Tuesday, 1 January 2013

Happy New Year

I’m not usually one for New Year’s Resolutions but I have decided that this year, is the year I start blogging again, blogging about life as a Fine Art graduate, life as an MA student, life as a philosopher, life as an artist. This post will serve as an introduction, a taster of things to come.

The best thing would be to write down everything that happens from day to day. To keep a diary in order to understand. To neglect no nuances or little details, even if they seem unimportant, and above all to classify them. I must say how I see this table, the street, people, my packet of tobacco, since these are the things which have changed. I must fix the exact extent and nature of this change.1

In September 2012, I started an MA in Art, Aesthetics and Cultural Institutions at the University of Liverpool. I missed the introduction week but luckily I turned up a week later and managed to find myself in the right building a couple of hours prior to my first lecture, Philosophy of Film. 

I remember that day well; I tried to convince a receptionist that I was meant to be at an event that took place a week beforehand. I was so sure I was in the right place, at the right time. I had paid my fees but I hadn't registered, I had no modules, no student card and absolutely no idea where I was supposed to be. Eventually, I found the Philosophy Department; I also found the Departmental Director of Postgraduate Studies and couldn't believe my luck. He was so helpful. After my morning of chaos, I found myself sitting in a café, a coffee, without milk, to the left of me, a huge cheese salad sandwich to the right, reading the module guide on my phone. Nothing tastes sweeter than lunch with a side of relief.

Something on the module guide caught my eye, ‘Curatorial Studentship – Tate Liverpool’, it was underneath the heading of the Dissertation module. I read through it. I read through it again. I knew of the studentship when I applied for the course but to see it on paper, well, it made me shiver with excitement. It was all I could think about, I had to know more. I met with the Programme Director that same day, right before my very first lecture.

1. Sartre, Jean-Paul, Nausea (UK: Penguin Books, 1969) 9.