Growth in Drought Conditions

I have had a leave of absence for the past three semesters from uni. I figured art therapy and uni were too much to do at that point in time - my doing-things threshold was pretty low. Problem is, it will be time to pick my degree up again in July and ... well, I can't say I'm all that enthused about it, to be honest. Which is patently silly and pointless thinking, because I have 1/4 of my degree to go, and I have done 18 subjects over 400,000 years, and to throw it in now would be something I would suspect borders the realms of stupid self-sabotage. It would defy logic.

Well, except for the logic that I really don't like my university - their motives are clear, their love for the bottom line and for equipping their students to go out and earn as much cash as possible blatant and frankly it just makes me feel old and idealistic and stupid to think that universities should be something devoted to higher learning as opposed to churning out cookie-cutter job marketeers. But what place idealism in these times except for around the fringes? I wish I had been around in the heady days of Gough Whitlamia when university education was free and the Arts revered.

I am tempted to let my degree lapse, to apply next year to Deakin, the university at which I began my degree. Deakin offers philosophy subjects; I have in fact already completed two of them. They also offer offline studying options which are also appealing.

Maybe it's good that universities are economically rationalised to within an inch of their lives. Herds the money-focussed elements into one large pen while the people on the outskirts can ply their wares and knowledge and practice with each other in peace. It never ceases to amaze me the amount of people out there who are generous with their time and knowledge when it comes to sharing their passions. I saw it yesterday in the chat I had with the man who designed the sensory garden at the Royal Talbot Hospital. I was there on an artist date of sorts, garnering ideas for this art space that has impaled itself in my head. He was happy to talk, to share his knowledge, for me to take photos. When people are passionate about what they do, what they know, what they have learnt, they pass it on. It is viral.

This man commented on how wonderful gardening is in its communality, the learning and sharing that is passed on from one person to another. My landlord was here the other day and we sat outside and chatted - he is always up for a philosophical discussion, teasing the complexity. Those sorts of people are rather thin on the ground so you take them when you can find them :) He inspected my tomato plant, it's tiny little fruits growing and ripening, and suggested that tomatoes need much more space to grow than my container can afford. I have this knowledge now, in my brain. Such a tiny small thing, but so much better to have gained it from someone who learnt it himself, than from a book, much as I voraciously love those.

I think that small pieces of learning coming virally from the mouths of others, the teaching that happens organically when people hang together, is much more richer and vibrant than the teaching that comes out of the academy. Instead of desks and curriculum and external assessment, there is interaction between human beings, rich, humous, adapted to its environment.

I wonder at how the Greek academy would spin in its grave at the paltry descendant that bleats tiredly these days in the West.

I am developing a slowly growing fondness and appreciation for succulents. The white one above, especially. Cotyledon orbiculata, 'silver waves'. My English blood yearns for green hills and lush foliage, especially when we are on fire, but there is a more subtle charm in the succulents that filled this garden yesterday, such variety of foliage and colour, all surviving in drought conditions.