really serve anything or anybody, least of all me.

It’s been great to catch up with a bunch of friends.  Three appointments today alone!  Somehow I must get my taxes done and a few other serious errands before leaving on Tuesday.  That’s a bit daunting.  High on the to-do list is to do some shopping for my friends back in V.  I have a list of requests they’ve given me, as well as my own list of souvenirs/gifties that I want to get for folks.

The weather is beautiful.  Sunny and warm.  Crocuses are out.  Very pleasant for me, but a real thrill to those who have been here through a hellish winter.

ok, I don’t think that counts

I said I was writing, but I’ve spent most of the last day and a half just staring at my materials. Making occasional jottings in the margins, on a blank sheets of paper, or on the computer. Revising and restarting various sections. Thinking of what the audience — a real, live, listening audience — will need to know as background and need to hear as guideposts. This paper is so short, and my materials and story are so straightforward (in a way), that I’m at a loss to understand my incapacity to just hammer out (and BS my way through) nine coherent pages. WTF? Dain bramage? Anyhow, I’m now straightening out my handout — which may or may not have the elements in the same order I will eventually present them in. Not sure yet. I just want to say: to hell with anyone who gives me a hard time for having a lame paper. (That should, I suppose, include me, too.)

I’m still writing

I do think I will have my paper done in time for my session, but I don’t think it will be done early enough for me to circulate it to my panel.  I’m going straight to hell.  Other than the knothole which is my current intellectual experience (what happened to all that good writing I used to do?), I’m having a good time being home in my big mid-western city and seeing my friends.  Some of them won’t be here when I return for good in a few months.  Pretty sad.  (Great for them, sad for those of us Left Behind, as it were.)

The weather here has made a turn for the better.  That’s a nice surprise, although I hope it’s not too hot on Saturday.  My designated paper-giving blazer is more of a cool-weather thing.  Oh, here’s a good one, I’ve ended up here with only my timberland boots for footwear.  The new black shoes are sitting under my bed back in V.  And my comfy, sporty brown oxfords I decided to leave there — since it’s supposed to be chilly and wet here, and I’m supposed to be “dressing.”  But I digress….  Footwear, generally, is the least of my wardrobe worries, in the grand scheme of things.  I end up pretending nobody notices anything I wear anyhow.  (You’d think I’d come away from a year in Italy with a new lease on my fashion life.  I think it would take more than a year, frankly.)

Enough dawdling.  Back to turning my base writing into gold.

long walk off a short plank?

I can’t believe that I’m about to travel such a long way to give a talk I feel so little prepared for. What am I saying? I’m not really surprised. I suppose I do engage in a perverse sort of visualization of outcomes. This last-minute, panicky scramble to have just the bare minimum to show for myself is precisely what I was afraid would happen this year — it’s also the only outcome I could clearly imagine. The alternatives of being prepared ahead of time, of writing a little bit every day, of carefully planning and plotting my research schedule, of having a chapter written by now, of submitting same to apply for funding, of having this little paper be a part of that larger chapter — all of that was stuff that I couldn’t really imagine clearly. Wish, yes. Idealize, yes. See, hear, taste, touch the reality of being that different, that better person? No. When you are your own worst enemy, there’s really no point to railing against the injustice of your victimhood. The easiest thing is to just cut everyone else out of the loop so at least you’re not annoying anyone in the process of your own self destruction. T’ain’t nobody’s business if I don’t.

Apropos of introspection and empty spaces, here’s this.

“When asked what he was after in the painting, Hopper answered, ‘I’m after ME.’”

Wow.

For the full photo essay at Slate: The Architecture of Edward Hopper

success!

My little talk went really, really well and was a lot of fun. And such perceptive, wonderful questions and comments afterwards! (One very learned pensioner told me that he never knew that the l’homme arme masses were based on a French song. Another asked when the “grammar” of music came to be codified.) Definitely a success! Many thanks to my Chicagoland agents who hooked me up with the materials I lacked.

One funny thing.  I was party to a conversation about Beethoven.  I knew it wasn’t possible, but my brain couldn’t get past the idea that they were talking about a work of his called “the grandmother.”  Proof positive that context, habit, and a still-underdeveloped sensitivity to the distinction between single and double consonants can make all the difference in the world.  (They were discussing his “Ninth” not his “Grandmother” — nona, not nonna….)

a little stressed

To help out Mamma G., I agreed to give a little talk to the cultural organization she presides over. Their theme this year is the Benelux region (Belgium, Netherlands, Luxembourg), and there was an unexpected hole in the schedule of speakers, so I offered to speak about northern composers in Italy during the renaissance. I’d be a happier camper if I had all of my own recordings and other materials here with me. I’d be even happier if my Italian were actually fluent. But she doesn’t seem worried, so I won’t be either. *gulp*

Here’s the announcement:

Giovedì 28, quindi alle 17.30, ci ritroveremo in sede per ascoltare la nostra borsista di Chicago, Shawn Keener, che ci parlerà dell’argomento del suo dottorato “Musicisti fiamminghi in Italia e la musica del Rinascimento”. L’argomento è molto interessante e intrigante [...] i musicofili e gli altri scopriranno notizie e curiosità inedite.

This is not my most important or weightiest upcoming talk, but it’s the soonest, and it’s doing a good job of getting me exercised.

Treviso, continued

I’m figuring out Treviso. Bought myself a guidebook and keep my map in hand. Somehow it seems more acceptable to walk around with a map in hand there than it does in Venice. Or maybe I’m just getting more comfortable with preemptively outing myself as a foreigner.

The Biblioteca Comunale has a charming little Sala Manoscritti — wood-paneled (i.e. high, elaborately-carved  wainscotting with benches) above which are silk-clad walls running up to the 30-foot ceiling. The librarian is charming, too — quiet, courtly, and wry.  I can no longer remember his name and, in fact, messed it up the moment he told me — but he kindly offered to write it down for me.  Despite my inability to remember his name, he offered to show me around the closed sections of the library.

Because the library is so small, there are no limits to requests and they allow (well, he allows) do-it-yourself photography.  The only downside to this small-town atmosphere is the schedule: the manuscript room is open 9:30-6:00, with a lunch break from 1:00-2:30. I usually spend that long lunch uploading and cataloging my photographs, but occasionally I take an exploratory walk. That’s how I’m figuring out this maze-y little town. I would take advantage of the time and the terra firma prices to get some shopping done, but everything is closed for lunch.

Over lunch on Thursday, I was blazing a new path for myself when I heard a tapping on a car window… tapping obviously aimed at me. To my great surprise it was Emmanuela — my Trevisan friend and fellow UofC doctoral student. I’d been thinking about her a lot and had only that morning solemnly sworn to myself to email her that evening. For her part, she was on her way from the airport, having just arrived from Chicago. What are the odds?

woodcuts

I spent last week in Rome for the nearly-mid-year meeting for the Fulbright. Lots happened, much of it worthy of recounting. Another time, perhaps. Meanwhile, here are a couple of great woodcuts from a chapbook at the Biblioteca Comunale in Treviso.

Clickherefor webalbum and larger view

to the pigeons: “va a quel paese”

I’ve heard that the city is finally kicking out the birdfood vendors in the piazza. So far they haven’t budged, but recently, though, I saw a couple of men just outside the piazza who were trapping pigeons in nets and cramming them into plastic crates. Thinking this was perhaps part of a concerted eradication process, I asked what’s happening to them. Apparently they’re being sent to Mestre. Can’t tell you why — my follow up question didn’t get me very far so I stopped bothering the nice man doing the cramming. (If it was part of an eradication process, it’s not a concerted one.)

In other news, I was very clever at work today and came this close to finding a letter or poem in the hand of Policreti. (Long story.) I also dealt with the laundry…. Our washing machine has stopped spinning, so my sainted adoptive family let me come over to use theirs. Actually, mamma G. insisted that I come over and drop off my biancheria, which I did…though not without some protestation. I don’t mind mooching electricity and detergent, but just dropping off two huge loads of wash doesn’t feel right! Oh, and while I was over there they helped me call the dogana (again) and then asked me to stay for lunch. God bless mamma and pappa G.!

news of the season, skill building, etc.

I’ve been working on expanding my mental map of this part of town, and spent several hours last night and this afternoon working quasi-systematically through all the wee calli that are off my own beaten tracks between Campo S. Stefano and Piazza S. Marco. I’m finding wonderful short-cuts and some nice views, too. This is a long weekend (for All Saints Day), so visitors have descended on the city in what feels like random fashion. My barista tells me it’s the last hurrah of The Season. That makes this weekend a good time to either stay home or go off the beaten track. I’m not much interested in doing the former lately, so the latter it is!

Apropos the season…. Without fall colors on the precious few trees and without the Halloween/Thanksgiving discourse I’m used to, this doesn’t feel much like November. Plus there are still mosquitos in my room. I killed what I thought must be the last one a few minutes ago, and just now another one flew by my face.  Bloodsucking bastards.

News from the library: After a week of flailing around and not finding much of interest — *pointed, relevant* interest — I finally saw a manuscript today that actually looks very useful and is quite large. Finally, something to put on the definitely-look-at-this-closely-later list. So far, I’ve spent most of my time trying to squeeze the little bit of interesting material I’ve found in each item, since there hasn’t been much to justify coming back to it later. This find also signals the fact that I’m beginning to understand how to select materials to consult. The accumulation of small lessons learned is starting to add up to something.