A native of Spain and early well schooled, he possessed a fine, old-fashioned courtesy and manifest friendliness that endeared him to the hearts of all who were so fortunate as to meet him. Naturally modest and reserved in the presence of strangers, this reticence melted with growing acquaintance and he became, to friends, the chatty, jocular, occasionally witty gentleman who harbored no enmities and who grew increasingly closer to his intimates. So it was with deep regret and unfeigned sorrow that all heard of his passing into that tranquil slumber which marks the end of "each good soul and true.
All of these words apply but none of them really convey what I mean. I read a blog post over the weekend that reminded me about the idea of a continuum that connects all the different writing that I like.
Maybe a name exists in literary theory but outside academia there is not a mainstream accepted satisfying name for this tradition. But there are exemplars of it and I want to force the world to read their books, so I have to figure out what this tradition encompasses and what to call it.
It was green spray paint, and I remember thinking that almost any other color would have been more appropriate, more violent and emphatic. Like everything else about the gesture, it needs a lot of context to make any sense.
I had taken the paint from the Art Barn where I was failing a sculpture class that semester. It seems ridiculous that I was failing sculpture but I was.
I came to class and did the assignments but the professor, an Ohioan famous for his large cheery site-specific installations in Columbus office park atria, just really hated my work.
My work was pretty bad. In a previous art class I had mostly gotten around the limitations imposed by my lack of technical skill by working with appropriation, pastiche and performance, ie I had put on a bikini and smeared myself all over with lipstick for the midterm and built a giant fake wedding cake topped with doll heads and surrounded by bowls of Karo syrup fake blood for the final.
But in this class we had to carve and weld, and I lacked both the patience and the innate knack that you need in order to be good with tools. I made two Easter Islandy heads out of wood and metal which were intended to be realistic but came out more impressionistic.
This was my masterpiece and I think it also got a D, or maybe a C. The professor circled my work like Tim Gunn and pointed out its flaws with one outstretched finger. I guess I was still at the stage of life when I thought I could potentially be good at anything I liked doing.
I only knew that I loved to get onstage and cry or scream or tremulously declare myself, to generally chew the scenery. Part of it was just the pleasure of being allowed to say the lines.
The class had a greatest-hits type curriculum so I had little bits of Shakespeare and Chekhov to memorize for it all the time. I thought I was the best actress in this class for sure. The best actor in the class was Dave and we had a lot of scenes together, I began to look forward to our scenes, we sometimes had to meet outside of class to rehearse.
I want to also step back from making fun of myself a little bit here and acknowledge that what was happening to me and around me at time was often terrible.
Many things were happening, some were great, others were terrible. I also met Val and she became my roommate.
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This webpage is for Dr. Wheeler's literature students, and it offers introductory survey information concerning the literature of classical China, classical Rome, classical Greece, the Bible as Literature, medieval literature, Renaissance literature, and genre studies.
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