7.30 am. Arose. 8.30 pm. Open Day, with the Ambassadors preparing, welcoming, and touring, or Helen with her clipboard (in her role as Duty Sargent), or the display of cakes. Instead, I posted images of the School and the town on a sunny day, as an antidote to the prevailing dismal weather. Not being able to do one thing presses you to do another — to be more inventive. 9.30 am. I reviewed last night’s compositions. They sound complete in themselves. (I think I knew all along that this would be so.)
10.00 am. I returned to the book. I need to distil an account of its scope, rationale, and intent for my meeting with the publisher in London on Friday:
In between bouts of heady conceptualising, I began opening up the third composition again; it had begun to suggest the need for a dark and uncertain coda, in acknowledgement of the tragedy that had beset Jeanne Deckers‘ life, and its abrupt conclusion.
12.30 pm. My Open Day shift began. To begin: Tweet Central re-opens:
Several of the parents had associations with the School of Art from the time when it was a chemistry department. A surprising number of students follow in their forbearers’ and siblings’ footsteps in applying to this university.
A welcome brighter sky emerged periodically, following lunchtime. I manned the Information Desk until 2.00 pm, when I stood in Dr Cruise’s stead and delivered the sample art history lecture to a small but engaged gathering. We should really offer this in the morning session, when the crowds appear. (Note to self: Download the PowerPoint file and test it on the desktop rather than on Dropbox.) 2.45 pm. Back to the desk. The visitors were attending today’s second introductory talk:
Time, then, to thin my inbox. 4.30 pm. Homeward.
Back at homebase, I tweaked further the trio of compositions before pulling down the shop blinds, at 5.15 pm. 6.30 pm. An evening with my wife.