Romulus (11.12.07)

Well, i might as well face the facts. It seems that these are not going to be able to be produce in a organized and steady fashion. My plans are no more solid than water, and as i commented to Steph one afternoon...-you know, i thought to myself as i crawled out of bed this morning, i have no idea what will have happened by the time i get back-. This last week and a half have been no exception, and perhaps the rule.

I told you last i was going to Bologna and the Uffizi. Neither of those things happened that weekend. Because of the gorgeous fall weather, Avery and I postponed Bologna and returned to San Gimignano a small midieval town that we visited early this semester. I know i have professed this about many things already but the view was breathtaking. We found a path that circled the town on a well worn walking path. Along the way we saw Italian countryside, quiltlike and in colors varing each section of the rainbow as the foliage of the grapes and other matter of harvest turned in the autumn season. Flocks of grazing birds flew up from bushes periodically and roosters crowed their approval. Occasionally the banter of villiagers rose too into the air. We could see clear to Rome it seemed, if not for the hills that wrapped around us in a protective barrier and near affectionate embrace. Leaving was almost physically painful. In my mind i know i will return to sitting in the dirt overlooking the fields showered in sunshine and seeing the view, littered with modest homes, hundreds of times. There is no camera on earth equipped or photographer skilled to capture and bring home that part of the world that i saw and that i have stored in my mind. Smelling the golden leaves and feeling the cool fall breeze as the birds chirped and the wind whistled by are all things, even if an artist could, that would be left out.

The week began as it always does with me grumpy and irritated. Mondays are not my thing here is Italy. They are hard enough back home when memories of sleeping in, relaxing with friends and having some time for yourself bring you back to the weekend, but are found to be only worse when experiences as i described above have been occuping your previous days. However, assurance from Steph and far too many espressos and hot chocolate than i am willing to admit brought me through.

I arrived to drawing class on Wed. and my teacher was found with an undeniable twinkle in her eyes. We were, apparently, going somewhere magical. We followed Raphella through the winding streets we have grown so accustom until we found a door. It was not unlike the thousand others that close off rooms here in Florence. Oversized, ornate and atleast 10 feet tall. With a quiet knock, we entered. Magical was indeed the perfect descriptor. We entered a large studio, its cavernous room broken only by scattered Roman pillars. On the walls hung paintings, with only inches in between covering the whole of the vast walls. Room after room. Tables shoved to sides of the buildings were covered with paints, jars of murky water and brushes scattered around like confetti. A jester hat was flung over shelf. Canon in D wafted through the building. Butterfly wings were pitched on a hook like a disreguarded coat, soon to be returned to. Myself, along witht the other students stepped slowling, in awe around the room, necks cranned, mouths gapping as Raphella watched knowingly. Soon, an old women, distinquished and wearing a large fur wrap swung around the corned, greating us with warm smiles. We bid her hello and she and my professor flung into conversation. Within a few moments, appeared the master of the studio. An old man, dressed in a coat over a sweatervest came around the corned with a smile comparable to the sun. Over the past few years he had been battling throat cancer which has left him with a failed voice. His smile and bright eyes however did their share of communication, with the aid of his loyal wife who could, as only couples who have been together for decades can, understand the little of his voice that was left. His outstreached arms beckond that we follow him around as he explained some of his paintings. Some he has been working on for years that he takes out only on certain days each year to continue, others that he completes in a matter of a few hours. We were lead into his study to see photos of him years ago, revealing a handsome young artist at shows and galleries. He warmly encouraged us to sign his guest book, and write a message. To our absolute delight he invited all of us back to watch how him in action after we asked so many questions about his creation process. Our gushing thanks only made him blush and warmly shake our hands as we left the studio. It is worthy to note also that the original owner of the studio was a famous Renissance artist Giambologna whose work, the Rape of the Sabine Woman dating 1538 resides in the crowning Piazza Signoria here in Florence under guard. His presence is engraved on the archway to a room in the building.

By friday some delightful and unexpected plans had materialized and a friend of mine, Zil, from my freshman year of college who had been backpacking Eastern Europe for two months swung through Florence. We meet with a long embrace in the train station and showing her around the city brought the pride i have accumulated from the city to the surface. We saw David, and hit all of the major Plazzas. Hearing of her adventures were facinating and having a familar face was refreshing. We reminiced and laughed late into the night about the nonsense that went on freshman year. Before she left we also went to the world famous Uffizi Gallery. The superbowl of arthistory. The mecca of it all. Walking through the first seris of rooms alone, i kid you not, brought me past atleast 10 foundational pieces that each and every art history student know like the back of their hands. Each worth millions of dollars. Its our Elvis and the Beatles. Mozart and Beethovan. These are works i have been learning about from the moment i first sat down in an art history class, pieces that have been reference by artists countless times since their creation. We then continued to weaved our way through Botticellis, Carivaggios. Durers, Michelangelos, Rapheals. It was incredible.

By Saturday, I was on a train to Rome. The eternal city. The Cupulti Mundi...capital of the world. Like Michelangelos David...lore and myths creep out of every crack in the streets. Pagan stories. Biblical stories. Each convinced of its own truth and own validity, and each vouching for its place. We headed first to St. Peters Basillica and i meanderd my way through the tombs of the popes, including the first Pope, the apostle Peter and famous in present day, the late John Paul. In the church, i was nothing short of speechless. Michelangelos Pieta held the attention of the spectators as firmly as Modonna in the piece holds her dead sons body across her lap. Michelangelos pride in signing it, the only piece he ever did inscripe his name on, is understandable. The piece is gorgeous. I felt a bit like a dumbstruck child as i made my way through the enormous cathedral, which can hold i learned over 60,000 people. Each wall, each corner, everywhere is covered with decor as if someone splashed the walls and instead of dripping water, majestic sculptors and stunning paintings remained. There is nothing like Rome i have found. nothing. The Pantheon holds Rapheal, and at night i was dwarfted by its size and spendor. I tossed a coin over my shoulder at the Trevi fountain amonst the tumbling water. By Sunday when we made it to the Colosseum, *began in 72 BC*! i was exhausted from walking through the city and its enormous boundaries, but taking her in refreshed my vigor. If you have never been to Rome, imagine this. The ruins lie right within the city. Across the street is a met station. A busy highway, stoplights and crosswalks pass no more than 50yards from its historic walls. It was the center of the city, so it makes sense that Rome herself would have to work around here. You could see Corinthian pillars, abandoned by their corresponding walls from right outside a car window. They force you to remember. Dispite the modernity of the city and its noisy distractions you can not help but be transported back to the rich past. Its ingenious inventions and progress. Its oppresion. Its power. Gladiators. The arch of Titus, built as a trubute to overpowering the Hebrews. These are both bible stories and pagan myths brought to life. I hiked up a hill and found a church, with chains below rumored to have held the apostoles Peter and Paul.

Earlier that day Avery and I had trekked to the St. Domitilla catacombs. They sprawl 11 miles and contain over 150000 graves! They served as cheap burial grounds for the first christains that dispite the culture of cremation didnt want to abandon their bodies as they were convinced the second coming could be as close as the next day. To explain the concept better consider this...the word translates into *sleeping place*. These people were convinced that their bodys placment there was very temporary, but they have laid there now for over 1600 years. Tunneling through we found shelves where bodies were places, now removed by graverobbers and the like. If you look closly and walk slowly you will find christain icons such as the ichthus or simple doves holding olive leaves in their beaks. Olive leaves such as the trees that thrive along the countryside right outdoors. It is however somewhat of a myth that these places were secret and to avoid persecution. They are vast, and holding the bodies of thousands of nonembolmbed bodies simply wrapped in cloth can not be well veiled. Seeing such sights and being in such a place in history was mindblowing and an essential part of examing myself and my place in it all.

The other evening i walked to the Duomo, here in Florence to quickly visit a shop. Night had fallen and i was accompanied by only my ipod. I tredged the familar path without much thought, until i reached the portion of the route in which i pass The Galleria Acedemia, holding so greedily Michelangelos David. And amongst shouting Coke ads from shop windows and gadgets for sale from vendors on the street, from the corner of my eye, in my peripheral vision i saw him standing there. Quietly. Like he has been for over the past 500 years. Usually the doors to the exit are closed, but that night, in an effort perhaps on rushing the visitors from the gallery, they remained open. And i couldnt help but smile to myself. I just saw David. On my way to the store. Life is pretty incredible.

I have had some streaching moments in the past weeks. It has been a long time. Yet eachday i feel more at home here and my normal life fades further, and ironically, each day brings me closer to America. The tugging from both sides is exhausting. Still, i make an effort to take each day here to the fullest. When i return i will find a way of making peace with it all. This weekend I am traveling to Venice to see an art show and take in the city. Perhaps one day in the weekend after that i will return to Rome as there are things i didnt have time to get to, and refuse to leave Italy without. I hope this finds you all well!
Corrie