last class of semester

Oh how interestingly the semester ends, so for my seminar in energetic aesthetics, great title, what? as we have discussed all manner of texts and art stuff, we will end with me bringing wine, a participant bringing chocolates and everyone talking (in turn, natch) about what everyone wrote (is writing, I know I know) as a final paper. This is the way I always end my seminars, and the point is that if you are going for an interview for some job, you have to be able to have a drink in one hand and talk about what you are good at or impassioned by, the other hand on the heart or the brain.  Wonderfully, many of our students get positions -- I don't think this is why, but you never know.

For my irregular but I hope delightful column in the Oxford Gazette (Magazine) which I've written for years and years, about the New York cultural scene, this time I got to add -- because the great editor, Tim Horder, tells me when I have another week before the deadline -- Mahler's Third, which we heard Saturday night and were (well, I was) astounded by. Really, the zarathustra coming in, and the soaring melody and the everything loud and less loud-- i loved the repetitions and want to think about that form, but, you know, when do you get to anything? I had the joy of writing my introduction to our translation (Nancy Kline and myself) of Lorand Gaspar's Sol Absolu (Earth Absolute) in the middle of the night, having lunch with the great John Richardson yesterday, writing and rewriting part of the catalogue for Picasso and the Camera for the Gagosian Gallery here in New York, hearing my friend Dean King talk about his book on the Feud between the Hatfields and McCoys (and Matthew has just finished a tour with Juliana Hatfield, so it seemed appropriate to go), and no, I haven't gotten back to the chapter on Painting and Sculpture for the Cambridge History of Modernism, but, um, I will before we leave for France on July 1. Or I think I will.

now, as in now

All over New York, everything during and after the immense bunch of snow and ice and how do those of us who don't walk well (ooooof to the knee) despite our youth or mediumnish or age, is abounding!
We deeply are into abound, even at home you can abound, methinks.
Haven't made it 3 blocks away to the Guggenheim for the Futurism show, but I will, when temporary (I trust) crutches are laid ASIDE, and the many thesis defenses and so on are over  (temporarily also, April threatens 4 more at least ) and all these talks (lots upcoming have upcome, on the Modern Art Cookbook, as in this week at the NYPL on 42nd, and then Dallas and Little Rock, Arkansas, and a library somwhere in New Jersey, etc., and on Joseph Cornell (as in Charlottesville and Richmond), and on surrealist translation (as in Knoxville, Tennessee -- I've only been to Nashville, which I loved), well, when they are over, whatever.
In the meantime, there are quite enough theses to read, to say nothing of the reading list for my ongoing seminar in Energetic Aesthetics, enough maybe said.