Giving the Power and Freedom of Education Back to the Student

At the end of an english lecture I suddenly zoned in for a change when the words of the lecturer caught my ear.  She told us, the students, that we could send her feedback on the provisional essay questions that she had set for the assignment worth 40% of our mark for this semester.  I couldn’t quite believe it, there were gasps from the audience: for once we actually had a say on important work that is part of the assessment.  Ok, so there weren’t actually gasps; more like sighs of relief that the lecture had finished – nobody seemed to be as struck as I was at our new found power.

     Upon leaving the lecture theatre I hit the library to see the provisional questions the lecturer had uploaded and immediately I spotted things that I found problematic or confusing.

     It was great for the tables to be turned and for me to be able to mark the work of my superior.  Exams and assignments are always things that we seem take for granted: inevitable, unchangeable, just plain awful – and it’s true.  That’s what they’re like, it’s always been that way (sometimes good, sometimes bad) and no one can change that.  But it was liberating to participate and contribute to my education for once – I have never had an opportunity like that before and I don’t think another will come up soon.  I felt as if the outcome of my studying was in my own hands, where it belongs, and no longer decided by devious essay questions that they haven’t changed for about 20 years.

     I sent my comments away (generally things like be more specific here, clarify what this means or consider rewording this) with a word of caution that I wasn’t trying to sound like I knew better or that my suggestions were infallible.  I basically wrote how I was really just thrilled to actually have a say. 

     Over the past year and a half of pressing on with Uni work I’ve found it fascinating and enlightening in so many ways; but there are times when you can’t help feel a little frustrated at the way the courses are run.  Sometimes it’s timetable dilemmas, other times it’s the long wait for assignment feedback then the unhelpfulness of the comments; not to mention that at Strathclyde University the faculty of Humanities, Arts and Social Sciences (HASS) has been brutally marginalised and undervalued - that’s for another article but believe me it is in the making.  Remember all the times when you wished you could just scream at your lecturer or tutor because of their complete failure to understand the situations, desires and needs of students?  You put up with it at school, but University can be different.  There’s nothing wrong with challenging work and you get used to the stress of deadlines, but can we at least have some say on important issues like how we’re assessed, what from the classes should take and know that when we have concerns and suggestions someone will listen to us.  Lecturers need to get off the picket line and start interacting with students again.

     So, take note lecturers and University officials across the land: it’s our education – can we have it back please?

      Sigh of relief and air punch, my comments were very well received.  Thank you, lecturer, look what can be accomplished when we work together. 

     This was an example of a lecturer trying to engage with students, but students have to respond because it works both ways.  Call me the sacky-student-suck-up if you want to; but I look at the essay questions before my email, and then look at the amended questions the lecturer posted recently – this sacky student had his say and made a difference.

Making a Stand at Sochi

Consider the effort, ambition and determination that an athlete puts into competing at a major sporting event – the Olympics, Paralympics and Winter Olympics being the apex of the sporting calendar – then imagine being told at the last minute it was all in vain.  For reasons beyond your control you can no longer take part in what you’ve spent your life preparing for: crushing your hopes and dreams and potentially ruining careers.  This is the main reason why I think it would be wrong to boycott the Sochi Winter Olympics – respect for those representing team GB.

     However, I do realise it comes at the cost of giving up the principals of human rights that Britain has always championed.  Put simply, the overt homophobia in Russia is appalling.  For far too long it has been unchallenged by the rest of the world leaving many liberal countries with only a facade of tolerance: it’s all well and good to support equality at home, but ignoring international discrimination without any strong condemnation is hypocritical.  Putin’s anti-gay and lesbian rhetoric is ludicrous.  His anti-gay legislation has seen countless members of the Russian LGBT population physically and psychologically bullied with crimes ignored by the authorities. 

     With this in mind, I still believe that boycotting the Sochi Winter Olympics would be the wrong course of action.  I think that David Cameron is right to say that the best way to stand up to the crimes in Russia is to participate as opposed to sitting out.  Mainly because, unfortunately, boycotting the games would have little effect other than being a moral protest.  A protest of real consequence would only work if a number of liberal democracies signed up; and even then, would Russia listen or even care?

     As well as having little effect, a boycott would be politically damaging and I think this is Cameron’s main concern.  Relations with Russia are frosty at the best of times, but to snub such a massive event could potentially look like a petty retort to the disagreements the countries have had over the years.  Furthermore, it could escalate (as I’m sure the press would acknowledge) and resurrect the battle of liberalism against communism – it sounds a bit extreme, but the media wouldn’t hesitate to dramatise the issue. 

     The issues in Russia can only be solved by the international community pulling together to chastise the country for its human rights abuses.  The Winter Olympics itself is a sporting event and therefore should not be compromised for competitors and fans solely because of the faults of the host country; politics and sports are never a winning combination and should be left to their own devices.  The protest should have been against Russia hosting the event in the first place; but now, the situation is unchangeable.   Political diplomacy and pressure during and after the games would be more effect than not showing at all – which would almost be like giving in.  Let Britain turn up and show them how we do.      

Where the Wind Blows

My room was pitch black save from the blue silhouette of my blinds and I wrapped myself in my bed sheets as the wind roared outside.  I decided there and then that I wasn’t going to Uni – not in this weather.  I considered it a risk to my life to even leave the house this morning.  My Twitter feed was inundated with storm chaos updates: fallen trees, floods, transport bedlam – Central Station had to be evacuated after the glass roof shattered.  There were also the flippant tweets like film adaptations for the return of “Hurricane Bawbag”; Bwabag 2: Desolation of Bawbag, being the best.

     I went downstairs to (what seemed like) total destruction.  Two fence panels completely destroyed; no internet, landline or Sky TV.  Without these commodities there’s nothing left for me to do in my world, nothing left of any value.  I might actually have to stop procrastinating!

     Gale force winds for a few hours and our daily routines descend into madness.  A state of emergency is declared as infrastructure halts and people can’t get to work, the shops, or whatever they were expecting to do today; children are sent back to exasperated parents and we pick up the fallen trees and broken glass. 

     It’s inconvenient, but it’s not devastating.    

     We forget what a nuisance the weather can be sometimes.  Really, we take it for granted every day.  You’ll have forgotten by now, but as I was moping about having no internet for one morning, I was reminded of the Philippines.  It’s estimated that up to 10,000 people have died from hurricane Haiyan, one of the strongest hurricanes ever to have hit land.  It puts our “Bawbag the Second” in perspective.  Our weather is irritating, that’s it.  We can rebuild minor damage in an afternoon; it’ll take the victims of Haiyan their entire lives.

     Now, all is still and the sun is breaking through the clouds.  “Bawbag” is moving south for the English to deal with and will probably be rebranded into something unrecognisable.  Tomorrow is another day. 

Jack Vettriano: A Retrospective

Exploring the work of one of the world’s most famous contemporary painters at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum

I was in a shopping centre not so long ago wandering about listlessly as I often tend to do.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, an image caught my eye.  I paused, looked back and stared.  The scene (a painting, in the midst of a gallery) presented a couple dancing, a gentleman in a dinner suit and a lady in a red dress, on a beach.  There are two people at either side who appear to be a butler and maid.  The background is dominated by a murky blue overcast sky, beginning to break at the top in white puffs of cloud.  This is contrasted with the golden beach: shinning in a glaze of water from a recent tide.  The sea, a blue strip, somewhere on the horizon.

    It’s a painting of detail.  Detail which culminates in a captivating story.  I want to know who this couple are and why they’re on a beach in such formal attire.  Maybe they’ve left the party seeking an intimate moment to themselves.  The butler and the maid are at their sides: both with umbrellas high in the air – I feel their frustration.  I also feel the wind on my back every time I look at the maid clutch on to her hat with her other hand to stop it blowing away.  They try to look as resolute as they can under the circumstances – they’ve been put there for a reason.  The couple need shelter.  Indeed, they seem completely unfazed as they waltz on the sands.  The foreboding, blustery setting is imperceptible against their elegance.  I could depict more of the detail: the lady has no shoes on; we can’t see any of the figures’ faces.  But realistically, upon first glance, you see the poise of the dancing couple; you feel their passion, their desire to love.  It’s romantic – and it’s worth nearly one million pounds.

     I walked by the gallery in the shopping centre several times to glimpse at the painting.  I went home but I couldn’t get the image out of my head.  I was left almost in agony because I had no clue as to the name of the painting or even the name of the artist.  Time passes.  Often when I feel moved or sentimental I’m reminded of the blissful couple.  Eventually, I meet them again.  This time on the cover of a lavish hard-back book with the words “Jack Vettriano” printed on the front. 

     Putting the pieces together now and my new-found love of art is taking shape.  So in true dilettante style I take to the internet to find out more. 

     What follows is a celebratory air punch when I discover Jack Vettriano is Scottish – he’s from St Andrews.  His career as an artist is almost a fluke.  Vettriano’s girlfriend got him a set of water colour paints for his 21^st birthday.  Since then he’s been busy.  In 1989 Vettriano sold one if his paintings for £180 and gave up his career as a mining engineer to paint full time. 

     As I’m looking round his Retrospective exhibition at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum I wonder which one it is.  When over 100 paintings from the same artist are showcased together it’s easy to see common themes.  Most paintings portray a lifestyle of glamour, money and hedonism.  There is often a feel of classic Hollywood and many paintings are inspired by the Riviera.

     One such painting that evokes the Hollywood era is “Bluebird at Bonneville” (pictured left).  The painting is of the famous car Bluebird which was driven by Sir Malcolm Campbell in 1935 when he broke the world record for speed on the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah.  This painting uses two colours: white and blue.  This is another outstanding use of contrast.  A quotation on the wall beside the painting from Vettraino explains: “I loved the pure blue of the car against the bright white of the Utah Salt Flats – it gives the sense of an almost dream-like quality.”  In 2007 the painting sold at an auction in Gleneagles for £468 000. 

     The bygone Hollywood era and the paintings of girls in beach cafés evoke a warm nostalgia.  But at the other end of the spectrum Vettriano is notorious for his collection of erotic paintings.  There are connotations of prostitution with men in suits and women in lingerie.  Most of the paintings you would include in the “erotic collection” elude to sex – never love.  One painting that caught my eye at the exhibition was of a woman draped in a white dress sprawled on a couch: she has her arm hanging down, cigarette in hand; she’s facing away as if exasperated.  The painting (pictured above) is called “After the Thrill is Gone” and like many other erotic paintings there is a subtext of despair. 

     Evocative or vulgar?  It’s a big problem for Jack Vettriano.  Critics have called his work “badly conceived soft porn” while another said he “doesn’t paint, he colours in.”  Vettriano hit back and said he focuses on the “power of sex” and the way it manipulates people.   

     I have all this in my mind when leaving Vettriano’s Retrospective exhibition.  But before I go I want to have one last look at my favourite painting of the dancing couple – which I now know to be called “The Singing Butler” (pictured below) and was painted in 1992 selling for roughly £750 000 in 2004.  It’s easy to see its appeal and why the artist makes a lot of money in royalties each year from print replicas.  Perhaps the art critics don’t like it for this reason: maybe it’s too “mainstream”; maybe art isn’t meant to be liked.  Technically, Vettriano isn’t the best artist that ever lived and he admits this.  But I don’t see the logic behind devaluing something simply because it’s popular. 

     I buy some postcards on my way out for my wall and I make sure to leave a comment in the visitor book: “captures the hopes and fears of a decadent era both then and now.”

 

Jack Vettriano: A Retrospective is an exhibition of the artist’s paintings from 1992 to 2013 and will be at the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum until the 23^rd of February 2014.  Student tickets are £3.  Please visit http://www.glasgowlife.org.uk/museums/kelvingrove/current-exhibition/Jack-Vettriano-A-Retrospective/Pages/default.aspx

Fresher's and Alcohol: Mad to get Mad Wae it?

Fresher’s week reminds me of one of my favourite quotes: “I’ve been drunk for about a week now and thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.”  Wise words, from renowned author and alcoholic, F. Scott Fitzgerald.  I feel it reflects the Fresher’s experience accurately: a week of partying followed by the realistic truth that there’s work to do when it’s all over.   It’s true to say that a lot of Freshers will be drunk for roughly an entire week.  But is getting drunk at Fresher’s just harmless fun?  Or should students be thinking about their health, safety and finances as opposed to reckless hedonism?

     Alcohol, and all the hilarity, vomit and amnesia than come with it, is synonymous with Fresher’s week.  As the French will be obnoxious and as Scotland will be wet – Fresher’s will be drunk.  Attitudes towards alcohol are varied.  Even with Scotland’s notorious booze culture, it’s a divisive thing for many people.  The Scottish government are taking it very seriously – seemingly one step away from prohibition.  But all things considered I don’t think it’s necessary to worry about students drinking. 

     It seems a little naïve to expect a Fresher not to get ‘too pissed’ because it’s seen as irresponsible.  The university experience is about many things from academia to socialising.  But there’s one thing that makes it all meaningful: freedom.  The freedom to be who you are and express yourself; as well as the freedom of independence and spirit that students cherish.  But above all, is the freedom to have fun because at no other point in your life will you be as young and carefree.  

     But, with this in mind, there is certainly no freedom to be drunk, only the freedom to enjoy yourself.  The two should not be confused and students are aware of the dangers caused by drinking too much – do so then you won’t be enjoying yourself very much.  If you’re accepted into university in the first place then it’s because you have a certain degree of intelligence.  Therefore I’m sure most students know how to drink responsibly by experience and know the risks through education. 

     Putting aside the issue of alcohol, the most important thing for a Fresher to do is just get involved: have a blast – create memories and make friendships that will last a lifetime.  Remember, you regret only the things you don’t do.  Alcohol will undoubtedly be involved for a lot of people, but each individual knows what’s best for them: how much they can drink and how much they want to spend. 
    
     Fresher’s is about so many things from the budding academic within us to the montage of drunken memories.  But many people are left feeling conflicted and it’s a time of deep introspection.  Within the buzz of the Fresher’s Fair, under the flashing lights of the bar – uncertainty creeps into the revelry: why am I here? Do I fit in? Can I make this “uni thing” work? Will it be as good as my friends? Then what will become of me?  Sounds like something to ponder hungover – perhaps in a library. 

Review: World War Z

Angelina Jolie is not in this film – I just needed to get that bit of admin cleared up.  It was a solid forty minutes after leaving the cinema before the bubble burst and my illusion shattered – the leading lady in World War Z was never Angelina Jolie.  Of course, you all knew this and are giggling amongst yourselves. I get to the cinema often enough but my film trivia knowledge is truly appalling; and my awareness of Angelina Jolie truly ignorant.  However, I can tell you (with assertion) that Brad Pitt is most definitely in this film.  I guess that’s where my lethal assumption came from about Miss Jolie’s presence.  Otherwise, we’re looking at a well rounded, exciting, and (in more ways than one) familiar action-horror zombie experience.

     Glasgow’s the new Hollywood.  No, seriously: Glasgow really is the new Hollywood.  It was nearly two years ago when the zombie circus rolled into town and Glasgow city centre transformed into Philadelphia because, by logic, Glasgow looks more like Philadelphia than the city of Philadelphia does.  I’m not complaining, it was fantastic to view the set and feel involved in an international project.  One of the film’s first scenes is of a Glasgow bus stop that I’m convinced is right outside the Royal College Building of Strathclyde Uni.  Hundreds of Glaswegians turned into zombie extras, but they stayed true to themselves: only doing it for a hundred quid!  Just to say, I have no witty lines about the correlation between Glaswegians and zombies – you’ve heard them all by now so I’ll spare you. 

     Other than seeing Glasgow on the silver screen, I wasn’t sure what to expect from World War Z.  But ten minutes into the film, I knew exactly what was going to happen – just not how.  You’ve seen this film before.  Many times.  Perhaps not in the cinema for a while, but World War Z is structured adhering to the expected conventions of a zombie-apocalypse film; and also, the conventions of the new “disaster movie” genre that’s developed over the past decade.  If you had your heart set on a zombie film that pushes the boundaries or strives for originality then you’ll probably be disappointed. 

     The best way to watch World War Z is as an action movie.  The film presents a gripping story line and elements of danger that feel very real.  Thankfully, the film wastes no time in getting to the gritty zombie warfare: within ten minutes George Square is thronged with zombies heralding chaos that will never cease.  With a certificate of 15, the film crosses over to the horror genre occasionally with one or two scares and some scenes of breathless tension.  I think World War Z should be praised for finding the perfect balance between horror and action: it’s free from excessive gore and exaggerated life or death scenarios; it’s a zombie film for sane people looking for a thrill, not to feel disgusted. 

     While the action is top quality, there’s a lag in the drama especially when it comes to the family relationships.  The acting is fine, not outstanding – just passing as convincing.  Brad Pitt’s not bad: ex-soldier turned family man – called back to action because he’s America’s finest.  He becomes separated from his wife (Mireillie Enos) and kids as they remain on the safety of a UN ship.  But right from the start the relationships between the family comes across as wooden and superficial.  One of the kids declares she wants a puppy for her birthday as they sit round having a pancake breakfast.

     Unfortunately, this means some of the adrenaline is lost because as a viewer we don’t feel there’s enough at stake because we just don’t care for the family who (apart from at the start) are in no real danger.  There could have been an interesting narrative strand developed with the family struggling without their hero father, but nothing worthwhile ever happens to them and they remain at the other end of the phone occasionally checking Brad is still alive.  Alternatively, a good story line could omit the family altogether and see Pitt play the lone wolf: quit the army but reluctantly goes back to save the world; in the end finding love, glory, new meaning… Unfortunately they wouldn’t touch my unsolicited script!  But I’d also like to point out that World War Z wins my award for worst sound bite of the year: “How do you know they’re coming?” “…They’re coming.”  They really should have tried my script. 

     The story does redeem itself by the end.  The solution to the pandemic is intriguing; also effective in the way it wasn’t too pessimistic, but not a happily ever after – it was realistic and worked well.  The last half hour was set in a medical research facility and made for some of the best cinema I’ve seen in ages.  Despite being your stereotypical zombie-doomsday tumult it seems to have appealed to audiences taking $118.8m at its opening weekend with Brad hinting at a sequel.  If they make another I hope they cast Angelina Jolie just to please me; and, of course, shoot it again in Glasgow – sorry, Philadelphia.

Lana Del Rey Live at the SECC, Glasgow

Not long before Lana Del Rey’s Scottish performance it was reported on The Scotsman’s website that the American singer surprised a Co-op cashier in Shawlands when she spotted the singer waiting at the back of her queue.  The store worker told Lana that she looked like “that American singer” and to her disbelief it really was.  Lana bought the cahier a copy of Vogue and signed it for her.  Before reading this I wasn’t entirely convinced of Lana’s seemingly random affection for the city of Glasgow.  She had previously tweeted: “all my friends and family are in Glasgow" and the city was where she was “happiest”.  It was also reported in the Metro that the all-American singer bucked the trend on celebrity travel when she touched down in Scotland on an Easyjet flight.

     I do struggle to consolidate most of my friends and family with Lana Del Rey: mainstream in popularity, but definitely not in style.  Most of the time you’ve either never heard of her; or you have, but immediately dismissed her as depressing.  Upon first listen, admittedly, her music does sound depressing – calling the album “Born to Die” probably doesn’t help.  However, to the right set of ears, you’ll understand that if you listen to her songs then they are better described as realistic and evocative.  Albeit, some songs will sound pretentious to some: your typical sad song with exaggerated references to sex, drugs and death.  But Lana Del Rey’s records are autobiographical, they tell stories - especially about life, relationships, money and the influence of America. 

     The appeal is there.  It comes not only from the lyrics but from the voice.  Lana Del Rey is classic, soul, jazz, pop all emanating from one woman.  The vocals are everything from tender young sweetheart to gritty urban woman.  The range is impressive and a Lana track stands out in the contemporary charts.  Being already obsessed with most of the tracks, the crowd just needed to hear them being performed.  Lana Del Rey never disappointed: the set was majestic with palm trees, lion statues and screens in gold frames; but most importantly, Lana sounded perfect – hitting every note, even the outstanding high and low ones that artists often omit during live shows.

     “My pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola” was the opening line of the concert taken from the sexually explicit track “Cola”.  Following this was a well chosen set-list including all the singles.  “Born to Die” was one highlight.  The UK top ten hit was performed with style: Lana stood back from the crowd and let us appreciate the tones of her voice and the profound melancholy of the lyrics.  Whereas “Without You”, a softer track about the triviality of fame and fortune in the absence of love, saw the singer intimate with the audience, sitting on the edge of the stage.  The crowd were ecstatic when she introduced latest single “Young and Beautiful” featured on the soundtrack for the new “Great Gatsby” film. 

     During live shows I like to take a minute during a favourite song to listen carefully and really appreciate the singer.  Quite often it’s a once in a lifetime performance to hear your favourite artist in your home city and I want to see how it compares to every time you’ve heard the singer on the radio , iPod or watched them live on Youtube.  The crowd get the chance to experience the artist and see why they’re famous: in person, as it happens and for two hours they’re no longer remote icons in our ears.  Lana Del Rey is a singer and her live performances showcase her talent – a talent that is arguably increasingly rare in contemporary music.

     At most gigs, you have a vague dislike towards everyone else in the crowd – after all, they are literally standing in the way between you and your favourite singer.  At the SECC that night I never liked the look of those desperate hipster teens: clad in their denim armour, platform style Converse and even one sporting a ghetto-style gold chain.  They all must have been colour blind and stumbled out of the same Topman outlet.  Fashion crisis aside, my problem was the crowd had very poor concert etiquette and most seemed too immature to know how to stand properly at a gig.  Of course, I’m not the author of the ‘concert rule book’; but queue skipping, aggressive pushing and starting fights in the middle of a packed crowd will most likely be found in the ‘don’t’ section.

     Gigs are always cramped, but it’s unbearable when you can’t even move your hands and you’re pressed against people at all sides.  Every time Lana approached the front of the stage you were thrust forward by vain people pushing from behind.  Instead of appreciating the music, you spent most of the time apologising to the indignant people around you and trying not to fall over.  I managed to survive only because I’m tall; but there was a chance of somebody being seriously injured if they fell or felt claustrophobic.  Unfortunately, this meant that some of the songs were completely ruined including “Ride” – one of Lana’s most personal and captivating singles.  Perhaps the discomfort is the price paid for being so close to the stage and getting some good snaps but it has never been as chaotic at any gig I’ve been to before. 

     But the majority of people made it to the end to hear “National Anthem” a track very much inspired by the superpower USA and its capacity for love, glory and fortune; but, as already well expressed, it’s often a semblance covering a hollow and superfluous nation. It’s a signature track for the star even if its message isn’t entirely significant to us Scots.  But it just shows the international appeal that Glasgow has to the big stars: they want to bring their music and their message and share it with their Scottish fans.  If you were lucky enough to be in the front row and still standing then you will have surely got an autograph and photo with Lana because she went along the row at the end while the strings played out “National Anthem”.  By that point, however, the riotous crowd had seen us pushed back about five rows!  Lana was out of sight, but her melodies and lyrics have been playing out in my mind since.   
Words and pictures by Chris Park