{"id":16055,"date":"2021-12-21T21:13:27","date_gmt":"2021-12-21T21:13:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/artjournalstg.wpenginepowered.com\/?p=16055"},"modified":"2021-12-23T16:54:09","modified_gmt":"2021-12-23T16:54:09","slug":"the-quarantine-question","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/artjournal.collegeart.org\/?p=16055","title":{"rendered":"The Quarantine Question"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

How has the past year’s quarantine affected your professional life?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Please click on individual boxes for the introductory essay and individual replies to the question. Thanks!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The Eleventh Day<\/span>


\"Double
Guest editors Dana E. Katz
and Lisa Pon

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The Eleventh Day<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

As the year 2020 came to a close, the New York Times<\/em> looked back at the twenty phrases<\/a> that defined this pandemic year. One of the words was \u201cunprecedented,\u201d a buzzword that took hold of US advertising and US politics to mark an extraordinary year filled with racial-justice protests, election anxieties, wildfires, and, of course, the global coronavirus pandemic. Among the COVID-inspired terms to arise in 2020, Times<\/em> journalist Tim Herrera remarked that the word \u201cpod\u201d made a strong showing in institutional practice and quotidian behavior in the United States. Long associated with life-giving security (\u201cseedpod\u201d) and cozy similarity (\u201clike two peas in a pod\u201d), the word garnered new meaning this past year, \u201c[a]s\u201d\u2014in Herrera\u2019s words\u2014\u201cAmericans decided \u2018no thanks\u2019 to a genuine, strict and enforced quarantine, [and] settled for limiting in-person socializing to only a small group of friends and family.\u201d1<\/a><\/sup> Instead of quarantine, then, many of us chose a \u201cquaranteam<\/a>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yet what is \u201cgenuine, strict and enforced\u201d about quarantine? Our English word has tangled roots in postclassical Latin and Old Occitan, indexing both the symbolic period of forty days during which a widow mourned or a soldier served and the place where Jesus fasted during Lent.2<\/a><\/sup> Global pandemic precautions have pulled us out of our usual daily rhythms and provoked what musician-musicologist Malachai Komanoff Bandy calls “library grief”<\/a>3<\/a><\/sup> and other dislocations through measures that are on the whole personal, limited in scale, and largely voluntary. Instead of externally imposed quarantine, the Center for Disease Control offers \u201cguidance<\/a>\u201d and, at the time of writing, President Biden\u2019s vaccine mandate faces \u201clukewarm . . . and hostile<\/a>\u201d responses. Centuries ago, late medieval and early modern Europeans from present-day Dubrovnik to London were subject to genuine, strict, and enforced interventions during their times of plague. As historian John Henderson recently pointed out, public health boards were established across the Italian peninsula; these governmental bodies \u201ccoordinated the overall control of plague measures within the city and the state, making sure that the complex system of identifying plague victims, their quarantining or burial, and the isolation of those who had come into contact with the sick, were enforced.”4<\/a><\/sup> The coordination and enforcement of these policies by these public health magistrates made it possible for their constituencies to survive catastrophic outbreaks of deadly disease that occurred there repeatedly between the mid-fourteenth and mid-eighteenth centuries.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the early fifteenth century, Venice was actively leveraging its unique geography\u2014a cluster of islands in a lagoon (shown in this image<\/a> of a 1572 engraving) perfectly positioned for pan-European and Mediterranean commerce\u2014to develop strategic public health policies. Venezia la Serenissima<\/em> (\u201cthe Most Serene Republic\u201d) held territories far to the east, at its greatest extent (between 1489 and 1571) including Cyprus, while the city’s fame as the emporium of Europe brought trading partners and eager visitors from across the continent and the Mediterranean world. As a result, early modern Venice teemed with merchants, lacemakers, clothing sellers, bankers, tourists, doctors, and diplomats visiting the city from abroad. Foreign sojourners and settlers alike traveled to the lagoon in search of new market opportunities and a glimpse at the city of the sea, while young Venetian merchants routinely voyaged to Egypt, Syria, and Palestine to learn and to trade, before returning home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This status as a leading cosmopolitan trading node made Venice particularly vulnerable to the plague, such that systematic strategies of isolating the diseased and the contagious were put into place.5<\/a><\/sup> In 1423, city officials established a hospital permanently dedicated to quarantining the plague stricken on a remote lagoon island near the Lido. This plague hospital became known as the \u201cOld Lazaretto\u201d when, in 1468, Venetians erected a second \u201cnew\u201d plague hospital, the Lazaretto Nuovo, on another small island in the northern part of the lagoon. These two restricted quarantine islands had interlocking functions in protecting the city. Those who were sick from plague were sent to the Lazaretto Vecchio to stay in open wards separated by gender. Those deemed contagious, having been in brief or sustained contact with the sick or dead, were sent to the Lazaretto Nuovo. Merchants and their goods arriving from abroad were also sent to the Lazaretto Nuovo, which had a massive warehouse built in 1571 to store and disinfect the incoming merchandise.6<\/a><\/sup><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Venetian system was designed to be double tiered: the plague stricken who survived their stay in the Lazaretto Vecchio were sent for a second period of isolation in the Lazaretto Nuovo before being permitted to return to the city proper.7<\/a><\/sup> As Igor Linkov and Benjamin D. Trump observe, \u201cWith regard to efforts at isolating potential sources of infection, Venice\u2019s plague guardians first merged the notions of Lazaretto (isolation in space) and Quarantine (isolation in time).\u201d8<\/a><\/sup> According to their study on the science of resilient thinking, Venice was an \u201carchetype for resilience management because it was implemented at a systems level\u201d that isolated contagion in space and time.9<\/a><\/sup> Thus, although the two-lazaretto system faltered under the worst circumstances, in the best situations the Venetian containment of the plague remained flexible and porous. Populations of patients came to the two island plague hospitals, rotated through, and left. Furthermore, families, suppliers, and officials visited regularly, and solitary confinement in the lazaretti<\/em> was rare.10<\/a><\/sup> During devastating outbreaks of the plague such as the one in 1575\u221277, other lagoonal islands\u2014including San Clemente, San Lazzaro, and San Secondo\u2014were taken over as overflow spaces for the Lazaretto Vecchio <\/em>and Lazaretto Nuovo, <\/em>and families quarantined in their houses or in parish pods throughout the city.11<\/a><\/sup><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Early modern Venice offers a compelling foil to our own largely atomized COVID-19 responses in its systematic administration of quarantine that also expanded to other urban forms. The xenophobia we now see exacerbated by the ongoing pandemic has historical antecedents in late medieval and early modern Europe, where outbreaks of epidemic disease transformed into allegations against vulnerable social outgroups, most notably Jews.12<\/a><\/sup> Whereas plague-spreading conspiracies in medieval Europe resulted in the burning of Jews at the stake, after accusations that they were poisoning wells and tampering with food supplies, early modern Venice instead offered Jews residence in the newly constructed ghetto. On March 29, 1516, the Venetian Senate ordered all Jews residing in the city to move behind the walls of the Ghetto Nuovo in the northernmost district of Cannaregio.<\/strong>13<\/a><\/sup> The mandate stipulated that they would be watched by Christian guards twenty-four hours a day and restricted by a nighttime curfew. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"Color<\/a>
Dana E. Katz, Ghetto Nuovo, Venice, 2006 (photograph provided by the author)<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

The ghetto was an architectural apparatus based on confinement and surveillance that displaced Jews into sequestered spaces. Ghetto enclosure was predicated on the Jews\u2019 bodily movement through the daily opening and closing of the guarded ghetto gates. Closure and aperture of the Venetian ghetto complex were inseparable and mutually constitutive conditions of the Jews\u2019 confinement, interconnected categories thought essential to the stabilization of Venice\u2019s social geography and economic prosperity. In fact, isolation in the Jewish ghetto came with a key. Archival documents specify that two keys were to be placed \u201cover each of the gates of the ghetto enclosure\u201d to give Jews diurnal contact with Venice.<\/em>14<\/a><\/sup> As such, the Jews\u2019 temporal isolation was scheduled and regulated. The seventeenth-century Venetian rabbi Leon Modena describes the permeability of the ghetto walls during the daytime hours when the ghetto doors remained open: Jews ventured out to work, shop, gamble, visit Christian friends, and teach Christian children, while Christians entered the ghetto compound in search of loans and trade.15<\/a><\/sup> After nightfall, however, the Venetian government attempted to restrict social contact between Jews and their Christian counterparts. Ghettoization evolved in Venice as a nocturnal pursuit. \u201cBecause the darkness of the night offers everyone the possibility of doing evil,\u201d declared Venice\u2019s Council of Ten, the city had to defend the boundaries of night from the potential unruliness of its Jews.16<\/a><\/sup><\/p>\n\n\n\n

After 1516, then, Venice\u2019s Jews were quarantined away from the rest of the populace nightly but allowed to interact with the Christian city during the day.17<\/a><\/sup> After 1423, the plague stricken and contagious were quarantined away from the general public on remote lagoonal islands or in their houses and parishes for periods of eight to sixty days.18<\/a><\/sup> Quarantine was thus never meant to be airtight, continuous, or permanent, but rather limited in scope, even when it was\u2014to return to Herrera’s phrase in the New York Times<\/em>\u2014genuine, strict, and enforced. Giovanni Boccaccio portrayed another famous Italian quarantine in his mid-fourteenth-century series of novellas, the Decameron, <\/em>as strictly time limited even though it was comfortable and voluntary. The ten young protagonists of the Decameron<\/em> flee from plague-wracked Florence to the surrounding countryside during the 1348 plague and take turns telling ten stories each day to pass the time. After ten days of stories, they decide to return to their city, not because the plague has ended there but because they see it is time to rejoin society. Thus, on the eleventh day they arrive again in Florence: “There, taking their leave of the seven women in Santa Maria Novella, from which they had all set out, the three young men went off to pursue other pleasures of theirs, while the ladies in due course returned to their homes.”19<\/a><\/sup><\/p>\n\n\n\n

We have now embarked on our own long eleventh day, reopening and returning to our own pursuits, though our global pandemic is far from over<\/a>.20<\/a><\/sup> After a year and a half of experiments<\/a> in remote, Zoom-mediated sociability, quarantini<\/a> in hand, we now gather face-to-face in classrooms and cafeterias, movie theaters and museums, to be together again. It seems an opportune moment to reflect collectively on our recent experiences, so in summer 2021 we asked colleagues\u2014historians of art, architecture, landscape, and culture; visual artists and musician-musicologists; curators and museum educators\u2014to answer our quarantine question:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How has the past year\u2019s quarantine affected your professional life?<\/strong><\/p><\/p>\n\n\n\n

We received the responses presented here and are pleased that they represent a cross section of AJO<\/em>‘s readership, including established scholars as well as those in early stages of their professional life. Two artists sent in their visual\/aural responses as well. The individual replies that we gathered use word, image, and sound to describe how we have been working and feeling in our personal quarantines of 2020\u22122021, far removed from the top-down governmental systems exemplified in Venice\u2019s lazaretto and ghetto. As we continue to move out from the past year, we offer these contemporary voices as a snapshot of our own transitional moment, made when we are still viscerally close to the abrupt changes of spring 2020.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An interactive word cloud<\/a> represents the words most often used by our respondents.21<\/a><\/sup> Unsurprisingly, the responses often referred to “time<\/a>,”22<\/a><\/sup> a concern that also featured in the New York Times<\/em>‘s 2020 word of the year, Blursday<\/a>. Time shapeshifts in our quarantine circumstances, requiring us to reflect on historic quarantines of centuries past to understand our pandemic present. COVID-19 has also brought with it opportunities for novel thinking. As a group, our respondents were also attentive to the “new<\/a>“23<\/a><\/sup>\u2014new topics, new research, new technology, new forms of solidarity, and more\u2014and they were, as well, gratifyingly concerned about our students<\/a>,24<\/a><\/sup> because they may be the most vulnerable among us. Or perhaps not: some solicited respondents declined our invitation, fearful about voicing aloud the systematic complications and vulnerabilities in and beyond academia that the past eighteen months have laid bare. We have all suffered, and we must all look out for those among us who suffer disproportionately<\/a> due to structural inequities.25<\/a><\/sup> Classics professor Frederic Nolan Clark<\/a> noted, “If there was one silver lining in the dark and difficult days that followed [our lockdown], it was watching our very definition of community expand when it was no longer bounded by time or space (or the strange combination of both in that modern construct of the time-zone!) . . . I hope that\u2014in whatever form of future-time we will enter\u2014we keep expanding community exponentially, beyond the walls of universities, cities, and time-zones alike.”26<\/a><\/sup> Let us consider our recent experiences together and work together toward that expansive community.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

DANA E. KATZ<\/strong><\/a>, art historian and professor, Reed College<\/p>\n\n\n\n

LISA PON<\/strong><\/a>, art historian and professor, University of Southern California<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The co-editors thank Nicole Archer for her warm support of this project.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Image credits<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

The academic life is proverbially described as isolating and solitary. The past year disproved that. For thousands of participants in the Department of State\u2019s Fulbright program, 2020 began with the specter of a global pandemic and the possibility of transmitting SARS-CoV-2 to the participants\u2019 loved ones. For many, this also entailed returning to the US without housing and without health insurance amid an evolving global health crisis. In these unstable circumstances, the 2019\u20132020 cohort of US-Italy Fulbrighters demonstrated courage and composure. Fulbrighters who had to flee the worst affected red zones in northern Italy were taken in by colleagues in other regions. When ordered to return to the US immediately or forfeit our \u201calumni status\u201d and our grants, we updated each other as flights were canceled en masse <\/em>and scenes of teeming airport corridors flooded the news. None of us could have imagined that we would come together, support one another, and advocate for ourselves and the global Fulbrighter community in the ways we did. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

These events shook me from my academic slumber and forced me to think deeply about politics, self-government, and the common good. As the initial panic settled, the ensuing shelter-in-place protocols became a cage from which to observe the antinomy and anomie of life dans l\u2019\u00e9poque covidienne<\/em>. As has been noted, \u201csocial distancing\u201d is not the same as physical distancing, and the pandemic justified a status exceptionis<\/em>. The fear of death may sting more than death itself. Contrary to technocratic fever dreams, humans are not ciphers in a code to be mined and crunched but flesh and bone, soul and body, mind and matter. How best to balance liberty and responsibility is an ancient question to which the American experiment has been one answer, and a question that each generation must answer afresh.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

J. G. AMATO,<\/strong> PhD student in History, Stanford University<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Metamorphosis<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Viruses are a parasitic, constantly mutating horde. They, along with fountains of banal pleasures, live in the farthest recesses of our dreams. Like everything we push to the shadows, viruses eventually emerge from the blinding whiteness and yell in our faces, \u201cWake up: the end is near!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What ends when a viral colony swarms into view?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the corner window I could see migrant sweat evaporate. Across the street, the newly minted preacher chanted a tempestuous sermon\u2014repent, the end is near. My callous spirit watched suspiciously. I turned around and baked spinach bread. By the time a million people were dead I was adept at selling chocolate muffins and lemongrass-infused moonshine. I was shameless. The virus cloud provided the perfect vestiture for a deliciously profitable message: the end is near, indulge your gut. From the corner window, I saw myself turn\u2014turn into a merchant of exotica.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

By the time I walked to the other window, sweat had ceased to evaporate. It was now heavily pregnant with color. Red coated the streets. I stepped into the kitchen; I couldn\u2019t afford to pay attention. I am now a professional peddler who sells the small luxuries that enable the ones who stand on this side of the window to breathe without hunger. A million more have died.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

BEATRIZ E. BALANTA<\/strong>, cultural critic<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

My studio space is in a mixed-use building, so in March of 2020, like many people, I lost access to it for several months to safeguard the health of people who live there. In the midst of delayed projects there was a pause to ask myself what felt most critical during a year of overlapping crises. An issue that came to the forefront was our national housing crisis and who was vulnerable or unable to take refuge at home during the pandemic. As I prepared for a group exhibition that summer addressing the legacies of the Black Panther Party in New Haven, Connecticut, I found myself thinking about how the struggle for housing equity has been ongoing since the civil rights era and grappling with the question of why we don\u2019t see housing as a human right in this country. In my research-based practice, I turned to simple drawing materials as a way to think about these issues. This fall I will be a research fellow at the Schomburg Center in New York to consider how policy, community activism, and images of housing as a critical social value are rendered through the racial imaginary and their relation to social forces like scale, time, and memory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

ALEXIS CALLENDER<\/strong><\/a>, artist and assistant professor, Smith College<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

\"Artwork<\/a>
Rebecca Carter, I can hardly remember<\/i>, 2021, thread, insect pins, and wall surface, 12 x 27 x 2 in. (30.5 x 68.6 x 5.1 cm) (artwork \u00a9 2021 Rebecca Carter; photograph provided by the artist)<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

Groundless thread drawings use a sewing machine to make marks on paper; the paper is then dissolved away and the resulting tangled skeins are suspended over the wall like spider webs, allowing light and air to be caught or pass through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

REBECCA CARTER<\/strong><\/a>, artist<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

The COVID-19 pandemic has foregrounded preexisting systemic inequities within academic art history. These inequities involve labor conditions vis-\u00e0-vis work inside and outside the home, access to healthcare and support networks, and the availability of free time, rest, and love in its many forms. The pandemic has accentuated the long-term precarity that already dominated humanistic academic work across the board, normalizing crucial discussions about the maintenance and care crisis that to different degrees impacts our lives and careers. These baseline cracks have conditioned our readiness to plan long-term research and life goals. They have curtailed our ability to be empathetic and present teachers, and have often accentuated already existing feelings of alienation and exhaustion within our field. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

We have all tried our best to be creative while making do and surviving since March 2020. We got used to living with uncertainty and accommodating last-minute changes that reverberated throughout our systems and networks. We missed exhibitions and archives, in-person interviews, and studio visits. We also learned and practiced new forms of solidarity that were mediated through new channels and given new names. We strengthened some of our friendships and work relationships, and got to know our colleagues and students better\u2014along with their vulnerabilities and strengths. The temporary solutions that we have relied on during this time, however, ought to be taken as invitations to rethink, plan, and remedy these systemic cracks so that we can grow stronger in the long term. After all, the pandemic is not over, and the crisis promises to be long and multifaceted. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

PALOMA CHECA-GISMERO<\/strong><\/a>, art historian and assistant professor, Swarthmore College<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Quarantine for me blurred professional and personal boundaries and clarified priorities for what should constitute professional life. It was of course a strain on time, compelling me to learn and troubleshoot new technology, adapt my pedagogy, and remain on constant alert for unfolding news about how the pandemic might impact our safety or force yet another change. Limitations imposed on travel were hard, and confinement was strained further by having my professional life intrude into my physical space. Zoom was the instrument of these peculiar circumstances, turning my home into a virtual classroom and office while also allowing me to \u201ctravel\u201d out to virtual talks and conferences with participants scattered across continents and time zones. While these blurred activities were also opportunities, I resent how the format exerted physical strain on my body and mental strain on my psyche.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Quarantine could have meant unplugging from this simulated chatter and turning inward to focus on research, something desirable in a year of increased anti-Asian hate (and intra-Asian persecution, more globally). However, the year also reexposed disparities that are unacceptable for us to remain indifferent to\u2014issues of access, labor exploitation, lack of diversity, and unchecked racism. Quarantine taught me to reject a professional life mediated by screens, but it also strengthened my resolve to advocate for vulnerable students and colleagues who are invested in but still underrepresented in our curricula and institutions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

BONNIE CHENG<\/a><\/strong>, <\/em>art historian and associate professor, Oberlin College<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

One of the few bright spots of the past year is that the pandemic has finally made conferences and workshops more widely accessible, something for which many of us who are sensitive to issues of equity had long been advocating. Some challenges remain (such as how to socialize online or attend equally to live and virtual audiences), but with talk of in-person and online conferences in alternating years and the availability of technology at many venues now, I am optimistic that the positive changes will endure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As a researcher of Renaissance music and plague, I have never felt closer to my historical subjects. COVID has spurred me to reinterpret some of my sources and understand them in a more nuanced way. For example, a doctor wrote in 1564 that during times of plague, birds sing differently, and foxes, dogs, and wolves all howl more than usual. I had read the description as an expression of neo-Platonic disharmony in nature, but ornithologists found last year that songbirds were indeed singing differently; and furthermore, with less noise pollution, many of us were noticing new layers to our soundscapes. Similarly, I interpreted the often-repeated description in plague texts that \u201cthere is no one to bury the dead\u201d as a literary trope until cadaver trucks rolled into New York and bodies floated down the Ganges. The fervor with which quarantined Milanese, in 1576, came to their windows to sing religious songs together seven times a day (chroniclers called the music heavenly Jerusalem on earth) may indeed have been motivated by religiosity and communitas<\/em>; but it was probably also driven\u2014I realized soon after lockdown\u2014by boredom. In this bridging of horizons, metaphysics suddenly became physics, the poetic became literal, and the auratic and remote, entirely mundane and relatable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

REMI CHIU<\/strong><\/a>, musicologist and associate professor, Loyola University Maryland<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Streaming images show isolationism overtaking cultural politics. The hardening of difference is so pervasive that I regularly wonder if the definitive nonmedical defense against COVID is \u201cOthering\u2019s comfort,\u201d in Toni Morrison\u2019s piercing phrase. I can\u2019t tolerate it, but part of me gets it, as I, too, am often scared and alone. These aspects of the pandemic necessitated fresh thinking about work and ways of working. Otherness shapes everything we do: our artifacts manifest the work of other minds, with the result that, now, art\u2019s absence from our midst registers as loss. Some months into the pandemic, however, I can visualize an art history confident and compassionate enough to affirm the otherness of art. This means trading the organized mood of method for the openness of approach. (Method, insofar as it sponsors the urge to remake my subjects with concepts linked to thoughts I\u2019m going to think anyway, regardless of subject, may, finally, be an excuse to think just one way about greatly mobile, variant phenomena\u2014a technique akin to isolationism.) What if the work led the way? I really do want to discover art\u2019s plans for me\u2014the art that is, not the art my studies equip me to posit. The pandemic taught me to wonder, again, where the otherness of art might lead me other than back to myself. If I get out of this thing<\/em>, I say to me, I\u2019ll shut up and look<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

DARBY ENGLISH<\/strong><\/a>, art historian and professor, University of Chicago<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

COVID-19 came on the heels of a successful cancer surgery, the lead-up to which made me question whether I could carry on a professional life. For me, getting back into the classroom, even virtually, became my priority. The online shift required creative thinking about pedagogy, and it was as time-consuming as it was fulfilling. I happened to be in the home stretch of completing a book and so could focus on final edits and other small tasks when time allowed. I spent summer 2020 collecting images and publication rights from institutions that were sometimes closed and always short staffed. The dedication of the many people with whom I interacted reinforced my appreciation of the academic support systems on which art and architectural historians rely. As it turns out, I was also scheduled to go up for promotion in my department, and when things felt impossible, I relied on the wisdom of a senior colleague and listened to her subtle words of encouragement to move the dossier forward. That support, the kindness of curators and photo-reproduction experts, the enthusiasm of undergraduates and graduate students through four quarters of teaching during COVID-19\u2014all of these things reminded me of the importance of relationships in my profession. As we all move forward professionally, I hope that our shared experience of plague will remind us to acknowledge, value, and celebrate the people with whom we share our time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

JES\u00daS ESCOBAR<\/strong><\/a>, architectural historian and professor, Northwestern University<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

The quarantine over the past year has raised a question that is vital for me: Namely, what does it mean to be \u201cin person,\u201d and how does it shape intellectual life? In turn, what does that life look like when personhood becomes confined to a delimited box on a screen? While holding seminars and lectures online allowed us to reach more participants, it also removed the joie de vivre of academic gatherings. It underscored for me the extent to which debate depends upon the interstices of the coffee break. In turn, the hopes for a new year free from uncertainty is disappearing with the rise of the Delta variant in conjunction with the grave news of the climate report, which does not feel separate from the changes brought on by a year in quarantine. Although I have often found online programming to be lacking, the two-day international conference model is no longer sustainable. This past year, therefore, made clear to me the necessity of thinking about new forms that will not negatively contribute to the global crisis around climate while also allowing people to gather together in person. In the absence of these formal and informal get-togethers over the past year, I discovered that they are one of the gifts of academic life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

CAROLINE FOWLER<\/strong><\/a>, art historian and director, Clark Art Institute Research and Academic Program<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

A confession: I was happy when my Rutgers University colleagues and I were first directed to work from home in mid-March 2020, with no clear sense of when we might return to the office. The previous months had delivered a series of frustrations at the museum, culminating on March 1 when a major deferred maintenance project affecting my department was canceled after multiple assurances that it was moving ahead. I struggled to make myself go to work in the mornings that followed, and then, suddenly, I was relieved of that particular struggle. However, the months at home, followed by a limited return to the office, confirmed that I am most satisfied with my job when I am working directly with collection objects and making the collection accessible to faculty and students. As we prepare to reopen fully this fall, my only professional goals are to spend more time doing the parts of the job that I love and could not do from home, and to draw the boundaries that I will need to establish in order to devote myself to these aspects of my work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

CHRISTINE GIVISKOS<\/strong><\/a>, curator, Zimmerli Art Museum<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

\"A
Brian House, Open Space<\/i>, 2021, spectrogram (image \u00a9 2021 Brian House; image provided by the author)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

At home during quarantine, I used an infrasonic “macrophone” to record atmospheric sounds from miles away. Although these sounds are normally too low frequency to be audible, I pitched them up in order to hear a much larger\u2014but more unfamiliar\u2014space than the one in which I was confined.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

(Please listen with headphones.) <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Brian House, Open Space<\/em>, 2021, audio recording (sound file \u00a9 2021 Brian House; sound file provided by the author)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

BRIAN HOUSE<\/strong><\/a>, artist and assistant professor, Lewis & Clark College<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

As a media scholar, this has been a fascinating period to observe what happens when the media ecology is profoundly disrupted: What happens when cinema is suspended? When the relations between theatrical exhibition and streaming distribution get renegotiated? When the technical gap between commercial and grassroots media production narrows as everyone is making media out of their living rooms? When people rely on online communities as never before? When education shifts from face-to-face to online teaching? When the parental shorthand of \u201cscreentime\u201d has to be rethought, with a focus on the purposes and forms of engagement children have with screens? And when a new medium\u2014Zoom\u2014undergoes a rapid process of dispersion across much of the population? These are only a few of the questions that one might want to ask about this transformative period.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Professionally, the biggest shift has been toward a dramatic expansion in the opportunities to speak internationally: freed from travel and accommodation costs, universities that would never have been able to afford to host American scholars have asked me to speak via Zoom to their students and colleagues. I have been able to accept more invitations because travel time does not take me away from my commitment to my own students. I have been able to speak on multiple continents on the same day. And this process has plugged me into new networks, and called attention to new topics, that will inform my scholarship for years to come.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

HENRY JENKINS<\/strong><\/a>, media scholar and professor, University of Southern California<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Strangely, from the kitchen table and the living room floor, I felt that I traveled more than usual. A group of students were to spend the fall semester studying in Kyoto, and I was to visit them for ten days, but those plans were canceled. Instead, I was heartened to witness their resilience as each chose a different American city in which to stay, revising their studies for their new locations, and we conducted our meetings online. I also was invited to speak at more venues than I might otherwise have been, due to the relative ease with which those institutions and organizations could host virtual events. Better still, I attended events hosted by institutions around the world, and learned from a wide array of speakers on an astonishing variety of topics\u2014people from whom I\u2019d long wished to learn at campuses, museums, and libraries that I\u2019d always hoped to visit. Those opportunities were wonderful, and I don\u2019t want them to end. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the screens . . . the screens . . . over fifteen hours each day looking at a computer screen for one reason or another . . . teaching, meetings, writing, grading, course prep, research, volunteering, office hours, and even socializing. Too, too much, the screens. I felt my synapses misfiring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More connected than ever yet feeling more disconnected than ever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

RACHEL LEIBOWITZ<\/strong><\/a>, cultural landscape historian and assistant professor, SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

As the Samuel H. Kress Institutional Fellow at the Warburg Institute in London, I enjoyed five months of the twenty-four-month fellowship before pandemic closures drastically impacted my dissertation research. Months without access to primary sources\u2014punctuated by limited re-openings\u2014forced me to adapt. Due to my interest in digital humanities, I pivoted toward professional development and learned new data visualization techniques as well as basic coding for web design. I then had the opportunity to employ those skills as the coordinator for digital engagement for the International Center of Medieval Art. In this position I organized virtual events with curators of major museums, arranged mentoring sessions for graduate students and emerging professionals, and taught workshops on digital humanities. While it was rewarding to create these spaces for online community, the inaccessibility of physical repositories hindered new dissertation research. Instead, I presented papers drawn from existing chapters at virtual conferences and incorporated feedback I received from my fellow participants, while charting out future sections to be written once access to resources resumes. I am grateful to have received an upcoming dissertation fellowship through the Center for Advanced Studies in the Visual Arts to complete this crucial fieldwork. This time has not been without its personal challenges and I want to acknowledge the losses experienced by many. I hope that our collective experience has emphasized the need for greater compassion in the humanities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

RHEAGAN ERIC MARTIN<\/strong><\/a>, PhD candidate in History of Art, University of Michigan<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Apart from the typical woes of canceled shows and indefinitely postponed artist residencies and projects, I actually grew to appreciate the respite from professional activity that ensued during the pandemic. At first it was hard to be in my studio while staring at a calendar suddenly cleared of shipping deadlines and installation periods. But then an inner space opened up. This space has, I think, been blocked for a while by all the noise of professional life\u2014with its never-ending to-do lists, responsibilities, and obligations. I started working on a series of oil stick drawings that kept me tethered to myself by enabling me to witness inchoate thoughts made visible and physical in front of me. Over the course of the year, I made over one-hundred drawings, developing a new iconography of Ionic columns being bent or stretched by limbs, eyeballs, eggs, and breasts. Rather than leading the drawings with a preconceived direction, the ideas poured out of the drawings themselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Continuing to codirect the artist-run gallery Ortega y Gasset (OyG) Projects was also fundamentally different during the pandemic. We had to close the doors of our brick-and-mortar gallery at the Old American Can Factory in Gowanus, Brooklyn, while still having to pay rent for the entire year. That was difficult and felt wasteful, but we (the nine artists who run the gallery) rallied to provide new virtual events and opportunities for our community. Additionally, in the summer of 2020, OyG ran several Instagram art auctions to raise funds for nonprofit organizations. First, we auctioned artworks by the current codirectors. Then, for our second auction, we asked former codirectors to donate works. For the third auction, artists in our community volunteered to donate artworks. One-hundred percent of the funds we raised were donated to these three organizations: CovidBailOut NYC, The Black School, and BTFA Collective (Black Trans Femmes in the Arts).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

LEEZA MEKSIN<\/strong><\/a>, artist and assistant professor, College of Architecture, Art, and Planning at Cornell University<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

With the closure of archives, museums, and historical sites due to the quarantine, art historians like me have lost a central aspect of our work: the physical engagement with artifacts. What I\u2019ve most missed in all of this, though, hasn\u2019t been the material objects per se. Instead, it\u2019s been the pleasure and insight that arise from interacting with them in the presence of colleagues, friends, and other appreciative viewers. In the current circumstances, I\u2019ve come to understand that art is like a good meal: something can be truly savored only with others.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is especially true with the Renaissance material I teach and study. So many period objects were consciously designed to provoke conversation. Accordingly, deprived of a lively audience, they\u2019ve lost some essential part of their reality. The problem is compounded when it comes to architecture\u2014my subject of expertise. After all, as Vitruvius believed, this art form was invented to foster human society. However necessary, timed visits and social distancing at museums and public monuments compromise the communal enjoyment of our artistic and built heritage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the past year, I\u2019ve tried to recover a sense of scholarly community through virtual reading groups, writing sessions, and conferences. Would it be possible, I now wonder, also to experiment with choreographing less scripted occasions\u2014for sharing an experience before an object or performance, or in an architectural space?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

MORGAN NG<\/strong><\/a>, architectural historian and assistant professor, Yale University<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m writing this in August 2021. I\u2019ve been working from home since March 2020. That\u2019s seventeen months of sitting at an old desk in my guest room. That\u2019s seventeen months of Zoom meetings. That\u2019s seventeen months of exhaustion and a realization that no matter who you are, or what you do, we are all human beings, and we are all riding the tall, churning waves of uncertainty together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m not sure I believe in the separation between professional and personal life. I think it\u2019s a false dichotomy and another one of those dangerous binaries that we are asked to question. While I definitely believe in setting boundaries that allow me to step away from work, I no longer think that my \u201cwork self\u201d or my \u201chome self\u201d are all that different. In some profound ways I have felt more present with my work and more attentive to the humanity of my colleagues and the community partners with whom I work. Almost every meeting now begins with personal check in. The perfunctory \u201chow are you doing?\u201d has been subtly replaced with \u201ctell me how you are today.\u201d If I had to define it, I\u2019d say that there is a vulnerability, a presentness, and an honesty in my quarantine work life that gives me hope and makes me grateful to be working in the arts during this impossible and yet opportune time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

STEPHANIE PARRISH<\/strong><\/a>, director of learning and community partnerships, Portland Art Museum<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Twenty-Four Hours in the Life of an Art Historian, 2020\u221221<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

7:00 a.m.<\/strong> Make coffee; check news on the phone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Note to self: No point worrying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

9:00 a.m.<\/strong> Zoom with student to discuss PhD fieldwork stalled for almost a year due to COVID-19 travel restrictions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Note to self: Very concerned; how will they finish under these circumstances?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

10:00 a.m.<\/strong> Teach class on the Manila-Acapulco trade route via Zoom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Note to self: Twelve hours+ time difference for students from Asia attending synchronously; must transcribe lecture notes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

12:00 p.m.<\/strong> [name redacted] Working Group Zoom meeting to develop long-term strategic campus priorities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Note to self: Feign interest in the corporate jargon of performance and value explained with a nifty PowerPoint; global pandemic be damned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

1:00 p.m.<\/strong> Prepare notes for a talk in the evening; eyestrain due to prolonged screen time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Note to self: Need to call Mom to check on Dad\u2019s chemo appointment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

2:00 p.m.<\/strong> Zoom office hours; meet with three students who are falling behind in class due to COVID-related hospitalizations in their families.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Note to self: Emotionally drained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

3:30 p.m.<\/strong> Rush to the grocery store, queue for one hour, and sanitize groceries for another hour after returning home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Note to self: Use Instacart next time, even though the fees are exorbitant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

5:00 p.m.<\/strong> Make coffee; Skype with a close friend whose partner passed away due to COVID-19 complications.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Note to self: Exhausted; request a mutual friend to help plan the virtual memorial.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

7:00 p.m.<\/strong> Give a virtual talk in New Delhi on the \u201cpolitical ecologies of breathing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Note to self: Must be more coherent next time; make stronger coffee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

9:00 p.m.<\/strong> Call Mom, Dad\u2019s chemo appointment canceled because the nurse has tested COVID-positive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Note to self: Feeling helpless; cannot even fly to India if he passes away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

10:00 p.m<\/strong>. Stare vacantly at a Word document instead of writing an essay on art and ecology that was due last month.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Note to self: Will start tomorrow; cannot think anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

SUGATA RAY<\/strong><\/a>, art historian and associate professor, University of California, Berkeley<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

As a PhD student about to begin my second year of coursework, I am just beginning my professional life. My graduate education thus far has been online, so I am unsure about the extent to which my experience differs from the \u201ctraditional\u201d one I always imagined. What feels most tangible, however, is the lack of opportunities for building organic relationships with peers. Although the quarantine has made me more resourceful and patient as a scholar, it has also made it challenging to connect deeply with colleagues beyond their Zoom rectangles. As the usual collision spaces for academics, such as conferences and libraries, have been closed or moved online, I have found it difficult to form relationships with peers outside of my own department\u2014especially outside of my home institution. Even though I have virtually met colleagues from various departments through interdisciplinary courses and online events, I wonder how many additional professional relationships I could have built had my first year been in person. I also wonder how many international scholars I might have been able to meet had travel been possible. As a newcomer to the field, I look forward to using future in-person events to build long-term professional connections that will foster interdisciplinary thinking and enrich my scholarship throughout my career.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

JESSICA WILLIAMS<\/strong><\/a>, PhD <\/strong>student in art history, University of Southern California<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

As a junior scholar, quarantine has added responsibilities to my already overflowing graduate-school plate. In March 2020, I became not only a PhD candidate in charge of my own dissertation, publications, online teaching, and job applications, but saw it as part of my role in this crisis to care for my students, share information with (and nag) my family, and support my friends. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

In my research on digital media, I had been accustomed to the fast pace in which internet culture shifts, but at this time when many were confined to their homes and using the internet to combat injustice and misinformation, I began to see creativity move at an even faster pace. Participants known for content like fashion and humor merged platforms with activists to spread political awareness to tens of thousands of people across the world. I participated too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For me, spending most of the ongoing quarantine in my 350-square-foot studio apartment in Los Angeles meant a blurring of lines. The place where I wrote my dissertation was the same place where I taught class, exercised, socialized, and organized. These blurred lines ultimately crystalized the importance (and interconnectedness) of health and well-being and justice values in my academic and personal realms. As we continue to face the ebbs and flows of the pandemic and wrestle with world politics that affect us personally, I begin my assistant professorship knowing I have these as guiding principles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

SULAFA ZIDANI<\/strong><\/a>, media scholar and assistant professor, Massachusetts Institute of Technology<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Image Credits for Contributor Photographs<\/h4>\n\n\n\n

Lisa Pon and Dana E. Katz, double self-portrait (photograph provided by the authors)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Beatriz E. Balanta, self-portrait (photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Alexis Callender, self-portrait (photograph provided by author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rebecca Carter, self-portrait (photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Christo Sims, photograph of Paloma Checa-Gismero (photograph \u00a9 Christo Sims; photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tanya Rosen-Jones, photograph of Bonnie Cheng (photograph \u00a9 Tanya Rosen-Jones; photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jon Malis, photograph of Remi Chiu (photograph \u00a9 Jon Malis; photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Darby English, self-portrait (photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Michael Schreffler, photograph of Jes\u00fas Escobar (photograph \u00a9 Michael Schreffler; photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tucker Blair, photograph of Caroline Fowler <\/span>(photograph \u00a9 Tucker Blair; photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tamara Gillon Photography, photograph of Christine Giviskos (photograph \u00a9 Tamara Gillon Photography; photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cynthia Jenkins, photograph of Henry Jenkins (photograph \u00a9 Cynthia Jenkins; photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Brian House, detail of the spectogram created by the author, 2021 (photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rachel Leibowitz, self-portrait (photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rheagan Eric Martin, self-portrait (photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Clare Britt, photograph of Leeza Meksin <\/span>(photograph \u00a9 Clare Britt; photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Morgan Ng, self-portrait (photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stephanie Parrish, self-portrait (photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Julie Wolf, photograph of Sugata Ray (photograph \u00a9 Julie Wolf; provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Jessica Williams, self-portrait (photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Olivia Mowry, photograph of Sulafa Zidani <\/span>(photograph \u00a9 Olivia Mowry; photograph provided by the author)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n

<\/div>
  1. Tim Herrera, \u201cThe 20 Phrases That Defined 2020,\u201d New York Times<\/em>, December 18, 2020, https:\/\/www.nytimes.com\/2020\/12\/18\/style\/words-of-the-year-2020.html. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  2. Oxford English Dictionary, <\/em>s.v. \u201cQuarantine,\u201d accessed July 16, 2021, https:\/\/www-oed-com.proxy.library.reed.edu\/view\/Entry\/155959?rskey=zEEMCp&result=1&isAdvanced=false#eid. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  3. Malachai Komanoff Bandy, \u201cExquisite Corpse,\u201d DecamerONline <\/em>2 (Fall 2020): paragraph 2, https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/labs\/decameronline\/. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  4. John Henderson, Florence Under Siege: Surviving Plague in an Early Modern City <\/em>(New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2019), 3\u22124. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  5. The most complete treatment of coordinated Venetian responses to the plague remains Venezia e la peste, 1348\u22121797, <\/em>ed. Venezia Assessorato alla cultura e Belle Arti (Venice: Marsilio Editore, 1979). ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  6. Jane L. Stevens Crawshaw, Plague Hospitals <\/em>(Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), 210\u221214. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  7. Stevens Crawshaw, Plague Hospitals, <\/em>65\u221270. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  8. Igor Linkov and Benjamin D. Trump, The Science and Practice of Resilience<\/em> (Cham, Denmark: Springer, 2019), 48, https:\/\/doi.org\/10.1007\/978-3-030-04565-4_4. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  9. Ibid., 49. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  10. Lisa Pon, \u201cLeakage, Contagion, and Containment in Early Modern Venice,\u201d in Contamination and Purity in Early Modern Art and Architecture, <\/em>ed. Lauren Jacobi and Daniel Zolli (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2021), 243\u221266; and Stevens Crawshaw, Plague Hospitals, <\/em>14\u221215, 79. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  11. Stevens Crawshaw, Plague Hospitals, <\/em>84\u221285, 90\u221291. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  12. Pon, “Leakage, Contagion and Containment,” 254\u221261; and Samuel K. Cohn Jr., \u201cThe Black Death and the Burning of the Jews,\u201d Past and Present<\/em>, no. 196 (August 2007): 3\u221236. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  13. For a fuller discussion of the Venetian ghetto, see Dana E. Katz, The Jewish Ghetto and the Visual Imagination of Early Modern Venice <\/em>(New York: Cambridge University Press, 2017). ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  14. Archivio di Stato di Venezia (ASVe), Inquisitorato agli Ebrei, busta 19, October 22, 1603, carta 458r-v. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  15. Mark R. Cohen, The Autobiography of a Seventeenth-Century Venetian Rabbi: Leon Modena\u2019s Life of Judah<\/em> (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988), 5\u22126. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  16. ASVe, Consiglio di Dieci, Deliberazioni miste, registro 14 (1450\u22121454), fol. 18r, December 16, 1450. See also Elisabeth Pavan, \u201cRecherches sur la nuit v\u00e9nitienne \u00e0 la fin du Moyen \u00c2ge,\u201d Journal of Medieval History<\/em> 7, no. 4 (December 1981): 346. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  17. At times the nighttime curfew came with exemptions. See Katz, The Jewish Ghetto<\/em>, 84\u2212111; and Benjamin Ravid, \u201cCurfew Time in the Ghetto of Venice,\u201d in Medieval and Renaissance Venice, <\/em>ed. Ellen E. Kittell and Thomas F. Madden (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1999), 237-75. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  18. Stevens Crawshaw, Plague Hospitals, <\/em>82\u221283. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  19. Giovanni Boccaccio, The Decameron, <\/em>trans. Wayne Rebhorn (New York: Norton, 2016), 341. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  20. Ed Yong, “How the Pandemic Now Ends,” The Atlantic, <\/em>August 12, 2021, https:\/\/www.theatlantic.com\/health\/archive\/2021\/08\/delta-has-changed-pandemic-endgame\/619726\/?utm_source=copy-link&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=share ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  21. St\u00e9fan Sinclair and Geoffrey Rockwell, Voyant Tools<\/em>, accessed September 29, 2021, https:\/\/voyant-tools.org\/?categories=4ba3bbdd4bed78f383e0b3860228ff0b&view=Cirrus&stopList=keywords-0f2b53e73a86f780f703e13546fda355&corpus=aa362db2d3df1d1ae5faf00db42de90a. In addition to a standard list of stop words, or commonly used words not pertinent for our analysis, the words \u201cprofessional\u201d (18 occurrences) and \u201clife\u201d (17 occurrences) were removed from the corpus of terms because they came from our question. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  22. Click on the link to see each respondent\u2019s uses of the word \u201ctime\u201d and the passage surrounding it in a table that can be expanded, searched, and reordered. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  23. Click on the link to see each respondent\u2019s uses of the word \u201cnew\u201d and the passage surrounding it in a table that can be expanded, searched, and reordered. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  24. Click on the link to see each respondent\u2019s uses of the word \u201cstudents\u201d and the passage surrounding it in a table that can be expanded, searched, and reordered. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  25. The Chronicle of Higher Education<\/em>, research brief: “‘On the Verge of Burnout\u2019: Covid-19\u2019s Impact on Faculty Wellbeing and Career Plans,\u201d 2020, https:\/\/connect.chronicle.com\/rs\/931-EKA-218\/images\/Covid%26FacultyCareerPaths_Fidelity_ResearchBrief_v3%20%281%29.pdf ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li>
  26. Frederic Nolan Clark, \u201cThe Tenth Day,\u201d DecamerONline <\/em>3 (Fall 2021): paragraph 1, https:\/\/dornsife.usc.edu\/labs\/decameronline\/. ↩<\/a><\/span><\/li><\/ol><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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