The light and the dark: Ofsted, Michaela, hope and inspiration
Before me, on my writing desk, are three things: a plaster
bust of Socrates, one of Lincoln, and a small pewter Stonehenge. Unremarkable
choices- the salariat equivalent of a lava lamp maybe, or the moulded plastic
Buddhas beloved of garden centre grottos- but they are mine. It became a shrine
by accident. I didn’t plan their purchase or position deliberately. The subliminal
architecture of my world threw them together, and they are currently employed
as mandalas, or muses, or mementos by default.
Socrates pursued truth beyond all else, for its own sake and, according to Plato, drank Hemlock rather than betray his philosophy. Lincoln is an equally easy inspiration: the great orator, thinker, writer and wrangler for social justice. And I regard Stonehenge with a childish awe, hypnotised by its ancient enigma, a time machine from another planet, speaking of transience and permanence and industry in one brutal monument. It invokes mystery and mysticism and the marvel at the work of huma…
Socrates pursued truth beyond all else, for its own sake and, according to Plato, drank Hemlock rather than betray his philosophy. Lincoln is an equally easy inspiration: the great orator, thinker, writer and wrangler for social justice. And I regard Stonehenge with a childish awe, hypnotised by its ancient enigma, a time machine from another planet, speaking of transience and permanence and industry in one brutal monument. It invokes mystery and mysticism and the marvel at the work of huma…