My Affair

Forgive me in advance, for this post will likely be flowery. I just cannot help myself. I had an affair. Yes, I cheated on Rome with Venice. It has been a few weeks. I think I can talk about it now. I have always thought Venice was something, but this visit was different. The weather was a tumultuous tempest peppered with glorious sun breaks. The clouds puffed and swirled and the world was suddenly made only of water and sky. This was the perfect recipe for plays of light that went beyond imagination. It danced under the bridges as though it were alive and inhabiting some unseen upside down otherworld. It glowed inside the water, illuminating the waves in a jade green that I only thought possible in the pigments of the paintings with which I spend so much time. What could have been a stressful and crowded romp hustling 22 students through the tourist clogged back streets of mucky cobblestones, was instead viewed through the rose colored glasses of romance that can only be felt between a person and a city.

I am being abstract. Let me elaborate. I began my Venetian romance with a night-time private visit to San Marco. This is a traditional excursion for the Art History program, so this was my second time enjoying some quasi-alone time in this Byzantine masterpiece of a religious space. The inside of San Marco is covered in gold plated pieces, making up a vast program of mosaics. To play up the drama, the custodians of San Marco turn down all the lights and slowly, slowly illuminate the gold interior. The effect is breathtaking. What is at one moment a dark cavernous interior, becomes a glowing rich gold haven that warms the spirit and is apt to turn any non-believer into part of the flock. Such was the first encounter of this trip with the seductive Venetian light. We all left the church feeling wooed and special and slightly smug at our amazing good fortune. My infidelity began right there.

My previous experiences with the city had been jam-packed gauntlets of art and sights and bad restaurants, all swarming with mobs of tourists complaining about the damp, pigeon infested piazzas and confusing mazes of passages. Venice, although certainly awe-inspiring, was slightly tainted in my mind. This time was different. While our mornings were filled with visits to churches and museums, our afternoons were our own time. I used these precious moments to find a new Venice, bathed in that light I had seen in San Marco that first night. I fled the claustrophia of the Rialto, lined with its fluorescent lit shops of crap, and found myself alone in the backstreets watching the shapes on the water and the colors on the buildings. I was motivated by nothing else than to cross the next little bridge and sit in a new sunny spot where the water lapped up against the buildings and the city felt finite and fleeting. Venice threw a few curve balls in the form of torrential downpours that emptied the streets, soaked the clothes and made the light that much more impressive when it came back out and reflected the drenched cityscape in its own surfaces.

Venice stole my heart for that weekend. I found myself fantasizing about running away and donning a thick scarf and galoshes for a wintery season of melancholic dampness and gloom, pierced by occasional sun breaks and flirtations with the ephemeral dancing light. It occurred to me in these special solitary moments with Venice that although I think of Rome as a home away from home, only a true Seattle girl would fantasize about a sinking wet city, where the promise of color and light are enough to flutter the heart and delight the eyes. Venezia, until we meet again.

Art Bomb

This is what they should call Florence. The Art Bomb. You feel bludgeoned over the head by all the culture. Somehow Florence's small size and centuries-specific collection make you feel like your are drowning in a sea of quattrocento (1400's) and cinquecento (1500's) art. Rome has just as much history, much much more in fact. But the homogenous Florentine spirit overwhelms me and I run looking for some crumbling marble or gilded bronze. Don't get me wrong, Florence is incredible in every sense. Just store up your energy. You gonna need it. I'm a Roman at heart.

Our group has officially disbanded from Rome and we took our act on the road, arriving in Florence last Friday. Traveling with 25 people is a feat. But we did it - with surprisingly few snags. Our hotel was right by San Lorenzo - conveniently located near Michelangelo's Medici Chapel. Our three days in Florence were about art and only art for me. I didn't shop at all. I repeat, Lauren didn't shop. In Florence.

The one art-respite is worth a tell. On Friday night our professors took us out the Tuscan countryside to a restaurant that is very near their research institute. We walked through the hills as the sun was setting with cyprus trees all around and the light radiating off the green countryside. It was breathtaking. We had dinner at a family run restaurant at the base of one of the hills. This could have been one of the best meals of my life. No joke. We had pappa al pomodoro - Tuscan unsalted bread mixed with tomatoes and olive oil. We had farfalle made with pressed olives - it was tangy and savory at the same time, incredible. We had roasted pork with baked tuscan potatoes. To top it off, simple, pure vanilla gelato. Every bite was better than the last. Simple and epic. Just epic.

The next few days were filled with, you guessed it, art. Any iconic major Italian painting or sculpture you can think of is probably here in Florence. Botticelli, Cimabue, Giotto, Titian, Parmigianino, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Da Vinci (all four ninja turtles), Bronzino, Pontormo, Durer, Caravaggio, Gentileschi, Masaccio, Ghirlandaio, Giambologna, Cellini, Ammananti, Bandinelli, Barocci, Fiorentino, there are more, but this list is getting boring. We covered a lot of ground both with the program and during our own free time. Two things I had never done before that I did this time. The first, hiked to Piazzale Michelangelo and San Miniato - up a very steep Tuscan hill on the edge of the city rewarded by spectacular views. The second, saw Michelangelo's David. Finally.

As I write this, I'm sitting in my hotel on the Grand Canal in Venice. T'will be another adventure to regale you with as my time on the program winds to a close. Abbracci da Venezia.

Fête galante

Bonjour!

Here's a little story for you. Three friends get tickets to a piano concerto. And not just any piano concerto, a concerto performed by 19 year old musical prodigy, Augustin Voegele....okay, none of us had any idea who this kid was and honestly we didn't really care. The concerto was being performed inside Palazzo Farnese - also known as the French Embassy - read: impossible to get inside unless you are one of les Français. Palazzo Farnese is one of the many vast palaces that litter Rome, built for a prominent family who happened to have a pope within their ranks in the 16th century. It is home to one of the most amazing ceilings in all of the history of art (secondo me). Now don't get me wrong, it wouldn't exist aesthetically or iconographically without the Sistine ceiling, but I would not be hard pressed to say that Annibale Carracci's Loves of the Gods outdid Michelangelo on this one.

I love this ceiling. It taunts me. The palazzo is located just one piazza over from the UW Rome Center. I sit on the bench outside the building almost everyday to eat my lunch. I lounge at the cafe across the way and stare up at the facade. I pass by the carabinieri constantly stationed outside, giving them flirtatious looks, hoping it will get me somewhere with an entrance. I was elated when I learned that our group was supposed to get a special permission to go inside the embassy to view Annibale's 17th century masterpiece. But alas, the French were feeling a bit ornery that month and denied our visit request. We were all crushed.

On Thursday my friend Lisa calls and says she has three tickets to go to a concert inside Palazzo Farnese. I tell her I'm in. I don't care what the concert is, I'm in. We show up, go through security and are promptly whisked into a room with vast ceilings and copies of famous antiquities. We are then treated to 2 hours of beautiful classical music from the jeune Augustin. The whole time I'm fidgeting in my seat, trying to enjoy the beautiful music, but antsy to know what parts of the palazzo this post-concerto reception are going to open up to me.

Finally it ends. Bravo, bravo. We follow the crowd down the hall. My heart is pounding, I know where we are going. We are in the Galerie des Murano - beautiful Venetian chandeliers are above us; lovely little hors d'oeuvres are set out all around; glasses of champagne abound. I book it out of there and I'm taking off down the hall. I'm looking for Annibale's ceiling. I head around the corner and I'm in a sumptuous sitting room wth tapestries and brocade wallpaper. I keep going and find myself on the terrace of the palazzo. The terrace juts out over the Via Giulia - a street I walk by everyday; it's a terrace I look at everyday. I'm dumbfounded to be standing on it. But no ceiling out here. I head back inside, take a right, then another right....and I've found it. And I'm all alone! Other guests are milling about in the Galerie, oblivious to this specimen of fine art. For a few minutes, I have this fantastic masterpiece all to myself.

After craning my neck for a good long while, I finally catch up with my friends, who had been wondering what the heck had happened to me. It suddenly occurs to all of us that we are starving and we begin wolfing down the lovely culinary offerings as daintily as we possibly can. Why yes, I will have another glass of champagne...and back to Annibale's ceiling I head. One. Track. Mind. Bubbly + art = all set. I will not go into the art historical significance of this work - it could (and does) fill books. All you need know is that it is important and fascinating and marvelous and I love it.

We spent the next two hours looking at the ceiling, wandering the sitting rooms and strolling the terrace - all the while trying to pretend like, yes, we totally belong here. Of course. I take pictures at every embassy party I attend. Don't you? Finally after consuming an unsavory amount of raspberry tarts, we tore ourselves away from the lovely occasion, determined not to be the crazy foreigners - which we pretty much were anyway.

Walking home across the Tiber river with St. Peter's dome glowing in the distance and wafts of jasmine in the air, I couldn't help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I know how I sound - I'm gushing and it's a bit nauseating. However, this lofty high is tempered with the knowledge that tomorrow someone on a scooter will try to run me over, and I'll step in some hot garbage, and a tiny old lady will elbow me out of the way at the bakery. And the cycle will be complete. This city can chew you up and spit you out and then scoop you back up in a loving embrace and give you the greatest gifts. Wow, that sounds dysfunctional when I say it like that. Aw Roma, what other adventures are in store?

Bonsoir.

Un respiro

The last few weeks have been non-stop action. This weekend I finally felt like I had a moment to stop, sleep, and breathe.

The craziness began the previous weekend. I went to Milan and Lake Como (details later) and then barreled into an intense week of program activities. Looking and thinking, thinking and looking. On Monday we had a day trip to Orvieto and Civitavecchia del Bagnoregio. Orvieto is so lovely. So lovely. It's one of my favorite Umbrian hill towns, complete with a funicular, medieval walls and a black and white striped duomo. The highlight of going to Orvieto this time was viewing Francesco Mochi's Annunciation group (an angel and the Virgin Mary) for the Duomo. The sculptures have been moved to a museum, so we were able to walk all around them, really taking the opportunity to view them from all angles. These works were early in Mochi's career and are dated just a few years after "my" Saint Cecilia. They are utterly amazing. The folds of drapery that this sculptor was able to achieve almost tell a story in and of themselves. There are sharp folds and spiraling angles that all make the sculptures look as though they are dynamically taking flight. You get the sense that the angel has just descended up on us in a torrent of whipped wind that has suddenly entered the room.

The first time I came to Italy, I had so many emotional moments. I would see a Michelangelo or a Bernini and burst into tears - dramatic, I know. But I was really young, really excited and really captivated by Italian art. Since then I have felt like my relationship to these works has softened ever so slightly (and is less hysterical). I'm still fascinated by them, but in a much more analytical way. However, seeing those Mochi sculptures brought back that feeling in me from so long ago. I got very emotional, I will admit. I'm happy to know that's still in me somewhere.

Moving along...Civita di Bagnoregio, the City that is Dying. It is literally built atop a precarious-looking mesa. The sides of this mesa are said to be crumbling right out from under the city above. Only a few people actually live here. They are no cars, only a foot bridge that takes you across the valley, up a steep hill, to the town above. We made this trek to take in the breathtaking vistas and visit the bruschetteria - a lovely family-owned hole-in-the-wall serving bruschetta made with fresh-pressed olive oil. The restaurant is built into the side of the rock and is constantly warmed by a small fire, giving the space that wonderful smell of burning wood and an atmosphere of home. We were all reluctant to pull ourselves out of this haven when it was time to go. The ride home to Rome was very subdued after such a relaxing sojourn in the "dying city."

On Wednesday we spent nine hours in the Vatican. NINE. It was a productive day and I was able to see important works with a fresh eye. I realized that it had been almost 10 years since I had been back to these museums. They are vast, overwhelming and humbling. It's mind boggling to consider the papacy's collection of art. The Sistine Chapel is still going strong, constantly mobbed with hoards and hoards of people. The booming voice of a guard calling SILENCIO is still echoing around in my brain.

Thursday was a two-part Caravaggio day. In the morning we had a classroom session to set up the polemics regarding this artist. In the afternoon we actually attended the Caravaggio show currently held here in Rome. Caravaggio has become such a household name that crowds are waiting outside this exhibit for hours everyday just to get in - fortunately we had made a group arrangement two months ago and got to breeze right in. The collection was fantastic - the figures in Caravaggio's paintings seem to breathe and move across the surface of the canvas. The dramatic lighting allowed the bodies to almost protrude into the space of the viewer. I think Caravaggio would probably have been pleased.

On Friday morning, I arranged a special treat. Sister Margaret, of Sta. Cecilia in Trastevere (my church, if you haven't been following along) took me and my professors into the Cappella del Bagno - the area of the church where it was believed that Saint Cecilia was initially boiled. She then took us down into the scavi (excavations) below to see the remains of the Roman insula (apartment block) underneath. This was believed to incorporate Cecilia's home. She allowed us to go all the way to the crypt. I actually got to see the sarcophagus where the remains of the saint are believed to be kept. Of the areas we got to see, only the scavi are open to the public. Sister Margaret was so good to us.

I don't usually narrate a week's activities, but this last one was so rich, yet so exhausting that it seemed appropriate to share. No doubt, it will not be the last of such experiences. We can only hope. Speriamo!

Quick and Dirty

Ciao all. This post is going to be quick and dirty because I want to communicate, but I'm so short on time these days. The students have taken two midterms in the past two weeks and I'm up to my occhi in tests and presentation papers. Ah, the life of a TA.

I'm realizing that while I'm discovering things about this city that I never knew, I'm also reminded of many things that I had forgotten in the six years since I left. I have been jotting these things down in a little notebook as they have come to me. Here are a few:

1. There is a cannon that goes off at precisely noon each day. It is shot off the Janiculum hill right above my apartment. I'm not sure that there is a real cannon ball shooting out (doubtful), but the sound can be heard from most anywhere in the city. It's a nice reminder about the time as I am always without a watch. Who says the Italian aren't precise about timing?

2. The women who collect the garbage - they are so made up! They are wearing these bright orange jumpsuits that can get dirty. However you imagine that as soon as the work day is over, they rip off the jumpsuit and they have some slinky number on underneath, ready to hit the clubs. Their make-up and hair is always immaculate.

3. Groups of Italian school kids - they are usually teenagers and they are totally checked out. Their teachers are taking them to amazing sites: the Ara Pacis, the Vatican Museum, etc. And they could not be less interested. They gab, they flirt, they hold hands, the chew gum, they do anything but look at the art. They drive me nutso.

4. Dog poop - there are no scoop laws in Rome...so...one has to quite literally be on their toes whilst walking around the Eternal City. You might get some dog doo eternally stuck in your treads.

5. The intricacy of doors and locks and gates - it's always a challenge to figure out how all the different portals operate in this country. It might be a button, or a lever, or a pulley, or lock that looks completely foreign and non-sensical to us, but has a rhyme and a reason all its own. Some of them are positively medieval and quite intricate.

6. Nespole - little orange bruised-looking fruits that are a cross between an apricot and a cumquat. They are tart but sweet and have this wonderful skin that you can bite right into. They are coming into season now and I plan to eat many more before my stay is up.

I'm including a few recent pictures that do not have anything to do with this quick and dirty post, but I hope you enjoy them all the same. Off to Milano this weekend. Adventures abound.

Under the surface

Ancient Romans wrote of the seven hills of the city, the Capitoline, the Esquiline, the Quirinal, the Viminal, the Caelian, the Palatine and the Aventine. Like so many vestigial aspects of this city, those hills are still present today. On Sunday I took up a walk up on the Aventine. It is largely a neighborhood. There are no bars, no stores, few cars and plenty of trees. The hill is rimmed with a several early Christian churches. Walking in this part of the city is transporting - you feel isolated from the noise and chaos of the city below. Things seem a little slower and more tranquil. There is a beautiful park with an orange grove. If I could pick a Roman hill to live on, it would be this one. A balcony and a view, please.

One of my favorite spots in the city is on this hill. It's no secret to Romans or frequent visitors alike, but it always reminds me that this place has a surface that many do not go beyond, underneath, into. The spot is a little keyhole in a door to the Priory of the Knights of Malta. What you can see through that keyhole is not something I am going to share here, but I assure you, it is special. Come here someday and see it for yourself. You will know what I mean. Trust me. Don't look it up online. Mom, that means you.

I am ruminating on this little keyhole because I am constantly reminded that after coming here for many years, several times, I have still just begun to investigate all the "keyholes" of Rome. Yesterday we got a special entrance into Santa Pudenziana - a 4th century CE early Christian church. We were able to climb up to the clerestory level and view some of the oldest surviving mosaics up close and all by ourselves. I have actually done this before, but this time we were also taken into a special room and shown a collection of bricks attached to the wall of the church. The bricks had been placed here because they each include a stamp. When Roman emperors built, they produced their own bricks, complete with an original stamp that bore their name. Scholars and archeologists can date buildings based on the discovery of these stamps. Santa Pudenziana has a whole wall of collected stamped bricks spanning hundreds of years and dozens of emperors. This kind of thing really gets me going.

On Sunday I went to the Baths of Caracalla. They are the most complete surviving bath complex in the city - they date from the 3rd century CE. It is culture week in Rome and many such sites are free to the public. Almost no one was there! I had a picnic in the grass and walked through the crumbling brick complex relatively undisturbed by anyone else.

I visited Santa Maria Maggiore, one of the biggest and oldest churches in Rome. Unlike the Baths of Caracalla, I certainly was not the one of only ones visiting this church - there were throngs of eager site-seers, anxious to cross yet another monument off their list. But while they were clamoring to get down into the crypt, I side-skirted the chaos to tuck into a little nook off to the right of the altar. On an unassuming marble slab is an inscription, marking the burial place of Gianlorenzo Bernini, one of the most famous and prolific sculptors...ever. No one even noticed he was there.

Again, I do not mean to sound as if these places are secrets to which an elite few are privy. Rather they are reminders to me that I must be vigilant during my time here and always always keep my eyes open. You might walk down a street a thousand times and one day a door might be open, allowing some workers a breath of fresh air. In turn you are offered a view into a little church, or chapel or palazzo that has a story and a history that you didn't even know existed. So you better stop and smell the plaster. Attenzione.

Tombs, Tufa and Tarquinia

Ciao! Week two of the program comes to an end and already the time is flying by. SLOW DOWN, let me savor every minute!

The program had its first day trip on Tuesday. All 25 of us piled into a bus at 8:30 and scooted down the Lungotevere and out of Rome. We headed north to commune with the spirits of Lazio's earliest inhabitants, the Etruscans. Not a whole lot is known about these people that were the contemporaries of the ancient Greeks and Assyrians. Their civilization seemed to have been systemically subsumed by that of Romans as the Latin hegemony began to spread through Europe and beyond. What we do know of the Etruscans, we have largely learned from their tombs.

Our first stop: the necropolis at Cerverteri. Here the tombs take the form of round mounds called tumuli with entrances that lead the living down a dromos (long hallway) and into the cavern below. Hobbits could live here - it's tempting to play LoTR, but I refrained.

Etruscans buried their dead by laying bodies or urns with ashes onto slabs that resemble beds. The interiors of these tombs are made up of a series of rooms of these stone beds - we believe that families were buried together. New rooms would be punched out of the living rock, tufa, when more space was needed for Grandpa Joe or Uncle Ed.

Walking through the necropolis at Cerveteri was beautiful. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, heck, butterflies were flitting about and landing on flowers. It could not have been more serene and pleasant. Pretty nice place to spend eternity.

Next we headed on to the town of Tarquinia. We had lunch at a lovely little trattoria that served mostly seafood. We headed on to the Etruscan museum, full of sarcophagi and breathtaking views of the sea, and then finally found ourselves at the necropolis of Tarquinia. The tombs here are vastly different than Cerveteri. They are far underground, single rooms, with remaining paint on the walls. This means we can view 2,000+ year old images! The scenes consist largely of figures enjoying symposia, wrestling, hunting, and some more lewd acts that I will not go into here. All in all it seems that the Etruscan perception of the afterlife is pretty bad ass.

We boarded the bus and headed back to Rome, arriving home at about 7:30. It was an exhausting 11 hour day, but we all agreed that it was so well worth it. Despite the dearth of knowledge on this civilization, any day spent with the Etruscans is going to be happy and satisfying one.

Over and out for now. Ciao.