Ashley Warren
Senior Seminar: Art, Literature, and Architecture
Project 1: The Colliding Worlds of Virginia Woolf,
Ashley Warren, and
Matthew McConaughey
After graduating from the University of Texas at Austin in May of 2005, I had no idea of what I wanted to
do with my time or my future. Soon,
however, with a diploma and a creative mind, I
decided to march up to New York City and attend graduate school at New York University. Although I lacked a
high-paying corporate job right out of college, I was armed with one tool that
developed and was put to good use throughout my entire undergraduate career as
an English major: my imagination. I would soon need this invaluable asset in an
assignment which would force me to step outside the parameters of reality and
invent a fantastical situation in which the borders of time blur and people
separated by decades meet and mingle. In
order to free ourselves from the limitations of real-life situations, the class
was instructed to choose a figure from the past who has influenced us and
imagine what it would be like to step outside our lives and experience that of
another person. This could be the
post-college adventure I had hoped would happen.
As I embarked on my journey to jolly old England, I was so consumed with the notion that I was
about to meet Virginia Woolf, my literary idol, that I had packed without
thinking about what I had put into my suitcase.
Clothing did not even cross my mind until I boarded my ship to England
and decided that it would be a good idea to refresh my memory by once again
reading Virginia Woolf’s texts. One of
the first passages I read made me put down my book: “To see the same dreary waves breaking week
after week, and then a dreadful storm coming, and the windows covered with
spray, and birds dashed against the lamp, and the whole place rocking, and not
be able to put your nose out of doors for fear of being swept into the
sea? How would you like that?” In my hurried attempt to pack, I had
forgotten all about the difference in the weather. Now that I thought about it, every
description of England I had ever heard mentioned rain or cold weather,
and all I had brought with me were tank tops and shorts. The more we progressed toward England, the
cooler the breeze became. As I ventured
toward the cabin, I caught sight of London in the distance. London was a swarm of lights with a pale yellow canopy
drooping above it. There were the lights of the great theatres, the lights of
the long streets, lights that indicated huge squares of domestic comfort,
lights that hung high in air. No darkness would ever settle upon those lamps,
as no darkness had settled upon them for hundreds of years. It was just as magnificent as I had imagined,
and Virginia greeted me warmly when I exited the ship. She insisted that I could relax if I was
tired, but I was so excited to be there that I could not bear the thought of
wasting a single minute in London.
Virginia told me that she had informed many of her friends
that I was arriving for a visit, so she thought it would be a good idea to meet
them for a picnic in the city. I tried
to contain my excitement and shock when I saw from a distance Vanessa Bell,
E.M. Forster, Leonard Woolf, John Maynard Keynes, and other members of the
esteemed Bloomsbury group. Although
I felt like a naïve young girl, I asked them all of the questions I had always
wondered about their literature, paintings, and theories, depending on which
person I was addressing at the time.
During the picnic, I often found myself silently observing their
conversations and being grateful that I had the opportunity to listen to an
informal gathering between people who had greatly affected my life.
While the other members of the Bloomsbury group chatted, I asked Virginia if I could talk to her alone, for I had not had a
chance to ask her questions since we met. 
“Virginia, now that I have a chance to talk to you in
person, I wanted to ask you something about your writing: why are you so fascinated by water?”
“I am fascinated by water?
Why, whatever do you mean, my dear?”
“Well, I have read several of your books, and I have noticed
that references to water are very prevalent.
In Mrs. Dalloway, Clarissa
‘rose and fluttered away, as a bird touches a branch and rises and flutters
away. Quite simply she wiped her tears.’
Also, Clarissa’s party dress is very mermaid-like, and you also say that ‘there
are tides in the body.’”
“Ah, I see what you mean.
Yes, my novels overflow with passages about water, such as a character’s
passionate tears or the flowing seas that surround England. The reason
is that water has always caught my attention in several ways. London, for instance, is a very changing and liquid city
itself. Characters can also have the
same characteristics. Water can free a
person or cause them to sink under pressure.
Just as Clarissa Dalloway plunges into her day, I plunge in my writing,
even though I feel enormous pressure at times.
So, you see, water affects everything, especially words: ‘One ought to sink to the bottom of the sea,
probably, and live alone with one’s words.’”
Although I found Virginia’s words to be very insightful, I felt an intense
sense of irony since I knew that at the end of her life Virginia would not plunge into her writing but instead into
the icy waters to free herself from the pressures of her career and
depression.
After touring London, the group agreed that they would take me to Cambridge. Although
Virginia Woolf was educated at home, she was undoubtedly connected to Cambridge in that John Maynard Keynes and E.M. Forster
attended King’s College, Cambridge, and Leonard Woolf was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. I noticed that the serene “atmosphere of
these venerable halls standing in such peaceful and dignified seclusion seemed
likely to induce a state of languor and reverie, excluding both the rude shocks
and the joyous revelations of the rough world.” Each college had a unique appeal, and E.M.
Forster had told me that the King’s College Chapel was not to be missed. As I wandered through the interior, I was
amazed at the magnificent detail and contrasting features of the architecture. The
vaulted ceilings, ornately-detailed artwork, and entrancing glass windows were
all so captivating that I had an overwhelming feeling of not knowing where to
begin my journey through the Chapel. My
eyes then focused upon the glass windows, and I curiously wondered what stories
they narrated. Although most of England’s glass was lost during the Reformation and the
Protectorate, the original glass in the Chapel can see seen in twenty-five of
the windows, giving them an architectural emphasis that accentuates their value
and rarity. 
The windows depict scenes from the Old and New
Testament, following a specific order starting at the north-east corner. I later learned that work on the chapel began
in 1446, but the exterior was not finished until 1515. I could have stayed in the Chapel for hours,
but I did not want to make the others wait on me. I was able to see highlights of the interior,
including the fan vaulting, the lectern with a statue of Henry VI, the west
window’s depiction of the Last Judgment, and the controversial inclusion of
Rubens’ Adoration of the Magi, which
was the most expensive painting sold at an auction at that time. Being in a chapel
that measured two-hundred eighty-nine feet long, ninety-four feet high, and
forty feet wide combined with seeing works of art and architecture that I had
only read about in books made me feel very overwhelmed, especially since I was
being taken on a tour by the great minds who had the opportunity to attend
school here. As I sat on a nearby bench
to contemplate the day’s events, I wondered if I would take the serene nature
and masterfully-crafted architecture for granted had I gone to school at Cambridge. During
much of my undergraduate studies, I would frantically run through campus, dodge
cars, and not recognize familiar faces as they passed me on the sidewalk. Situations like that seemed almost inconceivable
in an atmosphere that was and is so conducive to reflection upon the
surroundings. Perhaps this is why we
have so much documentation from scholars and thinkers about how such a peaceful
place can inspire creativity or simply invite one to read or sketch in the
grass.
By this time I was exhausted, but I asked the group to take
me to one more place: the Cambridge library. My
favorite part of my Art History courses was seeing the illuminated medieval
manuscripts, and I could not leave Cambridge without examining them in person. I viewed varying styles of manuscripts,
learning that “Anglo-Saxon 
designers concentrated on initial letters to give
grace and focus to the sacred texts of which they were custodians and
purveyors.” The illustrations signified “an insatiable
love of life, representing in miniature all aspects of the physical world…Even
when paper and pen were now present in society, it took patrons and book
manufacturers a long time to shake off the fascinating habit of having books
lavishly illustrated by hand.” The visit to the library not only offered me
a chance to view works of art that I had always hoped to see in person but also
symbolized a merging of the past, present, and future. After all, I was surveying manuscripts from
the past with members of the Bloomsbury group, who were presently linked to Cambridge and undoubtedly were the authors and artists whose
works would attract literary aficionados to the library in the future. When we left Cambridge, I recalled a poem I had once heard that embodied
my trip there:
The past bestows on us,
Like showers along the dusty roads of life,
Or welcome sunbeams on some bleak grey morn,
Cheering the soul in her long pilgrimage
On the trip back to London, I pulled out my copy
of Virginia Woolf’s novel The Voyage
Out. Although I had read this book
before, I was struck by one passage that now had a new meaning to me:
Rachel, though
robbed of her audience, had gone on playing to herself. From John Peel she
passed to Bach, who was at this time the subject of her intense enthusiasm, and
one by one some of the younger dancers came in from the garden and sat upon the
deserted gilt chairs round the piano, the room being now so clear that they
turned out the lights. As they sat and listened, their nerves were quieted; the
heat and soreness of their lips, the result of incessant talking and laughing,
was smoothed away. They sat very still as if they saw a building with spaces
and columns succeeding each other rising in the empty space. Then they began to
see themselves and their lives, and the whole of human life advancing very
nobly under the direction of the music. They felt themselves ennobled, and when
Rachel stopped playing they desired nothing but sleep.
Rachel,
who started her trip as a young, naïve, and timid girl, was put into a
situation with people much older and wiser than she was. Yet, by the end of the trip, Rachel became
cognizant of the talent within her and subsequently experienced a rite of
passage. She had learned much about life
from those aboard the ship, but through her subtle transformation and ability
to captivate others through sharing her own passions, she had also given her
elders a new perspective on the fragility of time and an appreciation for the beauty
life offers. After reading this excerpt,
I realized that I had not merely gone to Cambridge to visit a ghost from
the past. In fact, I had metaphorically
stepped into a Virginia Woolf novel and become Rachel myself. When I embarked on my quest, I was a naïve
young student who was fascinated by prominent figures from the past. By the end of the trip, however, I
experienced a coming of age in that I had learned from the ghosts of Cambridge, but I also
rediscovered my enthusiasm for literature and learning while reminding my
elders that one should never outgrow the fervor and passion so commonly found
in the promising outlook of youth.
As I boarded the plane back to Austin, I was relieved that I
was returning to the twenty-first century because taking a ship all the way to
twentieth century England was quite a
nuisance. Even though I was greeted by a
live band at the Austin airport, I felt a
slight sadness for having to leave my mentor.
Soon enough, I was struck by a great idea: Virginia needed to come to Texas and experience what my
life was like. Because it would take far
too long to send her a letter, I emailed her instantly to tell her that I had
arranged for her to have a temporary position as a guest columnist for Texas Monthly magazine. Eager to expand her writing portfolio, Virginia readily agreed and took
the next plane to Austin. As time passed, Virginia started to embrace Texas culture even though she
missed her husband Leonard greatly. By
this time, I had to travel back to New York City to submit my assignment
about my experience in England. I knew that it would be difficult for Virginia, as she had no other
friends in Austin, but then something
amazing happened. Matthew McConaughey,
who attended U.T. and was visiting Austin to research a movie
role, read her article in Texas Monthly and
was stunned that his favorite character from the movie The Hours was in his home state.
Matthew immediately telephoned her office, and after talking to her only
briefly, he knew that they would be friends:
“Well, Virginia, I must admit that I
love your work. I mean, I have never
read one of your books, but you were my favorite character in The Hours.
It did help that your character was played by Nicole Kidman, but I still
cannot believe that you are actually in Texas. I would love you show you the sites in Austin if you have the
time.”
“Oh Matthew darling, you are far too
kind and very flattering. And to be
quite honest, I have never seen your films but have read the novels in which
your more intellectual characters appear.
I would be honored to grace the sites of the city accompanied by a
handsome and strapping young gentleman such as yourself.”
“Great…Perfect…I happen to have two
tickets to the University of Texas game against Texas
Agricultural and Mechanical. Well, I
don’t actually have tickets, but as long as I wear a U.T. jersey and high five
the quarterback after a big play, they just let me hang out on the
sidelines.”
In order to prepare for her debut on the
sidelines, Virginia felt it necessary to
dress as they would in Texas. One of her colleagues at Texas Monthly had told her of a great place in Wimberley to buy
vintage cowboy boots, and that is exactly where Virginia went after leaving work
that day. Upon entering the store, Virginia spotted the perfect
pair of slightly tattered burnt orange boots and even found a belt buckle with
a longhorn on it.
That night, Matthew
picked her up in his car, which Virginia found somewhat
frightening, seeing as half of the car seemed to be missing. However, Matthew insisted that she would love
riding in his “Jeep,” so Virginia hesitantly
obliged. As Matthew sped onto what he
called Mopac, Virginia’s glasses were knocked off of her head into
oblivion, and she was sure that Matthew’s erratic driving and excessive use of
the gas pedal would send them both straight to their deaths. Eventually,
however, they arrived at the football stadium, and Matthew offered to buy
Virginia, or Jenny as he had nicknamed her, a cold beer and a salted
pretzel. They headed toward the
sidelines in their matching Cedric Benson jerseys and cowboy boots. Although Virginia loved her husband
dearly, she could not help but get butterflies in her stomach from being around
a dashing young man with curly blond locks of hair that gracefully lingered
upon the chiseled bone structure of his handsome face. She politely asked to be excused to briefly
powder her nose in the ladies’ room, but immediately rushed to the nearest
stall to use her cell phone given to her at work to tell Ashley in New York
about how the rosy shade of Matthew’s perfectly sculpted lips sent her into
continual spells of dizziness and made her feel as though she were a foolish
young girl of twenty again. However,
when her husband Leonard text messaged her, Virginia again recalled her
fondness for her loving husband and vowed to view the game solely as a means to
gather material for her upcoming article in Texas Monthly.
At first, Virginia tried her best to keep
her jaw closed as the young men collided and fell to the ground. She offered to use her cell phone to contact
the paramedics but eventually assumed that this was all part of the spectacle
known as Texas football. After the overwhelming Longhorn victory, Virginia was admittedly enjoying
herself but was overwhelmed at the massive crowd in attendance for the game. She was unsure as to whether or not the
crowds exceeded eighty thousand people for every event held on campus, so she
asked Matthew if one could expect a crowd of this magnitude for the campus-wide
poetry readings and book clubs. Matthew
roared with laughter and changed the subject, 
telling her what a great
time she was about to have on Sixth street.
As they left the stadium, Virginia suddenly stopped in awe
of a burnt-orange figure jutting into the skyline. At this time, she received a call from
Ashley, who was eager to hear the outcome of the game, on her cell phone.
“Ashley, what is this beautiful piece of
architecture on the campus that is a fiery color of orange?”
“Oh, I meant to tell you about the University of Texas tower. Ever since I read Mrs. Dalloway, I have thought of you when I see it. It is three-hundred seven feet tall and was
completed in 1937. If you go to the top,
you can see gorgeous views of Austin, and it truly lives up
to the designer’s hope that it would be ‘the image carried in our memory when
we think of the place.’”
“Yes, this is certainly something that I will not
forget. It reminds me of Big Ben in London.”
“That’s why I think of your novels when I see the
tower. In Mrs. Dalloway, Clarissa feels a ‘suspense before Big Ben
strikes. There! Out it boomed. First a warning, musical; then the hour,
irrevocable. The leaden circles
dissolved in the air.’”
“I am impressed that you have learned to relate my
books to your own environment in Austin. I have always felt that one must appreciate
and notice every detail about the art and architecture that surrounds the
person. You are fortunate to have works
like this one on your campus.”
“Yes, and I am equally as lucky to have read books
like yours that make me aware of the beauty of my everyday surroundings.”
By this time, the cell phone lost connection
because so many people were calling their family and friends to relay the score
of the game.
Since Matthew was still
talking to fans outside the stadium, the introverted Virginia decided to explore the
surrounding area. As she crossed the
street, Virginia progressed toward the Alumni Center and followed the path
downward to find an extremely appealing spot on campus known as Waller
Creek. Virginia sat on an isolated rock
“on white limestone stretched at length” with the stream’s “soothing eddying
about and beneath” (Oliphant 76). While she had enjoyed the football game
immensely, she was undoubtedly more comfortable in this setting due to her
appreciation of nature. Virginia smiled as she heard
fans still screaming and chanting after the victory, for she found it very
amusing that such a serene place was in such close proximity to the
stadium. During the course of her visit,
Virginia realized that the architecture and nature on
campus were as diverse as the students and faculty themselves.
The game had caused Virginia to be extremely
fatigued, so she lay her head on the ground and closed her eyes. Soon, she became aware of a shadowy figure
near the creek who was seemingly organizing the rocks around the bed of the
water. Virginia felt somehow drawn to
this man, and she quietly approached him so that she might take a closer look
at his fascination with the rocks and branches.
“Excuse me, sir, I do not mean to startle you, but
I was curious as to why you are so mesmerized by the rocks.”
“Hello, my name is Joseph Jones. You can call me Joe. The reason I am here is because my ‘regimen
of pick-and-shovel work has served as excellent therapy, as well as resulted in
a few small improvements to the campus landscape here and there…In an
overcrowded, noise, haste-harried, greed-ridden, indifferent-seeming society
the availability of such possible hedges against despair becomes a matter of
geometrically increasing importance…Beauty is not a luxury; it is a necessity,
a positive agency of survival’” (Jones 424-425).
Just as Virginia was about to respond,
she suddenly awoke from what must have been a dream. She did not know who Joseph Jones was, but
she completely agreed with his words and knew that somehow he had made a vast
impact on this treasure she had discovered. Virginia had greatly missed England throughout parts of her
trip, but she knew that she would forever remember Texas because of this feeling
of tranquility and calmness that she experienced through her dream about Joseph
Jones and her own coincidental discovery of Waller Creek.
As she advanced once again toward the stadium, Virginia had to quicken her step
to catch Matthew, who was eager to go downtown.
“Jenny, it’s about time we put those
cowboy boots of yours to good use. We’re
going Texas two-stepping on Sixth.” Although Virginia’s cowboy boots were
rubbing blisters on her feet, she barely noticed because of her fascination
with the unique array of outfits on this bar-filled street. Though she knew it was November, she could
have sworn that it must have been Halloween or that these people mistakenly
thought that they were walking around in the privacy of their own
bedrooms. They soon reached their
destination, and, although Matthew knew that Virginia had the reputation for
being quite intelligent, she picked up country-western dancing more quickly
than he had anticipated. At one point,
he looked over to the table and saw Virginia laugh hysterically as
she called Leonard so that he could hear the words to Willie Nelson and Toby
Keith’s song “Whiskey for my Men, Beer for my Horses.” When the bar closed, they discussed that
night’s events as they headed toward Matthew’s Jeep:
“Well, Virginia, I hope you had a good
time tonight.”
“Oh, I did indeed enjoy the
company. I must say that I cannot wait
to discuss Texas culture with the rest
of the Bloomsbury group upon my return to England.”
The surrounding streets were noisy, and
their words grew faint. However, if one
listened carefully, he could hear Virginia singing the lyrics to
her favorite song she had heard that night:
“When the gun smoke settles, we’ll sing a victory tune, and we’ll all
meet back at the local saloon. We’ll
raise up our glasses against evil forces, singing whiskey for my men, beer for
my horses.”
She had been treated to a perfectly wonderful time in Texas, but Leonard had
insisted that she return home immediately when she greeted him on the phone
with “howdy” and referred to the Bloomsbury group as “y’all.”
Works Cited
Barwell, Noel. Cambridge. London: Blackie,
1936.
Fox, Peter. Cambridge University Library:
The Great Collections.
Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1998.
Garrett, Martin. Cambridge. Northampton: Interlink,
2004.
Hall, Michael. Cambridge. Cambridge: Pevensey,
1982.
Jones, Joseph. Life on Waller Creek. Austin: Tantalus,
1982.
Spartacus
Educational. http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk.
Woolf, Virginia. Mrs.
Dalloway. New York: Harvest,
1981.
Woolf, Virginia. The
Voyage Out. The Literature
Network. 2004.
http://www.online-literature.com/virginia_woolf/voyage_out/1.
Woolf, Virginia. To the
Lighthouse. New York: Harvest,
1955.