Man, there's nothing like a good supervision. Makes you want to conquer the world! At least until you start sorting through your action points and deadlines and you realise that there isn't enough caffeine in the world to make it happen the way you want it to.
So. Performance. Experience design. Smoosh them together and you get, what? Experience designs for performers? Check. Performances for experience? Roger that. Focus it all on storytelling and voila! Store-form-ience design.
Yep. That'll fly.
Being and becoming - a PhD on live digital storytelling.
Tracking the development of my PhD, minus the utterly clueless first nine months.
Monday 31 October 2011
Sunday 23 October 2011
October BLEH
I never can keep track of Octobers. They're like old socks, slipping down behind the dryer and refusing to match up properly.
I spent Friday and Saturday nights frantically taking notes and pretending to be an actual Londoner. My funding body and I went to see all seven performances of Show Time at Riverside Studios. All of the performances were interesting and enjoyable for one reason or another, but three jumped out at me as particularly useful for what I'm looking at.
One of those was practically a case study for my ideas about performing personal stories with digital media and how compelling the simplest presentation of an anecdote can be. And funny! Legs 11, a work in progress by Tom Marshman.
Now I think I should have studied humour, because I'd have more reason to dwell on the funny bits. Spoiling It For Everybody Else by Rachel Mars was engaging all around, but I laughed until tears poured down my face at the KPMG song.
Neither incisive nor comprehensive, my review stops there. Friday night we spent at a swanky hotel in Chiswick, and Saturday night we had the most painless journey home from London I think we've ever managed. Perhaps that's good karma for my introduction (the one to my thesis), the umpteenth full draft of which is currently thumbing its nose at me and daring me to string three sentences together in a way that makes any sense at all. That's where I'll be when I'm not teaching my brand spanky new Digital Storytelling for Research course, piloting this Tuesday.
I spent Friday and Saturday nights frantically taking notes and pretending to be an actual Londoner. My funding body and I went to see all seven performances of Show Time at Riverside Studios. All of the performances were interesting and enjoyable for one reason or another, but three jumped out at me as particularly useful for what I'm looking at.
One of those was practically a case study for my ideas about performing personal stories with digital media and how compelling the simplest presentation of an anecdote can be. And funny! Legs 11, a work in progress by Tom Marshman.
Now I think I should have studied humour, because I'd have more reason to dwell on the funny bits. Spoiling It For Everybody Else by Rachel Mars was engaging all around, but I laughed until tears poured down my face at the KPMG song.
Neither incisive nor comprehensive, my review stops there. Friday night we spent at a swanky hotel in Chiswick, and Saturday night we had the most painless journey home from London I think we've ever managed. Perhaps that's good karma for my introduction (the one to my thesis), the umpteenth full draft of which is currently thumbing its nose at me and daring me to string three sentences together in a way that makes any sense at all. That's where I'll be when I'm not teaching my brand spanky new Digital Storytelling for Research course, piloting this Tuesday.
Sunday 2 October 2011
blogging like a twitterer
I have precious few brain cells rattling around up there at the moment, but it's been a scandalously long time since I've posted, so here goes nothing.
I've just come back from five days up in Newcastle, visiting folks at Culture Lab, attending the Culture Shock! conference, meeting a new PhD student at Northumbria University, and chilling with the cousin of a guy my ex-husband used to play music with in New Orleans. Yeah, that's not the way I had expected that sentence to end, either.
The Culture Lab folks knocked my freakin' socks off. I can't even process the ways in which my socks are tumbling across my living room floor, in a sort of anti-gravity mode, continuing their knocked-off-ed-ness from hundreds of miles away.
(Someone explain to me why it is that I buy a ticket online for the 11:58 to King's Cross, yet when they decide to cancel that train - weeks ago - nobody thinks to shoot me an email saying my reserved seat is as valid as a tutu on a hippo, and I could have had an extra half hour's lie-in?)
OK, time to test the theory that the purpose of sleep is to make sense of our waking experiences. If it's true, I'll bound out of bed tomorrow morning with a brilliant new take on my thesis. Either that or that hippo ballerina will be back.
I've just come back from five days up in Newcastle, visiting folks at Culture Lab, attending the Culture Shock! conference, meeting a new PhD student at Northumbria University, and chilling with the cousin of a guy my ex-husband used to play music with in New Orleans. Yeah, that's not the way I had expected that sentence to end, either.
The Culture Lab folks knocked my freakin' socks off. I can't even process the ways in which my socks are tumbling across my living room floor, in a sort of anti-gravity mode, continuing their knocked-off-ed-ness from hundreds of miles away.
(Someone explain to me why it is that I buy a ticket online for the 11:58 to King's Cross, yet when they decide to cancel that train - weeks ago - nobody thinks to shoot me an email saying my reserved seat is as valid as a tutu on a hippo, and I could have had an extra half hour's lie-in?)
OK, time to test the theory that the purpose of sleep is to make sense of our waking experiences. If it's true, I'll bound out of bed tomorrow morning with a brilliant new take on my thesis. Either that or that hippo ballerina will be back.
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