On education
Remember this?
It’s the post I wrote back in April when the Arts Council announced their new NPO organisations and the company I work for wasn’t included. At the time I was energised by all the bad news, and simultaneously really pissed off with uni. Every assessment felt like pointless crap and I just wanted to be out of Leicester and living an adult life again.
My uni course is sold on its practicalities; the field trip to Amsterdam, the festival of lectures, the industry placements. It’s a fantastic course for those who want to gain hands-on experience and make real contacts in the arts. I came to it in 2009 frustrated as hell that I couldn’t get a job with more responsibility than my existing theatre admin post. This degree was going to be a step towards a glittering career in producing.
Then it turns out I popped this enormous boner for the theory stuff. The essays that had my coursemates wailing WTF IS THE ACTUAL POINT and how they’re not spending three and a half grand a year to learn what MATTHEW FUCKING ARNOLD THINKS were the ones that had me reading all hours because it’s all just so massively, amazingly, incredibly FASCINATING. With hindsight, I think that part of the reason why I hated second year so much was because it was all so industry-based. To me, perhaps because I’d worked for a few years already and was doing a part-time arts job, it all felt like being forced to study common sense. And wtf, exactly, is the actual point in that?
Before the second year, I’d been all set to save up my uni scholarship money to do a post-grad course and pursue a career as an academic. I loved the theatre, and I loved the experimental arts scene and wanted to find my place within it, but learning was what got my heart racing. I could do real-life research into the way people react physically to artistic works! Like, strap them into a chair and measure their breathing and shit! ACTUALLY AMAZING.
Then last year I completely frittered away the couple of grand I’d saved on train fares, theatre tickets, and drink. Hooray for idiocy! I was adamant that I wanted to be in London. London London London. It’s where theatre lives, innit? There are very many good universities in London, and very many interesting postgrad courses, but none of them made me want to do yet another year (one of the last in my 20s) with no fucking money.
Now, entering my final few months in Leicester, I’m writing this dope as fuck essay about Theodor Adorno for my music module, my dissertation’s starting to flesh itself out with some Kant, and last term’s essay on museums was about how Michel Foucault understood the creation of truth. THE CREATION OF TRUTH. If you don’t get a bit sex-dizzy just from that phrase ALONE then you should basically stop reading my blog because I don’t want your type round here.
(Foucault holding a pair of over-sized imaginary testicles.)
Every time I’ve picked up a book over the Christmas holiday I’ve ended up thinking about an MA course that I found and dismissed over a year ago. Cultural and Critical Theory (Aesthetics pathway) at the University of Brighton. Brighton’s waaaaaaaay cool. Turns out I’ve walked past the Faculty of Arts building a fair few times when I’ve visited in the past. But it’s not London, so it got crossed off the list. Except it’s the right fucking course. It’s the perfect fucking course. I applied for it two days ago. Yesterday I did some sums, and I reckon I can pull it off financially too. And I spent a lot of time on Google Street View. ALL THE CAMERA ANGLES ARE SUNNY.
I’m so excited I can barely sleep. :D
(Just have to get accepted now. And tell my parents. Soz Mum and Dad if you’re reading his before I come to visit in a couple of weeks. Also, I’ll probs be needing that money from Grandpa now.)
