Integrative Seminar

09.08.16

“But when from a long-distance past nothing subsist, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more immaterial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.”

Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (Vol. 1)

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Integrative Seminar

On Rewriting

“First, because to write is to practice, with particular intensity and attentiveness, the art of reading. You write in order to read what you’ve written and see if it’s O.K. and, since of course it never is, to rewrite it — once, twice, as many times as it takes to get it to be something you can bear to reread. You are your own first, maybe severest, reader. “To write is to sit in judgment on oneself,” Ibsen inscribed on the flyleaf of one of his books. Hard to imagine writing without rereading.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2000/12/18/arts/18SONT.html?pagewanted=1

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Integrative Seminar

02.08.16

Words, like the Self, can be many things simultaneously – they can take on new meanings when the spaces that surround them begin to change – they can morph and alter their shapes.

Today, we looked at the ways in which our Keywords, that are seemingly simple, can come to mean so many different things and with each new meaning they take on new forms and shapes. How can we best use these keywords? What are the keywords that seem closest to our experience of our Selves? The students of the First Year Studies for Integrative Seminar I reimagined these words by sharing their experiences of the keywords, creating tributaries of new and interesting meanings.

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Integrative Seminar

Doris Lessing: Talking the Self

“I was born with skins too few. Or they were scrubbed off me by . . . robust and efficient hands.”

This, the first volume of Doris Lessing’s autobiography, begins with her childhood in Africa and ends on her arrival in London in 1949 with the typescript of her first novel, The Grass Is Singing, in her suitcase.

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