This week has been and is still in the process of being defined by culinary experiences. Monday evening Jake, Jana, Penn and Grace and I partook of the amazingness that is Trattoria La Palomba. This is widely considered the best restaurant in Orvieto, and now I know why. What I liked most was that the cuisine is all very earthy Umbrian fare: mushroom and truffle based pastas, while game makes up a fair amount of the second course menu.
Matt Doll, our director, instructed Jake and I not to skimp. So we didn’t. I had scouted out the menu before, and had already basically decided what I wanted, based on recommendations from John Skillen and other professors. One of my criteria was that we order a bottle of the varietal Sagrantino di Montefalco, one of two Umbrian DOCG wines (the other is Torgiano Rosso Riserva), since I hadn’t tried it yet. Jake and I happened to run into Scott Cairns on the staircase right after talking to Matt about our plans for the evening; we told Scott that we wanted to order the Sagrantino, and he gave us a tip that would help us later: 2003 was not a good year, order a 2004 if possible or a 2005.
The proprietors of La Palomba are firm believers in the Slow Food movement. We arrived at 8:30 and just barely made it back to the monastery by 11. We were seated at a table that was ours for the evening; when you make reservations there, they cross off that table for the rest of the night. When we ordered the wine, we were first given a 2003 bottle. We asked for a 2004, for which we had to pay a whopping three euro extra; Penn and Grace, who had tried the 2003 before, said there was a significant difference in the taste. Our waitress brought out the correct bottle with four red wine glasses and a small white wine glass. After opening the bottle she poured a small amount into the white wine glass and smelled it to make sure it hadn’t been corked. She then prepped the other glasses by pouring the contents of the small glass into one of the red wine glasses, swirling the wine to coat the inside of the glass, and then passing that on to the next glass. The last glass to be prepped she handed to me to try the swallow of wine and give my approval. After that display, I was glad I knew how to taste! She handed out the rest of the glasses, poured for us and then left.
The bruschetta platters we were sharing were soon brought out; the pâté and sweet pepper slices were delicious, everything was very fresh. Then my primo piato (first course) arrived. Matt had told me I would feel like Treebeard eating this, that it was like eating delicious earth: umbrechelli con tartufo. I’ve discovered that truffle is probably my favorite taste in the world, seriously contended only by dark chocolate. This steaming bowl of pasta was the perfect thing for me, then. Umbrechelli is, surprise surprise, an Umbrian form of pasta that is made without egg, just flour and water, and is rolled like very thick spaghetti (but not straight; it has kinks and irregularities, as if the cook was lazy, or beset with arthritis). My bowl of cream covered pasta was brought to the table, and then the amazing part: our waitress pulled out a grater and a whole black truffle and proceeded to grate a mound of truffle shavings onto the pasta. The taste is indescribable.
While the roast pigeon dish almost made me reconsider (and I’ve found out since that they have rabbit!), I knew that my secondo had to be the cinghiale: wild boar. This is another Umbrian specialty, and the way that this particular dish was prepared was almost like a stew. My plate was given me with a heap of chunks of meat, thickly covered by a sauce made from tomatoes and peppers and likely some sort of cream and wine. The boar was wonderfully tender, bringing to mind the amazing lamb that I ate with a spoon at Molyvos in NYC.
All this time we’d been having great conversation and drinking the fantastic wine. We didn’t feel the hours pass at all. Grace had ordered a filet mignon in a nettle sauce; I tried a taste of the sauce, and it was delicious. Jake had also ordered the cinghiale, and Penn and Jana had also ordered the umbrechelli con tartufo. Soon it came time for desert, a difficult decision. Grace and Jana got panna cotta with caramel, which looked unbelievable. Jake ordered a walnut torte, and I ultimately decided on tozzetti, which are small desert cookies like biscotti (some were anise, some pistachio), with vin santo, a small cup of desert wine. I’d heard of this desert before; the whole idea is to the dip the cookies into the wine. It may sound a little strange, but it was actually a great combination. We left the restaurant fully satisfied in every regard.
Have I talked about Leonardo Maietto yet? He is the 23 year old son of Mauro, the man who owns Locanda del Lupo, the restaurant at which we eat every day. Leonardo speaks really decent English, and has actually become a pretty good friend here; he sits and talks with us if the restaurant is slow, and he even drove a couple of us to Lake Bolsena one day. Hopefully, if all goes well, he’ll be working in NYC this fall while I’m there. He has been in restaurant work ever since he decided to no longer pursue a career in ballet, and he’s worked in Canada and London. Anyway, yesterday afternoon he showed a small group of us how to cook pasta carbonara and a potato dish. Here are my notes for the carbonara; I apologize if they’re incomplete or confusing, I was furiously writing while trying to help at the same time.
Start w/ 5L of water (for 2 or 3 people), add 1L for each additional person.
2 semi handfuls of salt of 5L water
Cut bacon and onion, put in pan w/ oil, add white wine and black pepper after a few minutes, cook low heat until fat of bacon is mixed w/ oil (same color), stir
After adding pasta to water (2 handfuls per person for penne, for spaghetti enough to fit in ¾ ring w/ thumb and index finger), cook for 8 min. and then start checking
In bowl, one egg w/ yolk, pinch salt, pepper, splash or two of milk, splash of oil, whisk w/ fork (one of these bowls for every two people)
Finely chop parsley
When pasta is finished, strain and add to pan(s) w/ meat (one pan for every two people), add parmesan cheese and black pepper, raise heat and stir quickly until pasta has taken on color of oil mix, keep heat very hot
When very hot, take off stove and put on counter next to bowl with egg mix
Stirring very quickly, add egg mix and stir in so it is creamy, plate right away. If not stirred quickly enough and plated there will be cooked scrambled egg chunks from too much heat (no good)
Garnish with cheese, pepper, parsley
The most critical part there is that second to last step. Bad carbonara has egg chunks in it, it should always be creamy. I mean, it still tastes alright, but when we did it one batch turned out perfectly and the other was delayed too long before being plated, and the difference was noticeable. So keep in mind that this is not something that you make ahead of time, and then reheat when you’re ready to serve; you’d better be hungry, because it needs to be eaten right away!
We had a great time with Leonardo, and he was a good teacher, in spite of it being his first cooking lesson…we’d never have guessed.
The culinary experiences are set to continue tonight; Matt has been hosting small groups of us for dinner at his apartment, and tonight is my turn. He and Sharona are amazing cooks, so I’m looking forward to it with great anticipation. All the other accounts from students who have eaten with them previously have been absolutely mouthwatering. It will also be great to have a solid block of time to talk with the Dolls.
That’s pretty much all…I’m really happy with my travel writing piece (look for that soon, I’ll post it after the final workshop/critique), and things are about to get really, really busy. Ten days. More people arrive every day because of the events surrounding the installation of Bruce Herman’s show here. I’ve been talking a lot over the past couple of days with Paul Vasile, a Gordon music grad who works in NYC. He has an incredible mind for music, and has inspired me to seriously investigate modern and contemporary “classical” music, of which I am abashedly ignorant. But he’s also very interested in other spheres of creativity, and so talking with him has been a delight, and very energizing. The minds who are assembled here in this place right now…it’s fantastic.
05 June 2009
31 May 2009
Third to Last Week
This last week has been slow and good. Not much out of the ordinary had happened until this weekend. One of Jana’s friends from Wheaton came, and so they and Jake and I went to Il Vin Caffe for a little bit. Last Saturday the stone carving professor from Gordon, Jim Zignorelli (commonly known as “Z”) went out with a couple of us in the hopes of hearing live jazz; unfortunately, it was more like garage band “blues.”
Yesterday was a pretty good, unusual day, though. A group of us went to Lake Bolsena for the day and had a good time relaxing in the sun and cold water. Then, last evening, was the Pallio, the annual horse races in Piazza del Popolo. A straight earthen track was laid down along the length of the piazza, with a gate, and stands erected on either side. First came the timed, single races. A rider thundered up from the bottom of the track, reached up at the gate to clutch a hanging white strap of leather, and then belted for a small barrel a little farther down the track. The run was valid if the rider was able to drop the leather strap into the barrel. There were two teams, red and blue. I was standing on the red side, and at first we were the underdogs by a large margin. Suddenly, however, we seemed to make it up, and I think that we won. After this came the doubles races, which seemed to not be timed. The concept of the race was the same, but these took longer because it was difficult for two horses to cross the starting line at the same time. I left before these races ended because it was late; a good thing, too, because it started to rain soon after I got back inside.
The rain continued today, which was a shame because it’s Pentecost. A tall cupola of sorts had been erected on the steps of the Duomo earlier this week, and then at twelve today a dove in a clear plastic tube was slid down a zipline into the cupola, starting at the roof of another church. Fireworks went off, and the dove was paraded around for a little bit. Right after, Scott Cairns, the recently arrived Bruce Herman (Gordon's art department chair) and I went to get a coffee at Scarponi's. It was great meeting Bruce, since I've admired his work for a while (some of you will remember my dismay that his painting, my favorite at Messiah, was moved to Kim Phipps' house this year!), and he and Scott and I had a good time conversing. Both are very friendly and interesting, in addition to being knowledgeable and experts in their fields. I've also had some good talks with Z, who very easily mixes with us students. These last couple of weeks are shaping up to be a good, solid end.
I recently finished Steinbeck's masterpiece East of Eden. It is one of the best things I've ever read...700 pages flew by. It was hard to pick up something after that, but I decided on Ian McEwan's Atonement. It actually is pretty good writing, and I'm enjoying it.
Tomorrow, Penn and Grace, Jana, Jake and I are going to eat at what is supposed to be one of the (if not the) best restaurants in town, La Palomba.
Yesterday was a pretty good, unusual day, though. A group of us went to Lake Bolsena for the day and had a good time relaxing in the sun and cold water. Then, last evening, was the Pallio, the annual horse races in Piazza del Popolo. A straight earthen track was laid down along the length of the piazza, with a gate, and stands erected on either side. First came the timed, single races. A rider thundered up from the bottom of the track, reached up at the gate to clutch a hanging white strap of leather, and then belted for a small barrel a little farther down the track. The run was valid if the rider was able to drop the leather strap into the barrel. There were two teams, red and blue. I was standing on the red side, and at first we were the underdogs by a large margin. Suddenly, however, we seemed to make it up, and I think that we won. After this came the doubles races, which seemed to not be timed. The concept of the race was the same, but these took longer because it was difficult for two horses to cross the starting line at the same time. I left before these races ended because it was late; a good thing, too, because it started to rain soon after I got back inside.
The rain continued today, which was a shame because it’s Pentecost. A tall cupola of sorts had been erected on the steps of the Duomo earlier this week, and then at twelve today a dove in a clear plastic tube was slid down a zipline into the cupola, starting at the roof of another church. Fireworks went off, and the dove was paraded around for a little bit. Right after, Scott Cairns, the recently arrived Bruce Herman (Gordon's art department chair) and I went to get a coffee at Scarponi's. It was great meeting Bruce, since I've admired his work for a while (some of you will remember my dismay that his painting, my favorite at Messiah, was moved to Kim Phipps' house this year!), and he and Scott and I had a good time conversing. Both are very friendly and interesting, in addition to being knowledgeable and experts in their fields. I've also had some good talks with Z, who very easily mixes with us students. These last couple of weeks are shaping up to be a good, solid end.
I recently finished Steinbeck's masterpiece East of Eden. It is one of the best things I've ever read...700 pages flew by. It was hard to pick up something after that, but I decided on Ian McEwan's Atonement. It actually is pretty good writing, and I'm enjoying it.
Tomorrow, Penn and Grace, Jana, Jake and I are going to eat at what is supposed to be one of the (if not the) best restaurants in town, La Palomba.
22 May 2009
Long Overdue...Mi Dispiace
I realize that I have been unusually negligent with this blog recently. I think two weeks is more than enough time.
It’s a little difficult for me to remember now what has passed. I left off when I was about to go see the Buena Vista Social Club at the local theatre. The performance was excellent and enlightening, as that is one area of music into which I’ve not really delved.
That Sunday and last Sunday were spent in Christine Perrin’s apartment again, eating lunch with other friends and having good conversation. It was disappointing that she and Catherine needed to leave so soon, but I recognize how lucky I am that they will remain in my life even after being here, a gift that not many of the other students have. They came during a rough period of our group’s history, and especially for me; having them gave me a measure of reliable former context. That is a valuable feeling that cannot be reproduced or imitated by something that is not native to life back home, and it helped me strengthen and heal.
The week (two weeks ago) was the final period of the portrait painting course. During that time my eye really began to change, and even still I look at someone’s face and see how I would reproduce it with patches of color. I thought that I was not good at painting, and maybe that was good, maybe I would not have made the progress I did. But I love it now. In class, we painted Signor Ricetti, a local ancient portly man with a glorious white beard and weathered face. I love my painting, but I will need to finish some of the details when I return to the States. For my final independent project I painted Erin…it still needs work as well. She has an amazingly captivating face, and reproducing the look I wanted was a harder task than I expected.
Abby and I went to Rome last Saturday…it was a good trip, but there were some unfortunate occurrences that made it a very long, and in some cases, frustrating day. I kept getting us lost in the area around Piazza Navona, and there were some major fiascoes with the train schedule. Due to some misdirection, we were told that the only train we could take would depart from the Roma Tiburtina station (as opposed to the convenient one, Roma Termini), and that its only stop on the way to Firenze would be a half hour drive from Orvieto, and that it would be more expensive than the train we’d been planning to take. It turns out that there was another option, but we were not told about it, so we had to beg Laura Menichetti to come pick us up…at midnight. But the highlights of the day were great…wandering into small stores, a picnic in the Borghese gardens, exploring the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna (since Abby hadn’t seen any of it and I’d only seen the Cy Twombly exhibit), which has a pretty nice collection, and a visit to the Gagosian gallery to see an Anselm Kiefer sculpture show. Walking into that gallery felt like walking out of Rome and into a corner of Chelsea, which was a nice feeling.
This week began our travel writing course with the poet Scott Cairns. I love it. He’s a really down to earth guy who wears sandals, shorts, oxfords, and a pony-tail. His wife is a very lovely person who writes about food, which both of them love. He has excitedly discovered a taste for grappa, and proudly shows us when he gets a good bottle of it. But the course itself is wonderful because it is wonderful to be writing and reading again. Invisible Cities was a perfect warm-up to this class, and to reading Roland Barthes’ Empire of Signs, which is absolutely fantastic so far. The pace has been relaxed so far, and the work is completely enjoyable. Most classes this week, we have gone out into the town at some point to write sketches about the things we see and take in some sun…it’s a time of Orvieto that we had not been able to really see before.
Other than that, the days have been filled with more leisure activities…playing football on Thursday afternoons, trying a fragrant, 8 year Irish whiskey at a new enoteca, celebrating Jake and Lauren’s birthdays at a restaurant last night, Leonardo driving Erin, Jess and her sister and I to Lake Bolsena for an afternoon to swim and lie on the beach. That sort of thing. Summer has dropped onto this region suddenly, and it is hot and sunny perpetually, and life is fresh.
PS, Dr. Romaine from NYCAMS emailed me recently to let me know of the internship they selected for me for next fall...I will be working at the New Museum, on Bowery St. in Manhattan. Apparently it's one of the foremost contemporary art exhibition spaces in NYC, so I'm super psyched about it. Check it out.
PPS. My brother, Stephen, graduated last night. I wish I could have been there, but I'm really proud of him, and excited to see where his life will go. Please congratulate him if you see him!
It’s a little difficult for me to remember now what has passed. I left off when I was about to go see the Buena Vista Social Club at the local theatre. The performance was excellent and enlightening, as that is one area of music into which I’ve not really delved.
That Sunday and last Sunday were spent in Christine Perrin’s apartment again, eating lunch with other friends and having good conversation. It was disappointing that she and Catherine needed to leave so soon, but I recognize how lucky I am that they will remain in my life even after being here, a gift that not many of the other students have. They came during a rough period of our group’s history, and especially for me; having them gave me a measure of reliable former context. That is a valuable feeling that cannot be reproduced or imitated by something that is not native to life back home, and it helped me strengthen and heal.
The week (two weeks ago) was the final period of the portrait painting course. During that time my eye really began to change, and even still I look at someone’s face and see how I would reproduce it with patches of color. I thought that I was not good at painting, and maybe that was good, maybe I would not have made the progress I did. But I love it now. In class, we painted Signor Ricetti, a local ancient portly man with a glorious white beard and weathered face. I love my painting, but I will need to finish some of the details when I return to the States. For my final independent project I painted Erin…it still needs work as well. She has an amazingly captivating face, and reproducing the look I wanted was a harder task than I expected.
Abby and I went to Rome last Saturday…it was a good trip, but there were some unfortunate occurrences that made it a very long, and in some cases, frustrating day. I kept getting us lost in the area around Piazza Navona, and there were some major fiascoes with the train schedule. Due to some misdirection, we were told that the only train we could take would depart from the Roma Tiburtina station (as opposed to the convenient one, Roma Termini), and that its only stop on the way to Firenze would be a half hour drive from Orvieto, and that it would be more expensive than the train we’d been planning to take. It turns out that there was another option, but we were not told about it, so we had to beg Laura Menichetti to come pick us up…at midnight. But the highlights of the day were great…wandering into small stores, a picnic in the Borghese gardens, exploring the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna (since Abby hadn’t seen any of it and I’d only seen the Cy Twombly exhibit), which has a pretty nice collection, and a visit to the Gagosian gallery to see an Anselm Kiefer sculpture show. Walking into that gallery felt like walking out of Rome and into a corner of Chelsea, which was a nice feeling.
This week began our travel writing course with the poet Scott Cairns. I love it. He’s a really down to earth guy who wears sandals, shorts, oxfords, and a pony-tail. His wife is a very lovely person who writes about food, which both of them love. He has excitedly discovered a taste for grappa, and proudly shows us when he gets a good bottle of it. But the course itself is wonderful because it is wonderful to be writing and reading again. Invisible Cities was a perfect warm-up to this class, and to reading Roland Barthes’ Empire of Signs, which is absolutely fantastic so far. The pace has been relaxed so far, and the work is completely enjoyable. Most classes this week, we have gone out into the town at some point to write sketches about the things we see and take in some sun…it’s a time of Orvieto that we had not been able to really see before.
Other than that, the days have been filled with more leisure activities…playing football on Thursday afternoons, trying a fragrant, 8 year Irish whiskey at a new enoteca, celebrating Jake and Lauren’s birthdays at a restaurant last night, Leonardo driving Erin, Jess and her sister and I to Lake Bolsena for an afternoon to swim and lie on the beach. That sort of thing. Summer has dropped onto this region suddenly, and it is hot and sunny perpetually, and life is fresh.
PS, Dr. Romaine from NYCAMS emailed me recently to let me know of the internship they selected for me for next fall...I will be working at the New Museum, on Bowery St. in Manhattan. Apparently it's one of the foremost contemporary art exhibition spaces in NYC, so I'm super psyched about it. Check it out.
PPS. My brother, Stephen, graduated last night. I wish I could have been there, but I'm really proud of him, and excited to see where his life will go. Please congratulate him if you see him!
08 May 2009
Caravaggio + Zoo + Cy Twombly + Paint + Wine = The Past Week
I am writing this sitting in bed this Friday morning, listening to the Decemberists’ concert from SXSW this year, in which they played through the entirety of the new album. It sounds pretty decent, back more to their old style but harder. So far nothing stands out like some of the songs on The Crane Wife, but I’ll wait until I hear the studio album to make judgments.
Last week on Saturday a smallish group of us ignored the impending doom of the swine flu to brave a trip to Roma. We traveled with our director, Matt Doll, his wife Sharona, and his small children Silas, Ronan, and baby Chiara, because the main event of the day was to go to the zoo! It was a hot and humid day (it actually thunderstormed for half an hour while we were in the zoo) that started incredibly early, but it was well worth it. Matt and a sub-group of students took the early train so that we could see the Caravaggios that we missed last time – the St. Matthew cycle. My life is now complete! The Calling of St. Matthew is extraordinary, a very powerful painting. I was a little surprised at how much I loved the painting facing it on the opposite side of the chapel, the Martyrdom of St. Matthew. It is a very balanced painting compositionally, but also completely violent. The black emotion in the face and tensed and twisting body of the assassin begins a swirling vortex of fleeing figures and reaching angels. There is so little architecture in the painting, and the foreground is essentially a black pit. What struck me the most was how the assassin was set up as such an image of perversion through his act of wrenching St. Matthew’s outstretched arm away from grasping the olive branch of martyrdom that the angel is extending towards him.
Feeling utterly satisfied, we set out towards the zoo, which is contained in the Borghese gardens. It’s a fantastic feeling to now have some idea of what I’m walking past in Roma, knowing that there is a good caffe and here is the Ara Pacis and here is a good wine bar and now we are passing a church with Caravaggios or Michelangelos and we are not stopping to see them again. It is a city loaded with potential.
We had stopped at the open market in Campo del Fiori to assemble a picnic lunch (and eat the best cornetti I’ve had so far) before we quested for Caravaggio, and so we ate in the park after meeting up with the rest of the group at the zoo. Matt prepares the best food, and there were ancient hollowed out trees that we had fun climbing on.
The zoo was decent; the hippos were pretty sweet, and the monkeys were entertaining as always. The seals were not entertaining. The pens were kind of depressing, though, not very well constructed. It was still fun to wander around, though.
When we had about an hour left, I walked out of the zoo and down to the bottom of the hill, where resides the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna. Luckily I was able to get in for free since I am an art student, because my main intention (given my time limit) was to see the Cy Twombly exhibit that was going on there. I did not know before how much time he had spent in Italy; some of the painting had even been painted at Lake Bolsena, which is not far from Orvieto (we have plans to go there next weekend). The exhibit was alright, not every painting or drawing was really strong, but it was great seeing a body of his work again. I will be returning to Rome for a day next weekend as well (lake one day, Rome the next!) with Abby, and we’re going to go back to the museum and look at the rest of its offerings, as well as stop by the Gagosian gallery to see the Anselm Kiefer show (!).
With the exception of a great wine tasting in the convent last Sunday, the week was largely uneventful, mostly more painting. I am loving this class, and my painting skills have drastically improved over this short time. Catherine Prescott is wonderful. It’s also been great having the Perrins here, Christine and I have had some great conversations about everything. Yesterday in particular was a great day, we “finished” painting Elle Perrin (I’m very pleased with it so far) and played calcio/football/soccer at a local field for an hour or so in the afternoon. I then went down to the Perrin’s apartment to talk with them, which ended up being delightful and extending over dinner time.
Another highlight of yesterday was after dinner when Abby and I went to a highly recommended wine bar in town, Il Vin Caffe. They are serious about their wine there, and we decided to maybe splurge a little bit in the pursuit of la dolce vita. I had a red from Veneto (which was just ok), and Abby had a glass of Grechetto. This is one of the main grapes used in the white Orvieto Classico (the main wine of this area), and has a really tangy citrus taste, slightly bitter – it is the reason I like the Orvieto Classico. I like the pure Grechetto even better, because it is not sweet at all. I ordered a crostini plate with sweet tomatoes, oregano, and some small type of fish. Delicious. Abby and I shared a torta that was chocolate and apricot marmalade, and to compliment it we ordered a glass each of a dessert wine. This is not something I normally get; in fact, I’ve really only tried sips of it at different times in the past. We made the right choice in ordering it. Abby’s tasted (and smelled) like less viscous honey, and I ordered a local specialty – Muffa Nobile. It had been explained to me before that this is made (in a similar way to Canadian ice wine) by leaving the grapes on the vines past the normal harvest time. There is a type of “nobile mold” (muffa nobile) that they cause to slightly rot the grapes on the vines, which shrivels them and brings out the sugars – almost like making wine from raisins. It blew me away. The bouquet was delicious and complicated; there were scents that I had never smelled before. The taste was also wonderful, like apricots and caramel. I will do all I can to bring a bottle home.
Tonight I am going to see the Buena Vista Social Club at the local theatre, courtesy of Catherine Prescott. I’m excited because I’ve heard really great things about them, and they’re pretty famous. So that should be fun.
I think that is all for now. I love you all.
Last week on Saturday a smallish group of us ignored the impending doom of the swine flu to brave a trip to Roma. We traveled with our director, Matt Doll, his wife Sharona, and his small children Silas, Ronan, and baby Chiara, because the main event of the day was to go to the zoo! It was a hot and humid day (it actually thunderstormed for half an hour while we were in the zoo) that started incredibly early, but it was well worth it. Matt and a sub-group of students took the early train so that we could see the Caravaggios that we missed last time – the St. Matthew cycle. My life is now complete! The Calling of St. Matthew is extraordinary, a very powerful painting. I was a little surprised at how much I loved the painting facing it on the opposite side of the chapel, the Martyrdom of St. Matthew. It is a very balanced painting compositionally, but also completely violent. The black emotion in the face and tensed and twisting body of the assassin begins a swirling vortex of fleeing figures and reaching angels. There is so little architecture in the painting, and the foreground is essentially a black pit. What struck me the most was how the assassin was set up as such an image of perversion through his act of wrenching St. Matthew’s outstretched arm away from grasping the olive branch of martyrdom that the angel is extending towards him.
Feeling utterly satisfied, we set out towards the zoo, which is contained in the Borghese gardens. It’s a fantastic feeling to now have some idea of what I’m walking past in Roma, knowing that there is a good caffe and here is the Ara Pacis and here is a good wine bar and now we are passing a church with Caravaggios or Michelangelos and we are not stopping to see them again. It is a city loaded with potential.
We had stopped at the open market in Campo del Fiori to assemble a picnic lunch (and eat the best cornetti I’ve had so far) before we quested for Caravaggio, and so we ate in the park after meeting up with the rest of the group at the zoo. Matt prepares the best food, and there were ancient hollowed out trees that we had fun climbing on.
The zoo was decent; the hippos were pretty sweet, and the monkeys were entertaining as always. The seals were not entertaining. The pens were kind of depressing, though, not very well constructed. It was still fun to wander around, though.
When we had about an hour left, I walked out of the zoo and down to the bottom of the hill, where resides the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna. Luckily I was able to get in for free since I am an art student, because my main intention (given my time limit) was to see the Cy Twombly exhibit that was going on there. I did not know before how much time he had spent in Italy; some of the painting had even been painted at Lake Bolsena, which is not far from Orvieto (we have plans to go there next weekend). The exhibit was alright, not every painting or drawing was really strong, but it was great seeing a body of his work again. I will be returning to Rome for a day next weekend as well (lake one day, Rome the next!) with Abby, and we’re going to go back to the museum and look at the rest of its offerings, as well as stop by the Gagosian gallery to see the Anselm Kiefer show (!).
With the exception of a great wine tasting in the convent last Sunday, the week was largely uneventful, mostly more painting. I am loving this class, and my painting skills have drastically improved over this short time. Catherine Prescott is wonderful. It’s also been great having the Perrins here, Christine and I have had some great conversations about everything. Yesterday in particular was a great day, we “finished” painting Elle Perrin (I’m very pleased with it so far) and played calcio/football/soccer at a local field for an hour or so in the afternoon. I then went down to the Perrin’s apartment to talk with them, which ended up being delightful and extending over dinner time.
Another highlight of yesterday was after dinner when Abby and I went to a highly recommended wine bar in town, Il Vin Caffe. They are serious about their wine there, and we decided to maybe splurge a little bit in the pursuit of la dolce vita. I had a red from Veneto (which was just ok), and Abby had a glass of Grechetto. This is one of the main grapes used in the white Orvieto Classico (the main wine of this area), and has a really tangy citrus taste, slightly bitter – it is the reason I like the Orvieto Classico. I like the pure Grechetto even better, because it is not sweet at all. I ordered a crostini plate with sweet tomatoes, oregano, and some small type of fish. Delicious. Abby and I shared a torta that was chocolate and apricot marmalade, and to compliment it we ordered a glass each of a dessert wine. This is not something I normally get; in fact, I’ve really only tried sips of it at different times in the past. We made the right choice in ordering it. Abby’s tasted (and smelled) like less viscous honey, and I ordered a local specialty – Muffa Nobile. It had been explained to me before that this is made (in a similar way to Canadian ice wine) by leaving the grapes on the vines past the normal harvest time. There is a type of “nobile mold” (muffa nobile) that they cause to slightly rot the grapes on the vines, which shrivels them and brings out the sugars – almost like making wine from raisins. It blew me away. The bouquet was delicious and complicated; there were scents that I had never smelled before. The taste was also wonderful, like apricots and caramel. I will do all I can to bring a bottle home.
Tonight I am going to see the Buena Vista Social Club at the local theatre, courtesy of Catherine Prescott. I’m excited because I’ve heard really great things about them, and they’re pretty famous. So that should be fun.
I think that is all for now. I love you all.
01 May 2009
Firenze, 24.4.09
Last Friday I traveled to Firenze for the day with my dear friends Erin, Abby, Jake, and Josh. Upon arriving we discovered that, because it was the EU’s “Culture Week,” all of the museums were open for free! We had ambitious plans for the day, so this was a great help, saving us around 23 euro in museum admissions and long waits in line (I assume that the lines moved so quickly because there was no jam-up from needing to pay).
Our first stop was at the Palazzo Pitti, a short jaunt across the Arno. We were excited to start the day with a visit to the modern art section of the museum, since we don’t get a great deal of that here; now and then we crave it. We quickly discovered, however, that the term “modern” was being used in the same way that historians use it: as a loose time period beginning in the mid-1700s and extending up to the end of the 19th century. This was very frustrating to me because in art history, the term is used completely differently, referring to a specific time period beginning at the end of the 19th century. While I appreciate the skill of the art coming out of the age of modernity (in the historical sense), I have little personal interest in it.
Palazzo Pitti was not, however, a disappointment (don’t worry Dana! It was a great recommendation). We had thought that the attached Boboli Gardens might make a good 15 minute refresher before we set out for the next museum. The next thing we knew, we had spent about an hour and a half wandering the newly verdant grounds, which were a perfect blend of water, sculpture, manicured lawns and slightly checked growth. We saw about a third of the gardens. The weather was perfect, and after the day of rain before it was wonderful to merely wander in sun and look out over the city from the top of the hill. Hopefully we will be able to return with a picnic lunch and explore the rest of the grounds.
When we finally rolled our pant legs back down and summoned the resolve to leave the gardens, we set out to recross the Arno and visit the Borgello museum. I had been here two summers ago, but I insisted that we add it to our itinerary because no one in our group should miss what it has: Donatello’s David, and the plaques created by Ghiberti and Brunelleschi in the contest over the design of the Duomo’s baptistery doors. David is an incredible piece of early Renaissance sculpture, and is specifically important for Firenze as a symbol of its dominance over other nearby city-states. The plaques, however, stand out even more in my mind because many feel that their creation can be definitively pointed out as the start of the Renaissance.
We next headed up the street to the Accademia, the museum in which are housed Michelangelo’s “enslaved” unfinished sculptures meant for the tomb of Pope Julius II, and, of course, his David. I was very prepared to not be overly impressed with what I thought was likely an unduly popular piece of sculpture; there is plenty of art that is like that, so popular and constantly being thrust into our visual vocabulary, when it really isn’t all that great. This is different. Michelangelo’s David deserves all the recognition it gets. I was prepared to be unimpressed, but woefully unprepared for the opposite effect; it is awing in its grandeur. The photographs do it no justice – it is twice as large as I thought it would be, and is additionally overwhelming because it stands on a pedestal that is above eye-level.
Upon leaving we stopped at a tiny restaurant to grab a panino to go. It was one of the best sandwiches I’ve had in my life, ham with eggplant and a creamy truffle sauce.
Following lunch we stood in line at the Galleria degli Uffizi for two hours. This was not exactly what we wanted, but it ended up being ok because we met an older couple from Toronto, and we traded stories of our travels for the whole time. So the time passed quickly, and soon enough we were inside. The wealth of art that is inside that building is staggering. The halls are lined with statues like Roman replicas of the Doryphoros, and each room contains some of the most famous works of art in the world. Highlights: the room with the Madonna enthroned altarpieces by both Giotto and Cimabue, Rembrandt portraits, a giant Da Vinci cartoon, Caravaggios. The greatest highlights, though, were seeing the Artemesia Gentileschi Judith Slaying Holofernes painting next to the Caravaggios and actually liking it better than the Caravaggios (!), and the Botticelli room. Primavera and The Birth of Venus are two of the greatest paintings I have ever seen. I suppose what draws me to them is that they are paintings that look like drawings, but it is also the extreme delicacy and precision, especially in Primavera; as dark as that painting is, the whole thing communicates weightlessness, the uplifting spirit of spring. The intricacy of the patterns on the fabric, the small details all add up to a massive painting that is about what is tiny. And then, The Birth of Venus…another artwork that bombards us almost daily, but once again with good reason. After seeing it in person, I am convinced that it is the loveliest treatment of the female form that I have seen. It kills me that this room will in such a short time become inaccessible to me; it is the type of museum space to which pilgrimages should be made as often as possible.
What was NOT a highlight was seeing Parmigianino’s Madonna with the Long Neck. I had wanted to go my whole life with never seeing this monstrosity in person, but the kind folks at the Uffizi just had to place it at a point through which passage was necessary to see half of the museum. What an abomination.
When we had exhausted the Uffizi, we took a quick trip to H&M, where I did not buy anything (be proud, Mom and Dad!). On the way back to Sta. Maria Novella for our 7.13 train, we ordered gelato at Corona’s Café – it was the best gelato I’ve had, I was essentially eating a cold, creamy mango.
I cannot pretend to judge Firenze on the few short times I’ve been there, but the impression it has made on me is this: what is sincere and (relatively) permanent is old and kept inside, and it is from these objects that the city continues to derive its identity and its sincerity. Firenze is a fashion center in every meaning of the word: Italian designers have their flagship stores in this city, even if all the work is done in Milan. The streets are wide and clean, shops abound, there is a sense of a congruous fusion of medieval and modern (unlike so many of the Shakespeare plays done today) in the look of the place. However, take away the Botticellis and the Donatellos and what does Firenze have that is not transitory? Perhaps it is simply what every other city has, but since other cities do not have the start of the Renaissance, this all becomes more apparent. It is interesting to me that what is contained within walls and behind laser beams is the heart of the city. Firenze is, perhaps, still a Renaissance city, and it has not yet been re-birthed as other cities continuously are.
Our first stop was at the Palazzo Pitti, a short jaunt across the Arno. We were excited to start the day with a visit to the modern art section of the museum, since we don’t get a great deal of that here; now and then we crave it. We quickly discovered, however, that the term “modern” was being used in the same way that historians use it: as a loose time period beginning in the mid-1700s and extending up to the end of the 19th century. This was very frustrating to me because in art history, the term is used completely differently, referring to a specific time period beginning at the end of the 19th century. While I appreciate the skill of the art coming out of the age of modernity (in the historical sense), I have little personal interest in it.
Palazzo Pitti was not, however, a disappointment (don’t worry Dana! It was a great recommendation). We had thought that the attached Boboli Gardens might make a good 15 minute refresher before we set out for the next museum. The next thing we knew, we had spent about an hour and a half wandering the newly verdant grounds, which were a perfect blend of water, sculpture, manicured lawns and slightly checked growth. We saw about a third of the gardens. The weather was perfect, and after the day of rain before it was wonderful to merely wander in sun and look out over the city from the top of the hill. Hopefully we will be able to return with a picnic lunch and explore the rest of the grounds.
When we finally rolled our pant legs back down and summoned the resolve to leave the gardens, we set out to recross the Arno and visit the Borgello museum. I had been here two summers ago, but I insisted that we add it to our itinerary because no one in our group should miss what it has: Donatello’s David, and the plaques created by Ghiberti and Brunelleschi in the contest over the design of the Duomo’s baptistery doors. David is an incredible piece of early Renaissance sculpture, and is specifically important for Firenze as a symbol of its dominance over other nearby city-states. The plaques, however, stand out even more in my mind because many feel that their creation can be definitively pointed out as the start of the Renaissance.
We next headed up the street to the Accademia, the museum in which are housed Michelangelo’s “enslaved” unfinished sculptures meant for the tomb of Pope Julius II, and, of course, his David. I was very prepared to not be overly impressed with what I thought was likely an unduly popular piece of sculpture; there is plenty of art that is like that, so popular and constantly being thrust into our visual vocabulary, when it really isn’t all that great. This is different. Michelangelo’s David deserves all the recognition it gets. I was prepared to be unimpressed, but woefully unprepared for the opposite effect; it is awing in its grandeur. The photographs do it no justice – it is twice as large as I thought it would be, and is additionally overwhelming because it stands on a pedestal that is above eye-level.
Upon leaving we stopped at a tiny restaurant to grab a panino to go. It was one of the best sandwiches I’ve had in my life, ham with eggplant and a creamy truffle sauce.
Following lunch we stood in line at the Galleria degli Uffizi for two hours. This was not exactly what we wanted, but it ended up being ok because we met an older couple from Toronto, and we traded stories of our travels for the whole time. So the time passed quickly, and soon enough we were inside. The wealth of art that is inside that building is staggering. The halls are lined with statues like Roman replicas of the Doryphoros, and each room contains some of the most famous works of art in the world. Highlights: the room with the Madonna enthroned altarpieces by both Giotto and Cimabue, Rembrandt portraits, a giant Da Vinci cartoon, Caravaggios. The greatest highlights, though, were seeing the Artemesia Gentileschi Judith Slaying Holofernes painting next to the Caravaggios and actually liking it better than the Caravaggios (!), and the Botticelli room. Primavera and The Birth of Venus are two of the greatest paintings I have ever seen. I suppose what draws me to them is that they are paintings that look like drawings, but it is also the extreme delicacy and precision, especially in Primavera; as dark as that painting is, the whole thing communicates weightlessness, the uplifting spirit of spring. The intricacy of the patterns on the fabric, the small details all add up to a massive painting that is about what is tiny. And then, The Birth of Venus…another artwork that bombards us almost daily, but once again with good reason. After seeing it in person, I am convinced that it is the loveliest treatment of the female form that I have seen. It kills me that this room will in such a short time become inaccessible to me; it is the type of museum space to which pilgrimages should be made as often as possible.
What was NOT a highlight was seeing Parmigianino’s Madonna with the Long Neck. I had wanted to go my whole life with never seeing this monstrosity in person, but the kind folks at the Uffizi just had to place it at a point through which passage was necessary to see half of the museum. What an abomination.
When we had exhausted the Uffizi, we took a quick trip to H&M, where I did not buy anything (be proud, Mom and Dad!). On the way back to Sta. Maria Novella for our 7.13 train, we ordered gelato at Corona’s Café – it was the best gelato I’ve had, I was essentially eating a cold, creamy mango.
I cannot pretend to judge Firenze on the few short times I’ve been there, but the impression it has made on me is this: what is sincere and (relatively) permanent is old and kept inside, and it is from these objects that the city continues to derive its identity and its sincerity. Firenze is a fashion center in every meaning of the word: Italian designers have their flagship stores in this city, even if all the work is done in Milan. The streets are wide and clean, shops abound, there is a sense of a congruous fusion of medieval and modern (unlike so many of the Shakespeare plays done today) in the look of the place. However, take away the Botticellis and the Donatellos and what does Firenze have that is not transitory? Perhaps it is simply what every other city has, but since other cities do not have the start of the Renaissance, this all becomes more apparent. It is interesting to me that what is contained within walls and behind laser beams is the heart of the city. Firenze is, perhaps, still a Renaissance city, and it has not yet been re-birthed as other cities continuously are.
25 April 2009
Invisible City: Napoli
See the monastery, beaten by water and frozen water. It is ancient, two months old now but several years in imagination and centuries in writings. There is the sink where rushing water and soap work to remove oil and pigment. Listen to the echoes of hymns off of white plaster, and you know all the words, and you sing along with them over the sound of cleaning, Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea. Hymn 100, and you remember it as a joke and a nuisance, suggested every week and sung every week because of its number and because small children love it. And now you love it because it is old and found true, and the thunder directly overhead obscures it but does not interrupt it.
See the fields of Orvieto last week on a warm day when disaster was announced and all were shaken and one was not there, and you were not to blame and everyone says this but it is not enough. Feel the brown cliffs carved away standing behind you and watch the wind move the fields so that they flow away but stay where they have been for centuries, used and not used in turn. Now they are used for distraction and comfort. They are far below and will soon be experienced but will not have the same presence unless seen from far above.
See the room in Venice where excess revealed what is good and the reminder was almost lost but was in the dizzying gold of the cathedral, and the water flowed around, beauty and undoing, release and entrapment so that your mind knows a new way to conceive of its place, and also your soul.
See the earth that is not there but for tiny islands until you walk out and find it to be there. Walk out.
~
I am reading Italo Calvino's book Invisible Cities, and it is excellent.
This past weekend ended two intense weeks of drawing, in which more than just my drawing changed. Without going into an inappropriate amount of detail, I will say that I realized two weeks ago that some aspects of my life were not true and good, and I began to work to change that. My drawing followed suit, and so Holy Week really became that (holy) for me. I started to turn a corner that is still being turned. And yet, last week something traumatic happened here (again, I’m withholding details because they are sensitive and personal to some) that worked to correct a negative influence on our program, but was still painful for everyone. Please continue to pray for healing out of this. So the last two weeks were full of intense work, spiritual juggling, and physical and emotional exhaustion.
It may seem somewhat strange, then, that I chose to go with my friends Jake, Jana, and Allyson to Napoli. This city is infamous for being dirty and filled with crime, home of Mafiosi and scooter-driving purse-snatchers. It is an intense city to be sure, but there is also a great amount of art and other cultural activities. I had been in the area two years ago, but only in the Amalfi coast region, Pompeii, and Capri, below the city. This was going to be a totally new experience for me.
Because we had come out of such a packed time, we decided to take things as slowly as we could. We arrived via train around 4, and hiked halfway across the city to our hostel, Giovanni’s Home. We of course had no idea what to expect from the hostel, since each is so different, but we had seen that it got great reviews and was fairly cheap. Giovanni welcomed us in, gave us water, and proceeded to give us a map, a book about Napoli, and loads of information about all there was to do in the city, with a brief history lesson for each thing. He drew on our map where we should go, which parts were dangerous, and where the best pizza was. He reassured us about the crime rates, which were on the whole fairly low compared to many other cities in Italy (Rome had 3 times as many reported petty thefts), and explained that out of all the killings that year, only three were not Mafia related. Despite that, he warned us against going into the Quartiere Spagnoli on the west side of the city, which has such a fine grid of tiny crisscrossed streets that the police simply cannot control it. It was kind of interesting later on to be walking on the larger street that ran along the area’s border, and have this dangerous zone right next to you…kind of the same sort of thrill that comes from playing with fire.
But back to Giovanni…the man is a saint. Not only did he provide us with all that help, but he cooked us amazing food that evening after we came back from looking at some of the major churches. He served us and the few other hostel companions wine and then pulled out his guitar and taught us “Funiculí Funicula” and played some American classics. We began to see why Hostelworld had titled him “most fun” a few years ago.
The next morning we basically just walked around the city…into an old castle, looking for comfortable shoes for Jana in the fashion district, stopping in Zara, looking at Mount Vesuvius while eating enormous pannini made of buffalo mozzarella and tomatoes. In the early afternoon we took a short tour of the Teatro di San Carlo, the oldest continuously active opera house in Europe (which, I imagine, means the whole world). It was absolutely gorgeous inside, six tiers of boxes and a stage as big as the audience space. Apparently musicians who are in high demand consider it an honor to perform there, and many have made it their only stop in Italy. We noticed that there was a Mozart opera playing that evening, and were informed that student rush tickets for 15 euro would be available an hour before the performance…upon this good news, we decided to accept the fact that we would be woefully underdressed, and do all that we could to get tickets.
After relaxing a little bit back at the hostel, we ate a quick meal of pizza followed by limoncello and walked back to the theatre to get tickets. Even though we were about half an hour too early for the student time, the man in the box office gave us tickets anyway, and we were able to secure a fourth floor box all to ourselves, stage left. The opera was Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail (The Abduction from the Seraglio). The gist is that the main character’s lover, Kostanza, and one of his servants and one of her servants were captured by a caliph and forced to join his harem. The servant in charge of the harem is an evil man, the main character tries to get his lover back, etc. etc. The opera was actually one of Mozart’s earlier operas, and greatly influenced what became new trends in the German take on the form. The music was, of course, excellent, and that theatre is one of the best acoustically…as far as I could tell, there was no electronic amplification.
The staging, however, was updated to modern times, and was (as Jake likes to describe it) as if Lil John and Snoop Dogg had recycled the music and reset the stage. All the action took place on a giant revolving yacht (replacing the caliph’s house) placed center stage, which was pretty cool, but then the evil servant came out with five very scantily clad sunbathing women. From there it went downhill…the main character works his way onto the boat by bringing a bag of cocaine, and at the end of the second act and right before intermission, as the sun bunnies were gyrating to Mozart’s crescendoing strings, one of the women took off her top and then walked into the boat’s interior. It was so out of place and so unnecessary, and combined with the late time, we decided to take a taxi back to the hostel. Very disappointing for sure, but the voices and music were still excellent and the experience of attending an opera in a place like that is to die for.
Sunday morning we attended a long-winded mass at a gaudy baroque church (I missed San Giovanale), accompanied by Giovanni and Steve, one of the guys we’d befriended at the hostel. Giovanni took us to a pasticceria to get our morning’s sfogliatelle and cappuccini (sfogliatella is a Neapolitan pastry made with light dough and ricotta cheese, and are unspeakably delicious). He very graciously paid for us and went back to the hostel, while Steve came with us to the MADRE, Napoli’s modern and contemporary art museum. The collection was great, and had some more unusual or atypical pieces by some of my favorites, like Richard Serra (I had no idea he sculpted with thick cloth). The piece that stood out to me most was Dark Brother by Anish Kapoor. It was a giant very dark blue rectangle on a stainless steel floor…but all of a sudden your mind began to question what it saw, since it appeared that there was more to this piece. I suspected, but my suspicions were not confirmed until I asked one of the docents standing near: it was in fact a 3 meter deep hole, painted and formed in such a way as to give the illusion of not being a hole. Kapoor’s work is fantastic, and they also had another (simpler) piece by one of my current favorites, Olafur Eliasson. There was also a large retrospective of an Italian conceptual artist with whom I wasn’t familiar, Alighiero Boetti. His work was lovely, and spoke to me because it was all about grids and permutations of things, anything. I love those very simple concepts that can be carried out in almost endless different forms.
Upon returning to the hostel, Giovanni once again cooked for us: linguini with squid, died with the squid ink! The dark purple may not have looked the most appetizing, but I loved it. Definitely the most unique meal I’ve had here so far. After lunch we went for a final long walk around the city, and then had a long train ride back to Orvieto, late Sunday evening.
The whole weekend was great…Napoli, while admittedly dirty in many parts, had a tremendous beauty that the grit made unlike the “normal” Italian look. The streets were narrow, tall, and dark, with all manner of railings and balconies and sheets hung off the walls. The smells would cycle through trash to steaming sfogliatelle to old fish to clean wood to excrement to basil and garlic, and back again. The traffic was ten times more insane than in Rome. There was graffiti everywhere, but it was for the most part very artistic, and really wacky! It felt like a real city to me, and it was nice to be back in a truly urban space. Not only that, but the company was great. Jake is by far one of my best friends here, Jana comes from a classical schooling tradition and knows what to read and is up for a good conversation anytime, and Allyson is smart and fun to hang out with. All in all, a good close to the “semester.” You can see photos from the trip by clicking on this link (it works even if you don't have Facebook): http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=87030&id=537430582&l=249a37cfd5
Portrait painting with Catherine Prescott started on Monday, and we dove straight in. Everyone, including myself, has already made a great amount of progress in just these few days, and I like discovering that oil paints are for some reason a very fast and loose and just comfortable medium for me. It’s very exciting, and I can’t wait to see where we go with this.
Speaking of art, I’ve been reading a lot of different articles and such that I brought with me on art criticism and history and the like. As always, it makes me excited to read more by other people that these articles mention. I read a fascinating review of Vija Celmins’ work (which was a wonderful discovery for me) by James Romaine. He will be my main adviser/professor/mentor in my art history and criticism studies at NYCAMS in the fall.
Did I mention NYCAMS before? My friend Erin (who is here in Italy as well) and I found out a couple weeks ago that we officially were accepted into the New York Center for Art and Media Studies for next semester! So in the fall I will be living in Brooklyn Heights and taking classes in middle Manhattan, along with an internship of some sort. I’m extremely excited about that…it seems to essentially be like a semester of grad school in New York City while an undergraduate. The best thing.
Yesterday we went to Florence for the day…I’ll write more about that soon. For now, I’ll close this long overdue post with some images from my drawing class.
This is my final drawing, on three sheets...it's of a really sweet minimalist well in a recently redesigned piazza in Orvieto (the most modern spot i could find!).
Here is an image of our second to last critique on two separate drawings we did, a still life and a Caravaggio-esque chiaroscuro drawing somewhere in the monastery.
My Caravaggio drawing...
See the fields of Orvieto last week on a warm day when disaster was announced and all were shaken and one was not there, and you were not to blame and everyone says this but it is not enough. Feel the brown cliffs carved away standing behind you and watch the wind move the fields so that they flow away but stay where they have been for centuries, used and not used in turn. Now they are used for distraction and comfort. They are far below and will soon be experienced but will not have the same presence unless seen from far above.
See the room in Venice where excess revealed what is good and the reminder was almost lost but was in the dizzying gold of the cathedral, and the water flowed around, beauty and undoing, release and entrapment so that your mind knows a new way to conceive of its place, and also your soul.
See the earth that is not there but for tiny islands until you walk out and find it to be there. Walk out.
~
I am reading Italo Calvino's book Invisible Cities, and it is excellent.
This past weekend ended two intense weeks of drawing, in which more than just my drawing changed. Without going into an inappropriate amount of detail, I will say that I realized two weeks ago that some aspects of my life were not true and good, and I began to work to change that. My drawing followed suit, and so Holy Week really became that (holy) for me. I started to turn a corner that is still being turned. And yet, last week something traumatic happened here (again, I’m withholding details because they are sensitive and personal to some) that worked to correct a negative influence on our program, but was still painful for everyone. Please continue to pray for healing out of this. So the last two weeks were full of intense work, spiritual juggling, and physical and emotional exhaustion.
It may seem somewhat strange, then, that I chose to go with my friends Jake, Jana, and Allyson to Napoli. This city is infamous for being dirty and filled with crime, home of Mafiosi and scooter-driving purse-snatchers. It is an intense city to be sure, but there is also a great amount of art and other cultural activities. I had been in the area two years ago, but only in the Amalfi coast region, Pompeii, and Capri, below the city. This was going to be a totally new experience for me.
Because we had come out of such a packed time, we decided to take things as slowly as we could. We arrived via train around 4, and hiked halfway across the city to our hostel, Giovanni’s Home. We of course had no idea what to expect from the hostel, since each is so different, but we had seen that it got great reviews and was fairly cheap. Giovanni welcomed us in, gave us water, and proceeded to give us a map, a book about Napoli, and loads of information about all there was to do in the city, with a brief history lesson for each thing. He drew on our map where we should go, which parts were dangerous, and where the best pizza was. He reassured us about the crime rates, which were on the whole fairly low compared to many other cities in Italy (Rome had 3 times as many reported petty thefts), and explained that out of all the killings that year, only three were not Mafia related. Despite that, he warned us against going into the Quartiere Spagnoli on the west side of the city, which has such a fine grid of tiny crisscrossed streets that the police simply cannot control it. It was kind of interesting later on to be walking on the larger street that ran along the area’s border, and have this dangerous zone right next to you…kind of the same sort of thrill that comes from playing with fire.
But back to Giovanni…the man is a saint. Not only did he provide us with all that help, but he cooked us amazing food that evening after we came back from looking at some of the major churches. He served us and the few other hostel companions wine and then pulled out his guitar and taught us “Funiculí Funicula” and played some American classics. We began to see why Hostelworld had titled him “most fun” a few years ago.
The next morning we basically just walked around the city…into an old castle, looking for comfortable shoes for Jana in the fashion district, stopping in Zara, looking at Mount Vesuvius while eating enormous pannini made of buffalo mozzarella and tomatoes. In the early afternoon we took a short tour of the Teatro di San Carlo, the oldest continuously active opera house in Europe (which, I imagine, means the whole world). It was absolutely gorgeous inside, six tiers of boxes and a stage as big as the audience space. Apparently musicians who are in high demand consider it an honor to perform there, and many have made it their only stop in Italy. We noticed that there was a Mozart opera playing that evening, and were informed that student rush tickets for 15 euro would be available an hour before the performance…upon this good news, we decided to accept the fact that we would be woefully underdressed, and do all that we could to get tickets.
After relaxing a little bit back at the hostel, we ate a quick meal of pizza followed by limoncello and walked back to the theatre to get tickets. Even though we were about half an hour too early for the student time, the man in the box office gave us tickets anyway, and we were able to secure a fourth floor box all to ourselves, stage left. The opera was Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail (The Abduction from the Seraglio). The gist is that the main character’s lover, Kostanza, and one of his servants and one of her servants were captured by a caliph and forced to join his harem. The servant in charge of the harem is an evil man, the main character tries to get his lover back, etc. etc. The opera was actually one of Mozart’s earlier operas, and greatly influenced what became new trends in the German take on the form. The music was, of course, excellent, and that theatre is one of the best acoustically…as far as I could tell, there was no electronic amplification.
The staging, however, was updated to modern times, and was (as Jake likes to describe it) as if Lil John and Snoop Dogg had recycled the music and reset the stage. All the action took place on a giant revolving yacht (replacing the caliph’s house) placed center stage, which was pretty cool, but then the evil servant came out with five very scantily clad sunbathing women. From there it went downhill…the main character works his way onto the boat by bringing a bag of cocaine, and at the end of the second act and right before intermission, as the sun bunnies were gyrating to Mozart’s crescendoing strings, one of the women took off her top and then walked into the boat’s interior. It was so out of place and so unnecessary, and combined with the late time, we decided to take a taxi back to the hostel. Very disappointing for sure, but the voices and music were still excellent and the experience of attending an opera in a place like that is to die for.
Sunday morning we attended a long-winded mass at a gaudy baroque church (I missed San Giovanale), accompanied by Giovanni and Steve, one of the guys we’d befriended at the hostel. Giovanni took us to a pasticceria to get our morning’s sfogliatelle and cappuccini (sfogliatella is a Neapolitan pastry made with light dough and ricotta cheese, and are unspeakably delicious). He very graciously paid for us and went back to the hostel, while Steve came with us to the MADRE, Napoli’s modern and contemporary art museum. The collection was great, and had some more unusual or atypical pieces by some of my favorites, like Richard Serra (I had no idea he sculpted with thick cloth). The piece that stood out to me most was Dark Brother by Anish Kapoor. It was a giant very dark blue rectangle on a stainless steel floor…but all of a sudden your mind began to question what it saw, since it appeared that there was more to this piece. I suspected, but my suspicions were not confirmed until I asked one of the docents standing near: it was in fact a 3 meter deep hole, painted and formed in such a way as to give the illusion of not being a hole. Kapoor’s work is fantastic, and they also had another (simpler) piece by one of my current favorites, Olafur Eliasson. There was also a large retrospective of an Italian conceptual artist with whom I wasn’t familiar, Alighiero Boetti. His work was lovely, and spoke to me because it was all about grids and permutations of things, anything. I love those very simple concepts that can be carried out in almost endless different forms.
Upon returning to the hostel, Giovanni once again cooked for us: linguini with squid, died with the squid ink! The dark purple may not have looked the most appetizing, but I loved it. Definitely the most unique meal I’ve had here so far. After lunch we went for a final long walk around the city, and then had a long train ride back to Orvieto, late Sunday evening.
The whole weekend was great…Napoli, while admittedly dirty in many parts, had a tremendous beauty that the grit made unlike the “normal” Italian look. The streets were narrow, tall, and dark, with all manner of railings and balconies and sheets hung off the walls. The smells would cycle through trash to steaming sfogliatelle to old fish to clean wood to excrement to basil and garlic, and back again. The traffic was ten times more insane than in Rome. There was graffiti everywhere, but it was for the most part very artistic, and really wacky! It felt like a real city to me, and it was nice to be back in a truly urban space. Not only that, but the company was great. Jake is by far one of my best friends here, Jana comes from a classical schooling tradition and knows what to read and is up for a good conversation anytime, and Allyson is smart and fun to hang out with. All in all, a good close to the “semester.” You can see photos from the trip by clicking on this link (it works even if you don't have Facebook): http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=87030&id=537430582&l=249a37cfd5
Portrait painting with Catherine Prescott started on Monday, and we dove straight in. Everyone, including myself, has already made a great amount of progress in just these few days, and I like discovering that oil paints are for some reason a very fast and loose and just comfortable medium for me. It’s very exciting, and I can’t wait to see where we go with this.
Speaking of art, I’ve been reading a lot of different articles and such that I brought with me on art criticism and history and the like. As always, it makes me excited to read more by other people that these articles mention. I read a fascinating review of Vija Celmins’ work (which was a wonderful discovery for me) by James Romaine. He will be my main adviser/professor/mentor in my art history and criticism studies at NYCAMS in the fall.
Did I mention NYCAMS before? My friend Erin (who is here in Italy as well) and I found out a couple weeks ago that we officially were accepted into the New York Center for Art and Media Studies for next semester! So in the fall I will be living in Brooklyn Heights and taking classes in middle Manhattan, along with an internship of some sort. I’m extremely excited about that…it seems to essentially be like a semester of grad school in New York City while an undergraduate. The best thing.
Yesterday we went to Florence for the day…I’ll write more about that soon. For now, I’ll close this long overdue post with some images from my drawing class.
This is my final drawing, on three sheets...it's of a really sweet minimalist well in a recently redesigned piazza in Orvieto (the most modern spot i could find!).
Here is an image of our second to last critique on two separate drawings we did, a still life and a Caravaggio-esque chiaroscuro drawing somewhere in the monastery.
My Caravaggio drawing...
11 April 2009
Music Part 2
I did end up going to the concert on Thursday evening as well, which was held at 9 pm in the same place as before. This time the same pianist as before accompanied a mezzo-soprano in four lieder from “Wilhelm Meinster” written by Goethe and composed by Franz Schubert. It’s been a while since I’ve heard sung German (in a classical music context), and I love it. The soprano’s voice was rich, with the perfect amount of vibrato (some, but not a ridiculous amount, which annoys me after a while), and filled the space and was well matched and balanced by the piano. I’m always a little worried when I consider going to see a purely soprano performance, and that’s probably influenced by most of those taking place in a college context, but from the beginning I was set entirely at ease.
One of the gentlemen in the crowd was the composer of the next three songs, which were very modern without being all that innovative, and so they kind of annoyed me. They were also a little destructive to the soprano’s voice. The really crazy thing, though, was that halfway through the last one, I began to feel off-balance. I quickly realized that everyone seemed to be feeling the same thing, and that the curtains on the tall windows were being rocked back and forth. Being in a large room about three stories off the ground during an aftershock (it registered as 4.9 at the epicenter) was unlike any experience I’ve had before. We’ve had other aftershocks here, but I hadn’t felt any yet; people asked me what it was like, and did it make a sound. I always expected to feel a sort of up and down vibration, as from a massage chair, accompanied by a rumbling sound, but neither was the case. Instead, it felt as though whatever was wrong with the world at that moment was inside you, that everything outside of you stayed in place but that you yourself were being gently moved back and forth; in the same way, there was no sound but what came from within yourself, not as a rumbling but as the deepest, sustained tone that could only be heard the way Beethoven heard.
The amazing thing is that neither the pianist nor the soprano missed a beat! (Neither did they when the guy in front of me couldn’t find his sharply ringing cell phone, and then sat and read the text when he finally found it…I wanted to strangle him) The rest of the concert continued without incident. There were four songs in Italian by F.P. Tosti, whom I’d never heard of, which were very lovely, especially the last one Che dici, o parola del Saggio? Following these were two songs by Brahms, Meine Liebe ist grun and Minnelied. They encored with a perfect, light song by Schubert, op. 32 Die Fiorelle.
Speaking of encores, I forgot to mention that the pianist and clarinetist encored at the last concert with a Gershwin piece, Prelude II. I can’t believe that I forgot this, because I really liked the piece. The way in which it was written, it forced the clarinet to sound more like a saxophone, with low, throaty sounds and sharp brassy notes, really remarkable.
While I’m on things that I forgot, don’t forget to go back and look at my Rome post to see the photos from it, if you haven’t already.
I walked back alone after the concert. This, combined with the impact of the aftershock and the more introspective mood that the music had put me in, caused me to write the first decent poem that I’ve written in a long time. You can find it here. It likely still needs some work, but I like it enough already to go ahead and post it.
Last evening was the Stations of the Cross procession from San Giovenale to the church in the Pzza. della Republica. We held candles with semi-transparent colored paper shades around them and followed the priest and a simple wooden cross, winding in a long, lantern-lit procession through the medieval quarter of town. Candles were placed along the route and people looked out of their windows high overhead as we stopped to pray and sing and walk onto the next station. It was a good, reflective commemoration of Good Friday, and I left with O Sacred Head, Now Wounded haunting my head. Here are some photos:
Today I got some painting clothes at the market. I finished my still life yesterday, and my Caravaggio drawing should be finished this evening.
Again, do not forget the significance of this week. Pray for me and my fellow choir members tomorrow, and be joyful in the good news of the Resurrection!
One of the gentlemen in the crowd was the composer of the next three songs, which were very modern without being all that innovative, and so they kind of annoyed me. They were also a little destructive to the soprano’s voice. The really crazy thing, though, was that halfway through the last one, I began to feel off-balance. I quickly realized that everyone seemed to be feeling the same thing, and that the curtains on the tall windows were being rocked back and forth. Being in a large room about three stories off the ground during an aftershock (it registered as 4.9 at the epicenter) was unlike any experience I’ve had before. We’ve had other aftershocks here, but I hadn’t felt any yet; people asked me what it was like, and did it make a sound. I always expected to feel a sort of up and down vibration, as from a massage chair, accompanied by a rumbling sound, but neither was the case. Instead, it felt as though whatever was wrong with the world at that moment was inside you, that everything outside of you stayed in place but that you yourself were being gently moved back and forth; in the same way, there was no sound but what came from within yourself, not as a rumbling but as the deepest, sustained tone that could only be heard the way Beethoven heard.
The amazing thing is that neither the pianist nor the soprano missed a beat! (Neither did they when the guy in front of me couldn’t find his sharply ringing cell phone, and then sat and read the text when he finally found it…I wanted to strangle him) The rest of the concert continued without incident. There were four songs in Italian by F.P. Tosti, whom I’d never heard of, which were very lovely, especially the last one Che dici, o parola del Saggio? Following these were two songs by Brahms, Meine Liebe ist grun and Minnelied. They encored with a perfect, light song by Schubert, op. 32 Die Fiorelle.
Speaking of encores, I forgot to mention that the pianist and clarinetist encored at the last concert with a Gershwin piece, Prelude II. I can’t believe that I forgot this, because I really liked the piece. The way in which it was written, it forced the clarinet to sound more like a saxophone, with low, throaty sounds and sharp brassy notes, really remarkable.
While I’m on things that I forgot, don’t forget to go back and look at my Rome post to see the photos from it, if you haven’t already.
I walked back alone after the concert. This, combined with the impact of the aftershock and the more introspective mood that the music had put me in, caused me to write the first decent poem that I’ve written in a long time. You can find it here. It likely still needs some work, but I like it enough already to go ahead and post it.
Last evening was the Stations of the Cross procession from San Giovenale to the church in the Pzza. della Republica. We held candles with semi-transparent colored paper shades around them and followed the priest and a simple wooden cross, winding in a long, lantern-lit procession through the medieval quarter of town. Candles were placed along the route and people looked out of their windows high overhead as we stopped to pray and sing and walk onto the next station. It was a good, reflective commemoration of Good Friday, and I left with O Sacred Head, Now Wounded haunting my head. Here are some photos:
Today I got some painting clothes at the market. I finished my still life yesterday, and my Caravaggio drawing should be finished this evening.Again, do not forget the significance of this week. Pray for me and my fellow choir members tomorrow, and be joyful in the good news of the Resurrection!
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