Lascaux

(I have tried and tried to get the opening image from this Life gallery to show up here. WordPress not being my friend today–but do click!)

Beautiful pictures from original Life photo shoot @ Lascaux caves. That the drawings are all of animals, and so beautiful and motion-filled, seems especially striking to me today. I just feel this immense respect and love for animals coming from these drawings. And the idea that these are probably the oldest art we have access to also seems moving–this is what humans did first. We tried to understand animals. Animals were the mystery and beauty that made us make tools to draw on rock. So when Aristotle writes in the Poetics that human beings are mainly interested in watching other humans, he might actually be revising history rather than stating an obvious starting point for mimetic art. We might not always have been so self-centered. (Interesting that the gallery alternates between pics of the cave and pics of the pic takers–demonstrating that we no longer quite as content as the pic makers were to focus on something other than humans.)

Transitionless

I looked out the kitchen window this morning as I was stirring milk and sugar into my tea and realized that the neighbor’s tree has no leaves on it. The last time I looked, it had a few bright yellow holdouts, which caught the sun and made it seem like fall was still here and might stay here indefinitely.

That feeling of not knowing exactly when changes that, in hindsight, are quite momentous happened has characterized these first few weeks of my second year in the PhD program. One day I was a grad student, wearing shorts and t-shirts with holes in them as I organized my day around reading books in my overstuffed office chair. Then a Tuesday came, and I was a teacher, wearing hose and black shoes and blocking my day into slots of reading for class, preparing for discussion, holding office hours. It was summer. I looked again and it was fall.

A little further into fall, a day came when I went into a room and explained what I had been doing my whole first year of grad school and walked out of it explaining what I was going to write my dissertation about. (Still very much up in the air, but for the first time, I felt like the word “project” was a word that might apply to my work.) I was incoherent, and then I was coherent. Well, more coherent. And coherent because I’d started to find a way to explain to other people why the connections I saw might be important, not just because I’d decided to agree with them that what they saw was more important.

A month after that, I went from being 28 years old to 29. I was reading an oral history of a Chinese feminist recently, and she spoke about a scheme of life where you spend the first 29 years of your life learning, the next 29 years working, and the last 29 teaching. Overnight, I’m in the second phase. I don’t feel like I’ve learned nearly enough or accomplished nearly enough. I also don’t feel like that anything I’ve tried to begin could have been finished in a short decade of young adulthood, and at certain times on certain days I do feel like I have work to do, and that the return of grey skies and grey trees isn’t the sign of a wasted year, but the sign of a year that is on its way to becoming the next one.