Today I woke up, reluctantly but effectively, after 10 a.m. Everyone was out of the house so I read an online book, dabbled at the blog post, and checked my e-mail and Facebook account. Regarding Facebook I had an internal debate one or two days ago whether to request people to be friends, but finally decided against it because I want to be completely sure that whoever stays in contact with me does so out of their own free will and not on humanitarian grounds.
Besides I've been visiting the Guardian and New York Times websites religiously and have even begun reading science articles as well as the arts and style and travel ones. During New York Fashion Week I flipped through two or three days' worth of slideshows; fur and grey, Suzie Bird and Chriselle Stubbs and Chantal Stafford-Abbott are apparently the big new trends. Of course I keep an eye out for a designer whom I especially like, but despite a leaning toward Donna Karan (to my surprise I also liked DKNY this season) and Carolina Herrera and even Marchesa despite its flaunting opulence, there is no one whom I'd pinpoint as a favourite. Now it's London Fashion Week, but my enthusiasm has ebbed.
Since the Olympics are being held in Vancouver and Whistler, and Vancouver is (despite the fact that I don't know it well and mostly because of my experience studying at UBC) officially one of my favourite places on earth, I should feel obliged to follow them faithfully. But I have altogether been steering clear of reading about or watching them. As for the Canadian angle, during school I was exposed to tonnes of patriotism, and didn't like it then and don't like it now. I can remember about Acadia and Louis Riel and the War Measures Act, recite the provinces and territories with their capital cities, speak in both official languages, name the Prime Minister and the Governor-General, and pick out Hollywood celebrities who were born north of the border; and at home when we're drinking a glass of wine or liqueur we toast the Queen from time to time; but that's about as far as I'm willing to go. One of the things that relieved me about moving to Berlin is that here nobody bothers to pretend that one country is superior to another, or agonizes about Our Place in the World.
The Berlinale is closer to home; we watched the closing ceremony on television, and Mama and Uncle Pu (who visited today) are better informed about it, but I missed the rest of it. I like the presentation of awards at the end of the festival. Other German award ceremonies like the Bambi or Golden Camera are stilted and longwinded and terribly awkward compared to the greased professionalism of the Oscars and Emmys, etc., besides which it seems as if the American actors/singers/etc. who receive prizes (Meg Ryan, Britney Spears, etc.) are selected by an undiscriminating 13-year-old who has lived in a cave on the moon for the past decade. But the closing ceremony of the Berlinale is not so pompous or heavy, I think also because the festival director Dieter Kosslick is pretty unpretentious, and it is more serious and international. One would have to wait a long time to hear Quechua, Romanian or Cantonese spoken at the Oscars, and it's nice when the audience isn't a begowned and bejewelled recreation of Fifth Avenue.
Anyway, I had a long piano session in the afternoon. There was plenty of Bach — Partita No. 4 and the Concerto in d minor in their entirety, and the toccata of Partita No. 6 — and Beethoven — last movement of the Tempest Sonata, the whole of the Sonata appassionata, and Mvts. 1 and 3 of the Moonlight Sonata —, but also Mozart's Concerto in G major, Händel's suite with the variations on the "Harmonious Blacksmith" (minus the part where the page is missing), Liszt's Liebestraum No. 3, Chopin waltzes Op. 64 No. 1 (i.e. Minute Waltz) and 2, Enrique Granados's Spanish Dance No. 6, and Schubert's impromptus Op. posth. 142 No. 2 and 3.
The Chopin and thornier Beethoven involved a good deal of fudged notes, but I've made a breakthrough on the Händel, the Schubert was less obscure and rushed than ordinary, and the Mozart was from time to time pleasingly friendly. Leaving Beethoven's later sonatas for months and months, and turning to other music, has resulted in a thoroughly beneficial, objective distance, though I realize that even now I haven't begun to plumb their possibilities. But what I'd really love to do at present is to improve my grasp of Bach, whom I regard as a devoted mountaineer might regard a cordillera of great dimensions and numerous challenges, which it requires much time and strength and perseverance to conquer, and even once conquered still hides unexpected facets, but which finally leaves one profoundly satisfied.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Meditations Before Spring
The first cracks in the ice of winter have appeared, like sunshine and, yesterday, rain instead of snow. A blue hyacinth on our windowsill has been in flower for over a week now, and though the balcony-box looks pitiful, the heather and much flattened pansy leaves survived the snow cover.
After much soul-searching I've decided to preserve the status quo as far as working or studying are concerned, until a fitting job turns up (the daily consultation of job listings is of course being maintained). Eventually I'll panic about my bank account again, but it'll be good for ca. 9 months as long as Harpagon, Silas Marner, and Ebenezer Scrooge remain my fiscal mentors. Besides, the longer the job search continues the happier I am about not contributing to the saturation of the job market until it's absolutely necessary. Which isn't very happy at all, but then altruism and logic have their limits.
For multitudinous reasons which, again, I don't care to enumerate, I am strongly against returning to university at present. I'd much prefer to study abroad, so that the experience is well-rounded and more interesting, but that costs money. Though I began filling out an online application to transfer to Columbia University weeks ago anyway, my conscience wasn't at ease about it. I don't know precisely why and on the surface of things it seems perfectly fine to give the opportunity my best shot, but the last time such a strong unease manifested itself I disregarded it and consequently went through a very bad patch. So I've bowed to the French mathematician's dictum that "The heart has reasons which reason cannot know." Besides it was an ambitious plan and ambition is in my view a worrisome motivation.
I've come to think it is good to repose upon myself, as the French phrase goes — to remain in touch as much as possible with who I am; and to gradually and naturally find a path which can best unfold any qualities that are peculiar to me. I don't like competing with others, don't much care for a large income, have no desire for a prominent career, and have already learned that the approval of others is a fickle good and therefore not a North Star towards which one can safely orientate one's self. Of course I daydream about travelling and working in New York, Australia, Scotland, or Texas, etc., and I believe the wish for adventure and escape to be neither peculiar nor wrong, but it's more important to come to terms with quotidian reality and to make the most of such experiences when they come.
If it makes sense, I also want to slow down and do things like music and writing and learning history very thoughtfully and painstakingly over a long period of time. Firstly, surface knowledge or ability is not satisfying on a deeper level and in the long term, and as amusing as humbugging is I'd rather have substance to back it up; besides I want to have an original and consistent way of doing things. Secondly, I like the idea of emulating Sir Humphry Davy or Immanuel Kant or John Milton in becoming singlemindedly absorbed in whatever field it is that interests me and pursuing it at depth and in peace, and then coming up with something revolutionary and profound when I'm older. I'm not the best pupil and though school was a good catalyst I think I've learned much more outside of it; in the end if I'm going anywhere it has to be under my own steam.
Lastly, I've been determined since the age of sixteen (or thereabouts) to build up a stock of strength of character, knowledge, interests, etc., and become as self-sufficient as possible. For one thing, when I live alone or am homebound I don't want to be bored or feel that life is purposeless; I have found it impossible to rely on others, except in limited cases, nor do I want the embarrassment of falling apart in public; and finally, when and if I marry and have children I want to be able to transmit resilience and inspiration and fun rather than drain it. It reminds me of a Bible passage, "A good man out of the good treasure of the heart bringeth forth good things: and an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth evil things." We learned this quotation in my Ancient Greek course; I remember it five years later because I found it quite touching. The good/evil thing is not so much what interests me about it, but rather the idea of the soul as a repository of treasures.
After much soul-searching I've decided to preserve the status quo as far as working or studying are concerned, until a fitting job turns up (the daily consultation of job listings is of course being maintained). Eventually I'll panic about my bank account again, but it'll be good for ca. 9 months as long as Harpagon, Silas Marner, and Ebenezer Scrooge remain my fiscal mentors. Besides, the longer the job search continues the happier I am about not contributing to the saturation of the job market until it's absolutely necessary. Which isn't very happy at all, but then altruism and logic have their limits.
For multitudinous reasons which, again, I don't care to enumerate, I am strongly against returning to university at present. I'd much prefer to study abroad, so that the experience is well-rounded and more interesting, but that costs money. Though I began filling out an online application to transfer to Columbia University weeks ago anyway, my conscience wasn't at ease about it. I don't know precisely why and on the surface of things it seems perfectly fine to give the opportunity my best shot, but the last time such a strong unease manifested itself I disregarded it and consequently went through a very bad patch. So I've bowed to the French mathematician's dictum that "The heart has reasons which reason cannot know." Besides it was an ambitious plan and ambition is in my view a worrisome motivation.
I've come to think it is good to repose upon myself, as the French phrase goes — to remain in touch as much as possible with who I am; and to gradually and naturally find a path which can best unfold any qualities that are peculiar to me. I don't like competing with others, don't much care for a large income, have no desire for a prominent career, and have already learned that the approval of others is a fickle good and therefore not a North Star towards which one can safely orientate one's self. Of course I daydream about travelling and working in New York, Australia, Scotland, or Texas, etc., and I believe the wish for adventure and escape to be neither peculiar nor wrong, but it's more important to come to terms with quotidian reality and to make the most of such experiences when they come.
If it makes sense, I also want to slow down and do things like music and writing and learning history very thoughtfully and painstakingly over a long period of time. Firstly, surface knowledge or ability is not satisfying on a deeper level and in the long term, and as amusing as humbugging is I'd rather have substance to back it up; besides I want to have an original and consistent way of doing things. Secondly, I like the idea of emulating Sir Humphry Davy or Immanuel Kant or John Milton in becoming singlemindedly absorbed in whatever field it is that interests me and pursuing it at depth and in peace, and then coming up with something revolutionary and profound when I'm older. I'm not the best pupil and though school was a good catalyst I think I've learned much more outside of it; in the end if I'm going anywhere it has to be under my own steam.
Lastly, I've been determined since the age of sixteen (or thereabouts) to build up a stock of strength of character, knowledge, interests, etc., and become as self-sufficient as possible. For one thing, when I live alone or am homebound I don't want to be bored or feel that life is purposeless; I have found it impossible to rely on others, except in limited cases, nor do I want the embarrassment of falling apart in public; and finally, when and if I marry and have children I want to be able to transmit resilience and inspiration and fun rather than drain it. It reminds me of a Bible passage, "A good man out of the good treasure of the heart bringeth forth good things: and an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth evil things." We learned this quotation in my Ancient Greek course; I remember it five years later because I found it quite touching. The good/evil thing is not so much what interests me about it, but rather the idea of the soul as a repository of treasures.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
