What would be the best university one could either attend or work for? One where people (students and staff) were valued for who they were, and not only for what they achieved. In this day and age, such a university would be radical, against the grain, and redemptive. The heat after the rain gave rise to a tropical-like humidity and odour. The trees and grass smelled like a rainforest (I imagine).

Back on the shop floor: the ladders had congregated; they were up to something:

In between forays to the studios, and periods of advisement, drilling, measuring, and lifting, I carried on marking the Art in Wales essays. There’s a virtue in physical labour that’s entirely absent from mental work. The making of art enables one to engage both, often simultaneously. It is, in this respect, an ideal of labour.

After lunch, and a rather sluggish start in the studio this morning, the energy level began to build. There is an impressive carefulness evident in the students’ approach; this has been there since the screens were set up. It’s a testament to incipient professionalism. This environment provides no nourishment for indifference and diffidence.

On with Art in Wales project assessment, in the spaces between studio visits. I find it increasingly difficult to suddenly change my mindset from a focus on fine art to one on art history, and back again. The disciplines’ respective approaches to advisement and assessment are so unalike.

In the evening, following my habitual post-dinner guitar practise session, I completed the final scripts for the Art in Wales module. I’m flagging, and my fine art assessment duties haven’t even begun. (They commence tomorrow.) But I have a mode of escape, if things get too much: