Instead of working on my dissertation, I began to think obsessively about Albrecht Dürer’s engraving Melencholia I (1514), which I thought looked like me (more so now than then, since I have gained 25 pounds). The main source of my melancholia was that many of my friends from last year were gone.
As someone who loves learning for learning's sake (at least, when I choose what to learn), and who also saw advanced higher education as a means to social mobility, I was first perplexed and then aghast to realize that I had misunderstood in the first place, and then been overtaken by cultural change in the second. Most people at University see it as a means to gain or cement wealth and social position. For those who love to learn, they are helped on that path as an advocation. For those who take up learning as a career, as academics, then they had better begin with the sort of privilege that propels them to the highest reaches of the profession, since the profession as a whole has been brutally deprofessionalized over the past three decades. Not to be melancholic, or anything. As for the jerks, I would be astounded if other women didn't realize what, exactly, they were.
The newsletter is heading in a direction where the delicate bloom of learning for learning's sake will be crushed. Still, I hold the ideal as a living possibility.
I cannot help but note in this essay and the comments, of how when one says "study" and education", it is all matters of the mind-testing, facts, memorization, rote detritus that spawns little greatness. However, when people talk of "learning" it is always preceded by emotions, such as enjoyment, love, passion, and yes even the flip side of melancholia or even sadness at the loss of learning. I appreciate the title "A Delicate Bloom of Learning".
This is a good theme for me to explore, so I will provide a rough (really hypothetical) definition of what education means to me in the next newsletter.
"The main source of my melancholia was that many of my friends from last year were gone" - sounds like a constant of living - thinking of some of my friends. I am intrigued by the image of Osney Abbey. The printing reminds me of those endless duotones from the early 1900s used for postcards, funeral home hand fans, and devotional holy cards. The printing process itself seems to contribute to the feel of the images - melancholia and nostalgia. For someone who knows the background and history of Osney Abbey this must be especially strong.
Aubrey provides the history and background of the Abbey in his journal: “Osney Abbey is a ruin in Oxford, just south of the Botley Road. A woman named Edith Forne lies in her tomb there dreaming of magpies. When she was alive, she asked a friar to interpret her dream, and he told her the magpies were souls in purgatory needing a church to rest in. She urged her wealthy husband to found Osney, which he did in 1129, and now she rests there herself, surrounded by a picture of her dream of the birds. Osney’s Bell, Great Tom, was taken to nearby Christ Church during the dissolution of the monasteries. Much furniture went too, and the abbey fell into disuse. Almost a hundred years later, I can see the ruin cannot stand much longer. There is a great arch hanging unsupported on one side, waiting to crash down on crumbling walls below. The birds, truly, have come to nest here now. The exposed ledges, the roofless rooms, the always open windows are home to hundreds, maybe thousands of restless, crying birds. I squint against the sun to try and name them: magpies as in Edith Forne’s dream; jackdaws like the ones Mr. Hobbes baited. The ruins should be drawn…”
As someone who loves learning for learning's sake (at least, when I choose what to learn), and who also saw advanced higher education as a means to social mobility, I was first perplexed and then aghast to realize that I had misunderstood in the first place, and then been overtaken by cultural change in the second. Most people at University see it as a means to gain or cement wealth and social position. For those who love to learn, they are helped on that path as an advocation. For those who take up learning as a career, as academics, then they had better begin with the sort of privilege that propels them to the highest reaches of the profession, since the profession as a whole has been brutally deprofessionalized over the past three decades. Not to be melancholic, or anything. As for the jerks, I would be astounded if other women didn't realize what, exactly, they were.
The newsletter is heading in a direction where the delicate bloom of learning for learning's sake will be crushed. Still, I hold the ideal as a living possibility.
Creatives of all kinds start as people who enjoy learning. So there's that! I hold out much hope
I cannot help but note in this essay and the comments, of how when one says "study" and education", it is all matters of the mind-testing, facts, memorization, rote detritus that spawns little greatness. However, when people talk of "learning" it is always preceded by emotions, such as enjoyment, love, passion, and yes even the flip side of melancholia or even sadness at the loss of learning. I appreciate the title "A Delicate Bloom of Learning".
This is a good theme for me to explore, so I will provide a rough (really hypothetical) definition of what education means to me in the next newsletter.
"The main source of my melancholia was that many of my friends from last year were gone" - sounds like a constant of living - thinking of some of my friends. I am intrigued by the image of Osney Abbey. The printing reminds me of those endless duotones from the early 1900s used for postcards, funeral home hand fans, and devotional holy cards. The printing process itself seems to contribute to the feel of the images - melancholia and nostalgia. For someone who knows the background and history of Osney Abbey this must be especially strong.
Aubrey provides the history and background of the Abbey in his journal: “Osney Abbey is a ruin in Oxford, just south of the Botley Road. A woman named Edith Forne lies in her tomb there dreaming of magpies. When she was alive, she asked a friar to interpret her dream, and he told her the magpies were souls in purgatory needing a church to rest in. She urged her wealthy husband to found Osney, which he did in 1129, and now she rests there herself, surrounded by a picture of her dream of the birds. Osney’s Bell, Great Tom, was taken to nearby Christ Church during the dissolution of the monasteries. Much furniture went too, and the abbey fell into disuse. Almost a hundred years later, I can see the ruin cannot stand much longer. There is a great arch hanging unsupported on one side, waiting to crash down on crumbling walls below. The birds, truly, have come to nest here now. The exposed ledges, the roofless rooms, the always open windows are home to hundreds, maybe thousands of restless, crying birds. I squint against the sun to try and name them: magpies as in Edith Forne’s dream; jackdaws like the ones Mr. Hobbes baited. The ruins should be drawn…”
Wonderful images in the story! In the end, the magpies got their church, and brought along a few friends....