'Well I thought, with the summer, things couldn't get dumber; the semester was over and done. When the truth be told, last term was a bummer but at least, now, the students were gone.
'Holiday. . .
'So, we packed up our laptops, our pencils and pens. We made dates to catch up with significant friends. We dreamt of the sea, sandcastles and all. But, it transpired we were going nowhere until we'd taught summer school.
'I say 'all' but let me make this very plain; our superiors were evidently exempt from the game.
'I was saddened but aimed to be professional and mature; entered the studio considering the politics of photographic portraiture. But, alas, I'd underestimated my assistant. My anathema: seems he was determined to perpetuate puerile forms of erotica.
'Instead of re-interpreting Old Masters' paintings - Cindy Sherman style - we re-hashed feminine stereotypes: with coyness and guile.
'Forget narrative photography, or, trying to be 'arty'; our would-be students learned how to act tarty.
'Apparently, the feedback was very positive.'
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