Memory, that winged host that flew above me

Have you heard about the book club Hayley at Carrots for Michaelmas is hosting about Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited? I'm thrilled because Brideshead  is my favorite book. Ever since it was on my summer reading list senior year of high school, I've re-read it about once a year. On every return visit I've changed a little, and so I notice or enjoy new things. The notes my 17 year old self feverishly made in multi-colored pencil seem a little silly today.

Brideshead Revisted is a great novel becaue its decades-long story has something for everyone. Carefree college antics, coming-of-age angst, love affairs, guilt, religious identity, family drama, the place of Catholics in English society, and some great papist insider jokes. There a so many different facets to ponder, and I've added a page to this blog tracking some of my favorite recent commentary on it.

For me, BR continues to be an obsession because it's all about decorative arts, yo. Architecture and home furnishings are practically the star of the show. Like the Flyte family in Charles' life, BR passages kept popping into my head when I started my master's program at a "museum and country estate."

"Is the dome by Inigo Jones too? It looks later."
"Oh Charles, don't be such a tourist. What does it matter when it was built, if it's pretty?"
"It's the sort of thing I like to know."

All the descriptions of the Flyte family house make so much more sense now. On my first visit to Winterthur, I scoffed at its seemingly redundant acres of antique furniture. Gradually, as I learned to guide tourists through the corridors, I discovered the joy of paying close visual attention to the things around me. After all, historical context is the sort of thing I like to know too.

It was an aesthetic education to live within those walls, to wander from room to room, from the Soanesque library to the Chinese drawing-room, adazzle with gilt pagodas and nodding mandarins, painted paper and Chippendale fret-work, from the Pompeian parlor ... to sit, hour after hour, in the pillared shade looking out over the terrace.

The Chinese Parlor at Winterthur, full of painted paper and Chippendale fret-work.

Even though Charles Ryder is a total jerk sometimes, I do identify with his artistic journey. Eventually shedding his lazy undergrad ways, he soaks up all the art around him, tries his first big painting project, and eventually makes a career out of documenting historic architecture. As the existential trauma that is grad school fades, I tend to remember fondly my two years "in arcadia": with unlimited access to an eight-story mansion.

Most of the time I use my "looking at furniture" master's degree to make obnoxious comments about the background in Downton Abbey scenes (oh man, that William and Mary high chest in Mrs. Crawley's parlor), but I'm still obsessed with photographing architecture. Like Charles, I feel closer to the big truths in life when I'm pondering beautiful things. 

Quick Takes about the Big Apple

1. Last year my grad school class took a field trip to see the "Americana Week" antiques shows in New York. It was so much fun that this year several of my classmates and I planned a mini-reunion redux of the adventure. This time, instead of the Times Square Hampton Inn, we all crashed on the living room floor of H's tiny Upper East Side 5th floor walkup. (For the record, I did not have to subsist on salad this year. Thank goodness.)
2. Of course, it ended up being the snowiest weekend of the year, but wind and slush did not deter us from dec arts. We have been trained well. 





The view outside when we woke up on Saturday. 



3. All 5 of us wore some variation of "gray sweater dress/tights/boots" for our 4 exhibition journey. I swear this was an accident. 
4. There were tons of little kids running around in puffy coats, grabbing hunks of snow off the sidewalks. Since I am a child of the suburbs, I always wonder about kids in New York. Does an urban upbringing make you fearless? Do you remember those early years spent bundled up in a stroller behind a plastic shield? 
5. The newly-renovated New York Historical Society has a great kids' section. You can write newspaper headlines, record yourself speechifying, look at different boroughs through a viewmaster thingy, and get inaugurated as the first president. Oh, and there is a newsies touch-screen game. I owned at selling those papes. 





I also ran into the Marx Brothers



6. Here's a tip, kids: do NOT attempt to check a suitcase at The Met, even if you are just running through the Islamic galleries on your way to catch the Megabus. Their security guards are well-trained to think luggage = art thief/terrorist. They will politely, but firmly tell you to get lost. Even if they just watched you schlep said suitcase up two flights of stairs to the entrance. 
7. Speaking of suitcases, they are also totally impractical on the stair-laden subway.  After riding on public transportation in both New York and DC, I have decided that the subway is definitely superior to the Metro. (As if there were any question, amirite Washingtonians?)
   DC Metro advantages: Escalators, stations that don't feel claustrophobic, cleanliness, very little graffiti, colored lines with names and directions that quickly make sense on a map to the uninitiated. 
   NY Subway advantages: Express trains, an abundance of track options, flat rate for each ride, not needing to scan a card to exit, lack of easily broken escalators, MOSAICS. 

For more quick takes, visit Jen at Conversion Diary.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

Posts are going to be a little sporadic here as I deal with the aftermath of getting my master's and gradually move back to my parents' house. I'll be packing up my apartment, visiting friends, and maybe even reading history books for fun.

It's funny how graduating will get certain songs stuck in my head, No, I'm not talking about that Vitamin C 90's hit, although I am a shameless fan of Semisonic's one hit wonder, Closing Time. When I left college I got all weepy to the ballad "For Good" from Wicked, but this time around the mental soundtrack has been a little more random. Here are some songs helping me make the transition to the "real world."

"Little Wonders" by Rob Thomas

Let it go, let it roll right off your shoulder.
Don't you know the hardest part is over?...
Our lives are made in these small hours,
These little wonders,
These twists and turns of fate."

I think I cried for some reason every day last week, and one of those times was when this song came on Pandora when I was sorting photos for a professor's graduation slideshow. Let me tell you, with each note and click of the mouse, I was  this much closer to bawling. It's the everyday conversations, book recommendations, car trips, and goofy smiles that built my relationships in grad school. Knowing my classmates by their mannerisms and the color of their tote bags is one thing I'll miss the most. Luckily, we've taken hundreds of photos that each capture a moment of the 24 months that have changed our lives forever.

The lyrics are reassuring too, especially when you have no idea where your life is headed next. Good old Divine Providence got me into this M.A. program, so I shouldn't think God is gonna quit on me now.

"The Last Time" - Blind Boys of Alabama

This may be the last time, I don't know.

As I leave my museum alma mater, there are so many uncertainties - is this the last time I will see some of these people? Is this the last time I'll pas a professor in the hallway? Will I ever roam around the halls of the collections again? I intend to delay my last drive around the grounds as long as possible.

"You Got the Love" - Florence and the Machine  

(previously recorded by Candi Staton, The Source, and Joss Stone)

Sometimes I feel like throwing my hands up in the air

I know I can count on you

Sometimes I feel like saying Lord, I just don't care

But you've got the love I need to see me through

If anything can make you want to throw up your hands and yell, "Jesus take the wheel," it's grad school.

 The entire process can seem designed to make you doubt yourself and question your purpose in life. My degree is as much a testament to my support system as it is to my book learnin'. From my professors who always kept their doors open, to the classmates happy to vent in the library at 11pm, to the family and friends who have humored two years of geeking out over furniture, to The Beau who has stayed up past his bedtime helping me edit presentations, there's been an army of people I could count on. Sometimes it's been hard to keep caring, but in the end, I'm humbled and grateful to be surrounded by such love.

7 Beginnings and Ends

Happy Friday!  Since my graduation is only a week away, this installment is going to be about some of the many "lasts" and "firsts" I'm currently experiencing. Many thanks to Jen for hosting the 7 Quick Takes linkup at Conversion Diary.

1.Tonight I turned in my last graduate school paper. Ever. It felt so surreal. Then my art history professor fed us tacos and pickled cactus, and it was delicious.

2. Last night I worked on said paper by pulling what I hope is my last almost-all-nighter in a long, long time. I've been avoiding graduation emotions, but as I turned off the library lights at 1am there was this sudden bittersweet feeling that it was the end of an era. I might shed a tear when I return all my books next week. 

3. On Monday I'll go on my last grad school field trip.We'll be touring the White House and Capital Building. This will be my first time seeing the inside of each, despite having grown up near them.

4. I got a new camera! Ever since my old Olympus died last summer I've been yearning to have a "real camera" again.My little point-and-shoot has taken good close-up images, but it makes me feel like I'm at the mercy of it's little buttons instead of in control of the situation. So, I took advantage of the magical, wonderful part of grad school known as "professional development funds" to buy a Nikon d3100. 

Check out this inefficient packing. Great job Sears, I am now the proud owner of  gallons of Styrofoam peanuts.

After I got over my initial buyer's remorse, I was delighted to see how well the camera handles both close up and action shots.

 

 

My first time shooting with my new toy was also probably the last time The Beau and I will have a date strolling around the museum grounds. I should send the gardens paths a thank-you card for being such a fun, free activity in the early months of our relationship.


5. My sister started her first museum summer job this week. I'm so excited for her, and can't wait to hear how this colonial farm work turns out. I'm imaging she'll get really buff carrying pails of water and hoeing crops. 


6. This just in: The Beau completed and passed his second and last Ph.D comprehensive exam! I am so glad his tough academic year is done, and I'm so proud of him I could burst.

7. Finally, I am pleased to announce that I have...drumroll please...a NEW BLOG! Chasing Claudia Kincaid is named for the heroine of From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, one of my all-time favorite books. This blog will focus on my thoughts about museums, art, and material culture, freeing up this space to write more about my faith and whatever other random things I feel like. "Claudia" is also my first attempt at using the Wordpress platform, so it will be an interesting learning experience. She'd love it if you paid her a visit!

The Cross, Conversion, and Chippendale Chairs

I've really enjoyed following the Bright Maidens' Lenten blog series, especially this week's installment about conversion. I've had conversion on the brain lately since I've been following Kassie, Brit, and Kortni's poignant journeys into joining the Catholic Church this Easter. Being a cradle Catholic, I never had the experience of a dramatic leap into the truth, but lately I've been realizing that God requires a change of heart at every stage of life.
Elizabeth's Bright Maidens post really resonated with me since she described the stage that I'm grappling with right now - figuring out how to balance my faith and my professional life. When I interviewed at my grad program, I described my volunteer work with the poor and my love for fancy museums as "two halves of me that I'm trying to reconcile." Two years later, that is still a work in progress.

One of the new lambs on the museum grounds

When you spend most hours cramming information into your brain, there is little energy left to worry about your soul. Sometimes it's hard to see life beyond stacks of books and papers. I feel like to much of academia, my church-going is just a quaint hobby that makes me really good at art history trivia. It's only slightly more relevant to modern society than Civil War re-enacting, and probably less palatable since re-enactors don't ever tell people their choices are immoral. What do my beliefs have to offer modernity except the Cross and self-denial? That's a hard sell, and its discouraging. I've gotten a little too jaded about how crazy and kitchy Christianity must seem to outsiders.

I'm startling to realize that this is another conversion opportunity. I have to decide to be Catholic not because it's what my parents taught me, or because I'm afraid of hell, or even because I loved my college campus ministry community. No, it has to be something I choose myself, today, for the way I live right now. But exactly how do I make that choice?

Lamb of God headstone at my Delaware parish

God gave my jumbled mind and heart a breakthrough this Tuesday as I sat with the daily readings in my local parish. My over-academic brain noticed that there was a lot of material culture in the Gospel accounts of Holy Week - clothes, dishes, donkeys, attic spaces, plants, money. Maybe the two halves of me weren't so separate after all...

I thought about all the reasons why Catholics are supposedly weird:
- We talk about people and things most people have never heard of. Oh wait, that's what my classmates and I do all day long. Normal people don't spend car rides discussing Chippendale chairs, museum ethics, vernacular architecture theories, or Jackson Lears' conception of antimodernism.
- We have goofy rituals and traditions that are off-putting to outsiders. Well, at grad school dinner parties we flip over chairs, climb under tables, and analyze the china. (Seriously, I did that last weekend.)
- Then there's that sticky final issue of poverty and self denial. Frankly, I can't think of a better way to describe getting a master's degree or PhD. Case closed.

late 1800s embroidered Lamb of God burse at Church of the Transfiguration, NYC

Really, the two halves of me work best when they are in tandem. Catholicism has given me an advantage as an historian, and not just in the trivia department. When I look at the world through the eyes of faith, I can see connections everywhere - the hand of Providence in good things, Old Testament allusions in the Mass, words of hymns that pertain to certain moments, experiences that I can compare to events in Christ's life. The entire world is bound together by the love of God, the waters of Baptism, the tangible mystery that is the Eucharist. When I was at Mass tonight, I was connected to thousands of people who lived centuries before me.

There are times when studying history feels similar. Sometimes my mind envisions a timeline of people and events stretching back through the decades, connected by threads of causes and ideas. Good history books weave a complex web of lives and stories to help us understand how the world got the way it is now. The best way I can try to explain it is a kind of 3-D or polarized filter, and you have to make a point to turn it on.

Today, Holy Thursday, I turned in my master's thesis about Episcopal vestments. The whole thing is secretly about the allure of the Eucharist, so it's perfect that it ended on the day Christ instituted that very sacrament. Maybe God is trying to tell me something.

For the rest of the Triduum, I'll be praying for the converts waiting to be Confirmed, and working on my own conversion. I'll be praying for God to open the eyes of my heart, so I can see the connections that have yet to be made.

How writing a master's thesis is sort-of like having a baby

From PhD Comics

1. It takes about nine months for the whole thing to take shape.
2. The idea of it is a little scary and intimidating, but hey, lots of other people have done it and survived. 
3. There are mood swings and bouts of nausea along the way.  
4. You might want to blog/tweet updates at every stage of progress. (I will shut up about my research soon, I swear :-)
5. You are likely to eat random food,  and sit around the house in your most comfortable pants.
6. You'll probably change your mind a few times about the best name for it.
7. As your due date approaches, household tasks suddenly become really fascinating. (Seriously, I cannot stop cooking and doing laundry.)
8. You stay up in the middle of the night tending to it. 
9. In the end, you are proud of what you have made and hope other people love it as much as you do. 
10. You have to let go and send it off into the wide world for other people to take care of - giving my program director a copy of my draft today feels like sending my child off on the school bus for the first day of kindergarten. 

Source

After I started working on this post I discovered that there's a fantastic blog, From Punk to Monk, with some similar posts  Check out Homeboy McCoy's hilarious list of "Top 10 Things Not to Bring to the Monastery."

**No, I'm not pregnant, but I've certainly seen what it's like. Plus when you spend a year working with maternity ward nurses you have far too many TMI medical conversations over lunch. (I miss you ladies!) **

Almost real museum people

Yesterday  I did a guest post/ interview for the Museumist blog's "I'm a museum person" feature. Check out the rest of the entries; It's interesting to hear from people in all sorts of museums and graduate programs. It's also interesting that all of the participants are women. That's definitely a trend in museum studies today, but it wasn't always the case. In past generations, being a curator expert was a man's job; women were simply tour guide "hostesses." Sometimes I can spot remains of the old boy's club, but for the most part women are respected for their intelligence and scholarship.Now its the male museum students who are an endangered species, but that's another story.

In other news, today I took a big official step towards graduation- I turned in my "application for advanced degree" form. It felt really satisfying and exciting to deliver a list of all the classes I've taken, stamped with my professor's approving signatures.It's also a little scary, since it means I'm that much closer to the end - only a month and a half before my final thesis draft is due! I had a lot of conversations with The Beau and classmates today about how we're sick of the grad school grind. Real adult life is so close and tempting. We'll just have to keep marching on together to that promised land.

For this dance we’ll move with each other.
There ain’t no other step than one foot,
Right in front of the other.

There’s so many wars we fought,
There’s so many things we’re not,
But with what we have,
I promise you that,
We’re marching on...

You know you're in grad school when...

• You discover that typing words like "eighteenth century" and "constitution" require too many keyboard gymnastics. Thanks, auto-correct. 
• You accumulate so many library books you run out of shelf space and have to turn them into living room decor. 
• The National Tire and Battery guy assures you their mechanics are so good, they can judge fuel levels by sight and touch - and you think "great connoisseurship skills!"
• Your grad student beau complains that the palace guards in that new Rapunzel movie are wearing nineteenth century Prussian cavalry uniforms, and you justify it as a pastiche of monarchies throughout history. 
• Next semester's syllabi are the hot item to have this season.
• Touring three D.C. museums in one day is perfectly normal, and you have to get up before 6 am tomorrow to drive over 100 miles to do so. It'll be worth it, though!