sabato 6 novembre 2010
The 6th of November question
"Why did Cinderella's father marry again so quickly, so unsiwely? Or, why does he allow Cinderella's mistreatment at all?"
by Marina Warner.
by Marina Warner.
venerdì 23 luglio 2010
Work experience at the London Evening Standard
When I found myself in front of Northcliffe house, which is also the headquarters of the Independent and Daily Mail, when I saw people going in and out through revolving doors, people going up and down in the transparent lifts, screens spread around everywhere displaying the latest news, my only thought was ‘Where is the toilet?’
On my first day, the first problem concerned the appointment time. They told me to be there at 8.45. I checked my watch and put it in accord with Greenwich Mean Time. Well, my watch said 8.35, the clock of the Standard, outside the building, said 8.40. Now, the problem was: which clock should I follow? The answer seemed obvious: “Watch the Standard, stupid” But my experience as a tourist has taught me that although there are many clocks around London, most of them are wrong. So, I decided to watch mine and that turned out to be just a ticket.
The first task I was appointed with was an article about groin waxing. Well, as a journalism student at Cardiff University, I have been taught how to write and cover issues like global crises, the credit crunch and insurgency in the 21st Century. There was no course like: “How to write hair removal features”, not even as an optional module. While doing that I really struggled to remember any chapter in my English Language books containing vocabulary related to depilation.
One of the most frustrating things about work experience is that sometimes there’s nothing for you to do, officially or otherwise. And you find yourself staring at the computer or just looking around. That’s the moment to have lunch.
At the very beginning I would have a full dish of pasta, continuing the habit I had in Italy. The problem is that after a dish of pasta you’re not really able to do anything other than sleeping. Therefore, I cut out the pasta and I turned to fruit and yogurt. Eating it in front of the desktop, as most of the journalists I’ve seen working there do. For a person who has grown up consuming long lunches with all the family around the table, with my father giving one hour speeches everyday – and you had no choice but to listen to him because he would then ask questions – finding myself eating in front of a screen was quite disorientating. And this is something that I have to keep to myself, because my father really wouldn’t understand.
The dress code was another issue that worried me. I was told to come wearing smart/casual dresses. I thought they meant smart or casual, or something mid way between smart and casual. In reality I found out that it meant smart and casual. In other words, you wear two different dresses on the same day. I guess, one to be comfortable working at the office and another one for official duties, like interviews or conferences. I saw many journalists arriving at the office wearing trainers and t-shirts in the morning then disappearing and coming out dressed in an elegant suit with a jacket and tie.
In that kind of situation you can feel quite intimidated, you have no idea how things work. The fact of not being a native speaker of English didn’t help. Since I have been living in the UK, one year or so, I have discovered that I have become much more visually oriented to compensate for the lack of verbal understanding that any foreigner abroad experiences. I mean that because you don’t catch words, particularly jargon and idiomatic expressions, you watch carefully instead. The natural background chat of a work environment becomes like music with unknown notes. The only notes I could immediately understand were the sighs made by journalists while writing articles. These sights indicated ideas that seemed effective when initially thought of, but seemed to lose their magic when written down. However, printing them in the paper seemed to salvage them a little.
At the Standard I looked at two things in particular: people and architecture.
There are students undergoing work experience. You immediately recognise us because we have to wear a pass at all times that says in clear letters: WORK EXPERIENCE. Attitudes towards the pass deserve a few words. I developed a personal theory about this which I think can be applied to cases other than mine. The way you wear the pass reveals your degree of self confidence.
On the first day I didn’t wear it. I just put it in my bag and forgot about it. The second day, when expectation levels rise, I felt I wanted to attach it to my forehead to make it as evident as possible. The third day I decided to attach it to my blouse – but could not help wondering: would it ruin my look? The fourth I put it on my skirt. The fifth I arrived at work with it in my hand, like a referee showing the yellow card.
Then there are people working there, I mean the journalists. They are the faces behind the words. Surprisingly, they looked calm and quiet. But then, if you push a wrong button, you can see and even touch the tension and the pressure of the journalistic environment in the UK’s capital.
Northcliffe House seems like a giant green house. Architecturally speaking, everything transmits a sense of transparency. This is almost overwhelming. Inside the building there is an indoor garden and a waterfall. There are little artificial lakes with real fish inside. I suppose the difference in this case is that it is the fish who are watching people working there; not the other way round. And those fish watched me for a while, as I entered and left brandishing my work experience pass and the expression on my face which said: “Don’t forget me”.
On my first day, the first problem concerned the appointment time. They told me to be there at 8.45. I checked my watch and put it in accord with Greenwich Mean Time. Well, my watch said 8.35, the clock of the Standard, outside the building, said 8.40. Now, the problem was: which clock should I follow? The answer seemed obvious: “Watch the Standard, stupid” But my experience as a tourist has taught me that although there are many clocks around London, most of them are wrong. So, I decided to watch mine and that turned out to be just a ticket.
The first task I was appointed with was an article about groin waxing. Well, as a journalism student at Cardiff University, I have been taught how to write and cover issues like global crises, the credit crunch and insurgency in the 21st Century. There was no course like: “How to write hair removal features”, not even as an optional module. While doing that I really struggled to remember any chapter in my English Language books containing vocabulary related to depilation.
One of the most frustrating things about work experience is that sometimes there’s nothing for you to do, officially or otherwise. And you find yourself staring at the computer or just looking around. That’s the moment to have lunch.
At the very beginning I would have a full dish of pasta, continuing the habit I had in Italy. The problem is that after a dish of pasta you’re not really able to do anything other than sleeping. Therefore, I cut out the pasta and I turned to fruit and yogurt. Eating it in front of the desktop, as most of the journalists I’ve seen working there do. For a person who has grown up consuming long lunches with all the family around the table, with my father giving one hour speeches everyday – and you had no choice but to listen to him because he would then ask questions – finding myself eating in front of a screen was quite disorientating. And this is something that I have to keep to myself, because my father really wouldn’t understand.
The dress code was another issue that worried me. I was told to come wearing smart/casual dresses. I thought they meant smart or casual, or something mid way between smart and casual. In reality I found out that it meant smart and casual. In other words, you wear two different dresses on the same day. I guess, one to be comfortable working at the office and another one for official duties, like interviews or conferences. I saw many journalists arriving at the office wearing trainers and t-shirts in the morning then disappearing and coming out dressed in an elegant suit with a jacket and tie.
In that kind of situation you can feel quite intimidated, you have no idea how things work. The fact of not being a native speaker of English didn’t help. Since I have been living in the UK, one year or so, I have discovered that I have become much more visually oriented to compensate for the lack of verbal understanding that any foreigner abroad experiences. I mean that because you don’t catch words, particularly jargon and idiomatic expressions, you watch carefully instead. The natural background chat of a work environment becomes like music with unknown notes. The only notes I could immediately understand were the sighs made by journalists while writing articles. These sights indicated ideas that seemed effective when initially thought of, but seemed to lose their magic when written down. However, printing them in the paper seemed to salvage them a little.
At the Standard I looked at two things in particular: people and architecture.
There are students undergoing work experience. You immediately recognise us because we have to wear a pass at all times that says in clear letters: WORK EXPERIENCE. Attitudes towards the pass deserve a few words. I developed a personal theory about this which I think can be applied to cases other than mine. The way you wear the pass reveals your degree of self confidence.
On the first day I didn’t wear it. I just put it in my bag and forgot about it. The second day, when expectation levels rise, I felt I wanted to attach it to my forehead to make it as evident as possible. The third day I decided to attach it to my blouse – but could not help wondering: would it ruin my look? The fourth I put it on my skirt. The fifth I arrived at work with it in my hand, like a referee showing the yellow card.
Then there are people working there, I mean the journalists. They are the faces behind the words. Surprisingly, they looked calm and quiet. But then, if you push a wrong button, you can see and even touch the tension and the pressure of the journalistic environment in the UK’s capital.
Northcliffe House seems like a giant green house. Architecturally speaking, everything transmits a sense of transparency. This is almost overwhelming. Inside the building there is an indoor garden and a waterfall. There are little artificial lakes with real fish inside. I suppose the difference in this case is that it is the fish who are watching people working there; not the other way round. And those fish watched me for a while, as I entered and left brandishing my work experience pass and the expression on my face which said: “Don’t forget me”.
mercoledì 9 giugno 2010
He
Blue eyes, grey hair, no smile. This is the portray of the professor I interviewed this afternoon. While I was interviewing him I felt relaxed as someone who drives a bumper car without seat belt. In this case, the car was a chair in a department of Bioscience at Cardiff University, located in the office of a British academic and the seat belt was the preparation about animal life that I don't have. Amazingly, he kept eye contact without being penetrating. He is handsome without being attractive. Energetic without making a motion.
When I left his office I felt as I was coming out from a painting. I am still oil colours dirty.
martedì 8 giugno 2010
My first time
I was 11 years old. I didn’t know anything about it, but it was an exciting experience I would never forget for the rest of my life. My parents were very happy about it because they felt that at my age I was ready to understand beauty.
It was a special occasion, not only for me, but for the all community of Ascoli Piceno, the city where I was born. On the 15th of October 1994, the doors of Ventidio Basso theatre opened again after a closure period for restructuring works and I was one of the first people to enter it after 15 years.
They showed Verdi’s Traviata played by Giusy Devinu, it was the first time I attended an opera and also the first time I saw a naked breast in a stage theatre, as Violetta, in the first act appeared semi-naked. That sight made me think: “Is this show appropriate for a child?”
Tickets were sold very quickly but my father had the chance to get the last one, mine. I was alone; sitting in stalls between a woman in her forties and a man in his seventies. Both were alone. We were three spectators with single ticket. I remember that, as soon as Violetta came into the scene, with naked breast, I immediately looked at the gentleman sitting next to me to see whether he was bothered by the nudity. But he was motionless, serious, a shadow in the dark.
When the orchestra played Libiamo né lieti calici I wanted to leave my seat starting to dance, the sound was so energetic. But I couldn’t move, and I started to feel compressed in my seat.
As the show proceeded I forgot what was happening on the stage and started looking around. The boxes and people inside them, a few binoculars, if only I could have one of those fantastic binoculars, I thought.
In the second act Violetta, the protagonist, arrives at the party with Baron Douphol. They see Alfredo at the gambling table. When he sees them, Alfredo loudly proclaims that he will take Violetta home with him. At that moment I sank in the seat and fell asleep.
I woke up a few minutes before the end while the doctor was announcing Violetta’s dead: “Oh what unbearable grief!”
It was a special occasion, not only for me, but for the all community of Ascoli Piceno, the city where I was born. On the 15th of October 1994, the doors of Ventidio Basso theatre opened again after a closure period for restructuring works and I was one of the first people to enter it after 15 years.
They showed Verdi’s Traviata played by Giusy Devinu, it was the first time I attended an opera and also the first time I saw a naked breast in a stage theatre, as Violetta, in the first act appeared semi-naked. That sight made me think: “Is this show appropriate for a child?”
Tickets were sold very quickly but my father had the chance to get the last one, mine. I was alone; sitting in stalls between a woman in her forties and a man in his seventies. Both were alone. We were three spectators with single ticket. I remember that, as soon as Violetta came into the scene, with naked breast, I immediately looked at the gentleman sitting next to me to see whether he was bothered by the nudity. But he was motionless, serious, a shadow in the dark.
When the orchestra played Libiamo né lieti calici I wanted to leave my seat starting to dance, the sound was so energetic. But I couldn’t move, and I started to feel compressed in my seat.
As the show proceeded I forgot what was happening on the stage and started looking around. The boxes and people inside them, a few binoculars, if only I could have one of those fantastic binoculars, I thought.
In the second act Violetta, the protagonist, arrives at the party with Baron Douphol. They see Alfredo at the gambling table. When he sees them, Alfredo loudly proclaims that he will take Violetta home with him. At that moment I sank in the seat and fell asleep.
I woke up a few minutes before the end while the doctor was announcing Violetta’s dead: “Oh what unbearable grief!”
giovedì 27 maggio 2010
The spoon lady
Cath woke up on Sunday with a strong urge to see last arrivals in the cookery sector of John Lewis. So, she got out of her home in a rush and went straight to the city centre. It was a sunny and warm day. While she was passing over Bute Street her attention was grabbed by a graffiti wall. She stopped and stared at the graffiti: “I would like to draw a big, yellow hearth,” she thought. But there was no time to do that. She turned back forgetting his heart there. Later on she came across a Greek church. She stopped in front of it and she longed for converting herself to orthodoxy. But she realised she could make that decision after John Lewis. Once arrived in John Lewis she felt relief. The people who work there are so kind and smiling. You would ask to buy them and take them to your home, so far as they are nice. “May I buy you?” Cath asked to a young man of the staff. “No, I am sorry,” he sweetly answered. At least she could buy spoons. New, shining, marvellous John Lewis last collection spoons.
lunedì 19 aprile 2010
sabato 10 aprile 2010
One Art (written by Elizabeth Bishop)
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
martedì 16 marzo 2010
domenica 28 febbraio 2010
domenica 21 febbraio 2010
venerdì 19 febbraio 2010
Music
"The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night
And his affections dark as Erebus.
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. "
Lorenzo in W. Shakespeare The Merchant of Venice, Act 5, Scene 1
I don't know if it's true but I like it.
I also like Chopin Polonaise Op. 53 played by Horowitz. First time I listened to it I was 6 years old. Chopin Polonaise entered my heart and when this kind of things happens there's nothing that you can do because you're captured.
Are you ready to be captured?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZGi49Bnghs
For comparativists, this is Pollini's version.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lhqcC1XA2cw
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night
And his affections dark as Erebus.
Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. "
Lorenzo in W. Shakespeare The Merchant of Venice, Act 5, Scene 1
I don't know if it's true but I like it.
I also like Chopin Polonaise Op. 53 played by Horowitz. First time I listened to it I was 6 years old. Chopin Polonaise entered my heart and when this kind of things happens there's nothing that you can do because you're captured.
Are you ready to be captured?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZGi49Bnghs
For comparativists, this is Pollini's version.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lhqcC1XA2cw
lunedì 8 febbraio 2010
Necessity of catharsis
I attended a course of creative writing last spring in Cardiff. Once the tutor tried to teach us how to write for children. She remarked that children always need an happy ending. I totally agreed with her, but I remeber that I started to wonder: 'Don't adults need an happy ending as well'? I asked her and she told me that adults need catharsis rather than "and they lived happily ever after". Well, now 'Why do we need...what's that? Ah, catharsis'.
I haven't got any answer. I didn't ask her. When she explains the story of catharsis I only thought 'Yes off course, it's so obvious: the catharsis'.
After almost one year the question came back to my mind: 'Why do we need catharsis?'
To sum up, I need catharsis but I would rather prefer an happy ending.
I've really appreciated you offer, I found catharsis really nice and interesting but, please, can I have an happy ending?
I haven't got any answer. I didn't ask her. When she explains the story of catharsis I only thought 'Yes off course, it's so obvious: the catharsis'.
After almost one year the question came back to my mind: 'Why do we need catharsis?'
To sum up, I need catharsis but I would rather prefer an happy ending.
I've really appreciated you offer, I found catharsis really nice and interesting but, please, can I have an happy ending?
venerdì 22 gennaio 2010
martedì 19 gennaio 2010
BACK TO CARDIFF Photostory of my travel from London to Cardiff - I
Collecting the suitcase at Stansted Airport. I wonder everytime: why did I buy a Samsonite?Windows - Back to Cardiff
Once in London Victoria Station I realized I had one hour free before my coach departure so I decided to have a little walk along a street next to the station, Elizabeth Street. Above and under there are some snapshots of my quick urban exploration.
giovedì 14 gennaio 2010
Waiting at the coach station - Back to Cardiff -
What if I commit myself in a serious and culturally demanding reading?
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