''One morning, I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got in my pajamas, I don't know.''
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Anniversary
Today is the 8th anniversary of my mom's death. Could I have imagined, then, where I would be and what I would be doing now? I miss her.
Some Temples and a Wedding
On Friday, we visited the two closed temples on the Forum Boarium, which I first saw when I was in Rome for a month in 2009. (Denise, as an arch historian, was scandalized that my Roman art class didn't include them). They've never been open to the public in recent memory; even the Academy people have never been able to get in before. Somehow this year the stars aligned (we suspect they may be getting closer to opening them to the public and this is why we were permitted) and people were on hand to open the gates both at the round temple of Hercules and the temple of Portunus. Both are totally empty, of course, but retain some fragments of fresco that attest to the reason for their survival--conversion into Christian churches. Mussolini, of course, tried to erase all that intervening history to go back to the pure Roman days, but some bits and pieces survived, here and there. It's great to see these things not only with architectural historians, but conservators, too; for example, I learned that the horrible condition of the travertine on the Theater of Marcellus is not just due to time, but to a chemical agent used for cleaning in the 70s that turned out to be corrosive!
After lunch in the Jewish Ghetto with Paul, Steve, and his wife Sue (he has a Fulbright to study honor killings in Southern Italy up through the Fascist period, which is very interesting), I wandered around the Campus Martius for a while. I found a couple of cloth shops, and am contemplating buying a few meters of fabric to drape in swags around my office, just to break up the unrelenting white walls. I stopped into the big Feltrinelli book store, and was amazed, as I always am, at how much more interested Italians seem to be in philosophy, classical literature, etc, that these genres get prominent forward space in the store, not a forgotten shelf in the back like in Barnes and Noble!
Carla and I met up for the Warhol show, which was all objects taken from the collection one guy, Peter Brant, who was a friend of Warhol's. Lots of interesting stuff, including an extensive collection of his Polaroid portraits of friends and famous people, from Farrah Fawcett to Arnold. I really enjoyed Vote McGovern, as well as the series he charmingly titled "piss paintings", which constitute his only true abstract work. Warhol, and later his assistants and hangers-on, urinated on canvases covered in a copper paint, causing blooms of oxidation to appear on the surface. They were surprisingly lovely; unlike Carla I wasn't really put off by the method of their creation. It was also interesting to spend some time actually looking at the pop art icons: images of Campbell's soup, the dollar sign, the Coke bottle, or the screenprinted celebrities. It really does work (even if he claimed there was no point to his work), in terms of making you focus on an object that otherwise is simply part of the mass-produced background of life. Or, as the audioguide put it, he elevated these objects to the status of icon. I still think Pop Art is a movement that especially requires contextualization, though; the heady economic boom of the 1960s, with consumerism on a seemingly upstoppable roll, but before we had adopted the kind of conscious awareness of its artificiality that many people have now.
The other highlight of the week was attending Carla's boss' wedding last night. The ceremony took place in one of the churches on Trajan's forum, which was very small and very Baroque. Tourists had no issue coming in and out during the ceremony--several even took communion when it was offered. I'll admit, I found that sort of unsettling. The priest was very weird, and made comments about gays, and how only marriage can make you a "real" man or woman, how family means something different than what it does in the US (the bride was American, and her family didn't speak Italian, though he kept addressing comments to them). Even the Gospel reading was about prostitutes! Odd, indeed. Afterward, we threw actual rice at them on the steps, and then were forced to walk all the way across Piazza Venezia, on the cobblestones and then up the stairs to the Campidoglio (even though there is supposedly an elevator somewhere) in heels (and the strap to my right heel, as I had discovered, was on its last leg. Those shoes have done good service, though; I bought them for Anna's wedding and have worn then to almost every other wedding since!)
The reception was on Terrazza Caffarelli, overlooking the city toward St. Peter's. It was incredibly lovely. The reception had an incredible amount of food (I thought) but Carla assured me this was definitely restrained for an Italian wedding reception. The wedding favors were the black glass goblets with which we toasted, and I took Carla's so that there would be a matched set here for us to drink prosecco out of. We were both exhausted after the toast, so we left; faced with that sloping incline down to the street, I said "fuck it" and pranced down in bare feet! Together with the glasses, I probably looked like a drunkard. My feet were black when I got home, but it was worth it not to be terrified that I was going to fall down a hill!
After lunch in the Jewish Ghetto with Paul, Steve, and his wife Sue (he has a Fulbright to study honor killings in Southern Italy up through the Fascist period, which is very interesting), I wandered around the Campus Martius for a while. I found a couple of cloth shops, and am contemplating buying a few meters of fabric to drape in swags around my office, just to break up the unrelenting white walls. I stopped into the big Feltrinelli book store, and was amazed, as I always am, at how much more interested Italians seem to be in philosophy, classical literature, etc, that these genres get prominent forward space in the store, not a forgotten shelf in the back like in Barnes and Noble!
Carla and I met up for the Warhol show, which was all objects taken from the collection one guy, Peter Brant, who was a friend of Warhol's. Lots of interesting stuff, including an extensive collection of his Polaroid portraits of friends and famous people, from Farrah Fawcett to Arnold. I really enjoyed Vote McGovern, as well as the series he charmingly titled "piss paintings", which constitute his only true abstract work. Warhol, and later his assistants and hangers-on, urinated on canvases covered in a copper paint, causing blooms of oxidation to appear on the surface. They were surprisingly lovely; unlike Carla I wasn't really put off by the method of their creation. It was also interesting to spend some time actually looking at the pop art icons: images of Campbell's soup, the dollar sign, the Coke bottle, or the screenprinted celebrities. It really does work (even if he claimed there was no point to his work), in terms of making you focus on an object that otherwise is simply part of the mass-produced background of life. Or, as the audioguide put it, he elevated these objects to the status of icon. I still think Pop Art is a movement that especially requires contextualization, though; the heady economic boom of the 1960s, with consumerism on a seemingly upstoppable roll, but before we had adopted the kind of conscious awareness of its artificiality that many people have now.
The other highlight of the week was attending Carla's boss' wedding last night. The ceremony took place in one of the churches on Trajan's forum, which was very small and very Baroque. Tourists had no issue coming in and out during the ceremony--several even took communion when it was offered. I'll admit, I found that sort of unsettling. The priest was very weird, and made comments about gays, and how only marriage can make you a "real" man or woman, how family means something different than what it does in the US (the bride was American, and her family didn't speak Italian, though he kept addressing comments to them). Even the Gospel reading was about prostitutes! Odd, indeed. Afterward, we threw actual rice at them on the steps, and then were forced to walk all the way across Piazza Venezia, on the cobblestones and then up the stairs to the Campidoglio (even though there is supposedly an elevator somewhere) in heels (and the strap to my right heel, as I had discovered, was on its last leg. Those shoes have done good service, though; I bought them for Anna's wedding and have worn then to almost every other wedding since!)
The reception was on Terrazza Caffarelli, overlooking the city toward St. Peter's. It was incredibly lovely. The reception had an incredible amount of food (I thought) but Carla assured me this was definitely restrained for an Italian wedding reception. The wedding favors were the black glass goblets with which we toasted, and I took Carla's so that there would be a matched set here for us to drink prosecco out of. We were both exhausted after the toast, so we left; faced with that sloping incline down to the street, I said "fuck it" and pranced down in bare feet! Together with the glasses, I probably looked like a drunkard. My feet were black when I got home, but it was worth it not to be terrified that I was going to fall down a hill!
Monday, September 22, 2014
Un Bel Giro
I spent Sunday morning and early afternoon wandering the historic center. My first port of call was Sant'Ivo, since I had run into Amy waiting for a cab on the steps and she mentioned she was going; it's only open on Sundays, so when I saw its conspicuous flame-like spire hovering above the rooftops ahead, I had to stop in. What a beautiful, dynamic space, inside and out.
Close by is Palazzo Altemps, which has a collection of ancient sculpture that belonged to a single family. On each label there's a sketch of the sculpture, with dark color on those parts which were restored or added in the 17th century. It's really fascinating to see the way fragmentary statues were "completed", often at the total fantasy of the collector. One awesome piece I noticed this time: a rare, "true" copy of Phidias' Athena from the Parthenon, signed on the peplos by the sculptor himself (also super rare).
They also had a wonderful temporary exhibition on the collection of a man named Evan Gorga, who basically bankrupted himself buying thousands upon thousands of antique objects, many of which were popping up in the late 19th century as Rome tried to modernize, digging new roads, building bridges, etc. (and the accompanying video to the exhibition featured incredible photographs of what Rome looked like in the 1880s...very different from today!) His collecting mania went well beyond the usual relief sculpture, coins, and painted vases, though--there were Roman dolls, miniature votives of body parts, tons of gorgeous glass, small low-quality bronze figurines of gods and goddesses...just reams of stuff, all organized simply by type of object. He had many pieces of detached, frescoed wall surface from various emperors' homes, including some 4th style fragments that combined three-dimensional stucco work with the paint surface. There were also some fakes, which were noted on the wall labels, that apparently fooled him at the time.
What's really random? Before becoming an antiquarian, Gorga originated the role of Rodolfo in La Boheme in 1896!
Close by is Palazzo Altemps, which has a collection of ancient sculpture that belonged to a single family. On each label there's a sketch of the sculpture, with dark color on those parts which were restored or added in the 17th century. It's really fascinating to see the way fragmentary statues were "completed", often at the total fantasy of the collector. One awesome piece I noticed this time: a rare, "true" copy of Phidias' Athena from the Parthenon, signed on the peplos by the sculptor himself (also super rare).
They also had a wonderful temporary exhibition on the collection of a man named Evan Gorga, who basically bankrupted himself buying thousands upon thousands of antique objects, many of which were popping up in the late 19th century as Rome tried to modernize, digging new roads, building bridges, etc. (and the accompanying video to the exhibition featured incredible photographs of what Rome looked like in the 1880s...very different from today!) His collecting mania went well beyond the usual relief sculpture, coins, and painted vases, though--there were Roman dolls, miniature votives of body parts, tons of gorgeous glass, small low-quality bronze figurines of gods and goddesses...just reams of stuff, all organized simply by type of object. He had many pieces of detached, frescoed wall surface from various emperors' homes, including some 4th style fragments that combined three-dimensional stucco work with the paint surface. There were also some fakes, which were noted on the wall labels, that apparently fooled him at the time.
What's really random? Before becoming an antiquarian, Gorga originated the role of Rodolfo in La Boheme in 1896!
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Sunday Night
Reason #645657 why this place is amazing: you play Cards Against Humanity on a Sunday evening, in a group that comprises three graphic designers, two classicists, one journalist, one architectural historian, one artist, and one writer, and the shit they come up is more vulgar than anything you've ever heard before. Also, the game takes places in a gigantic salone in front of the fireplace, and the marble tabletop is littered with open bottles of wine and prosecco. Yes.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Piazza Augusto Imperatore
We've had two "walks and talks" this week. The first, on Thursday afternoon, was a tour of some contemporary art galleries in the city. Some of the art I found interesting; other pieces much less so. I've realized that I tend to like work that displays evidence of the process behind it, the marks of how it was made--carving, brushstrokes, etc. The final gallery we visited, which had just opened two days earlier, offered us prosecco on their rooftop terrace, which abuts the Orto Botanico, one of my favorite places in all of Rome. There was also an awesome statue of Batman adorning one edge of the terrace, all in white, rising out of a slender column formed by the cloak wrapped around himself. His head was bowed. It was a wonderful contrast to the gardens behind him, and also such a wonderful high-low contrast to discover in a contemporary gallery. I think I frightened Peter, the arts director at AAR, with my enthusiasm.
Yesterday's walk started at 9am, and focused entirely on the structures in Piazza Augusto Imperatore, which is a completely failed piazza since there is no central open space; rather, there's the gated-off hulk of the remains of Augustus' mausoleum blocking the center. We started with the Fascist-era "rationalist" architecture that encloses two sides of the piazza, where we got a chance to see some paintings virtually no one ever sees, which was awesome! First there were a set of middling-quality frescoes by an artist named Giulio Rosso, in a little entrance-way on the side of one of the buildings. Only a gate divides this alcove from the street, but Lindsay, our humanities director, noted that virtually no one ever even realizes they're there. The frescoes recorded some moments in the life of this area, which was once the Roman port of Ripetta.
Inside the building was another group of four frescoes, which Adam perfectly described as "Fascist WPA" works. These commemorated the history of the mausoleum, from its origins in antiquitiy, through successive incarnations as sculpture garden, bullfighting arena, and at the turn of the 20th century, Rome's opera house. Mussolini, of course, stripped away all those accretions to reveal the remains of the burial site of the emperor with which he hoped to connect his own reign, but Lindsay pointed out that it's unusual there was still an effort to record those past moments, which would otherwise have been completely obliterated.
Our last stop was the Ara Pacis, housed in Richard Meier's controversial shell. We were actually in Rome the day the building opened, in 2006; I remember that we took one look at the length of the line and said "screw that!" But I've loved the interior, and the way it bathes the altar with light, ever since I first went in. What was interesting to me, experiencing it this time with this very heterogenous group, was the way in which my understanding of the detractors to the building changed. The building makes no attempt, consciously, to make any sort of connection with the buildings around it on the piazza; it is stridently modern, white, and Corbusier-like. From the inside, it's definitely a wonderful stage for the main attraction, but outside, it turns its back on its surroundings and funtions like a wall that squeezes the piazza away from the river. As one of the graphic designers said, the worst insult you can give to an architect is "I like your building...from the inside" and here it seems to really apply.
So this showed me that participating in these kinds of group conversations can be really fruitful, even if it's focused on something I'm already quite familiar with. We also learned, from Anna, who is a sculpture conservator at the Met, that ancient sculptors frequently made mistakes; they would then gouge out the error and fit an "in-kind" patch in its place, fixing it with plaster or an iron pin. If we look closely at ancient sculpture, she said, you'll start to see this little fixes everywhere. Not even the great classical sculptors were immune to a slip of the chisel!
Yesterday's walk started at 9am, and focused entirely on the structures in Piazza Augusto Imperatore, which is a completely failed piazza since there is no central open space; rather, there's the gated-off hulk of the remains of Augustus' mausoleum blocking the center. We started with the Fascist-era "rationalist" architecture that encloses two sides of the piazza, where we got a chance to see some paintings virtually no one ever sees, which was awesome! First there were a set of middling-quality frescoes by an artist named Giulio Rosso, in a little entrance-way on the side of one of the buildings. Only a gate divides this alcove from the street, but Lindsay, our humanities director, noted that virtually no one ever even realizes they're there. The frescoes recorded some moments in the life of this area, which was once the Roman port of Ripetta.
Inside the building was another group of four frescoes, which Adam perfectly described as "Fascist WPA" works. These commemorated the history of the mausoleum, from its origins in antiquitiy, through successive incarnations as sculpture garden, bullfighting arena, and at the turn of the 20th century, Rome's opera house. Mussolini, of course, stripped away all those accretions to reveal the remains of the burial site of the emperor with which he hoped to connect his own reign, but Lindsay pointed out that it's unusual there was still an effort to record those past moments, which would otherwise have been completely obliterated.
Our last stop was the Ara Pacis, housed in Richard Meier's controversial shell. We were actually in Rome the day the building opened, in 2006; I remember that we took one look at the length of the line and said "screw that!" But I've loved the interior, and the way it bathes the altar with light, ever since I first went in. What was interesting to me, experiencing it this time with this very heterogenous group, was the way in which my understanding of the detractors to the building changed. The building makes no attempt, consciously, to make any sort of connection with the buildings around it on the piazza; it is stridently modern, white, and Corbusier-like. From the inside, it's definitely a wonderful stage for the main attraction, but outside, it turns its back on its surroundings and funtions like a wall that squeezes the piazza away from the river. As one of the graphic designers said, the worst insult you can give to an architect is "I like your building...from the inside" and here it seems to really apply.
So this showed me that participating in these kinds of group conversations can be really fruitful, even if it's focused on something I'm already quite familiar with. We also learned, from Anna, who is a sculpture conservator at the Met, that ancient sculptors frequently made mistakes; they would then gouge out the error and fit an "in-kind" patch in its place, fixing it with plaster or an iron pin. If we look closely at ancient sculpture, she said, you'll start to see this little fixes everywhere. Not even the great classical sculptors were immune to a slip of the chisel!
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Augustus, 2000 Years Later
Last night a small group of us took a cab down to the Forum after dinner to check out a laser-light spettacolo that restores the Forum of Augustus to what it looked like during the emperor's lifetime (this is the 2000th anniversary of his death). Unfortunately, when we got there all the tickets for the 10pm and 11pm shows were sold out, but we decided to stick around, off to one side, and just watch, without the headsets that added the music and narration. That turned out to be the perfect choice, because our "multivocal" narration of what we were seeing (I know a fair bit about ancient architecture, and Denise teaches architectural history) was probably more interesting, and definitely funnier, than whatever enshrined narrative was being intoned in the ears of the paying visitors. And we saved 15 euro apiece!
The light show itself was truly spectacular. Honestly, I'd never known exactly where Augustus' forum was; it's next to Trajan's in the "Imperial Forum" to one side of Via dei Fori Imperiali, the Mussolini-constructed avenue that bisects the archaeological site, and not on the other side, the "Roman Forum". Centered around the temple of Mars Ultor, it featured an atrium with porticos and two large apses, each of which contained a ring of sculptures (the niches for these, and some of the columns, survive). The show reminded you of the vast amount of color that existed then, not only in the statues, but in the marbled floor and the painted walls. As I had hoped, they also showed the gradual decay and ruin of the buildings during the Middle Ages, with sheep grazing in what was then "Campo Vaccino", and earth burying the apses halfway up. As it is, to stand at the level of the modern road, you look down at least 20 feet into the earth to see the ancient Roman ground level.
We finished the night wandering toward the Pantheon for gelato, which I didn't partake in (I have no problem turning down gelato, but somehow I can't resist a potato chip...) and then walked back across the Tiber and up the hill. Our last stop was a peek into the courtyard of San Pietro in Montorio so two of our group could get their first glimpse of the Tempietto. I was back in my room and ready for bed by 12:30 (or 00:30, as it reads on clocks here). A long day, and a good one!
Tonight will be another long one; we have the opening reception at 6:30, and a late dinner at 8:15. It's been described as "medium formal"; fellows will be wearing corsages to identify us to various guests (including the American ambassador to Italy!) More importantly, Carla is coming! She's already been here to sip prosecco on the roof, but I'm looking forward to introducing her to more of my companions. She also gets to sample the awesome dinner, though hers will be different--vegetarian and gluten-free. *shakes head*
The light show itself was truly spectacular. Honestly, I'd never known exactly where Augustus' forum was; it's next to Trajan's in the "Imperial Forum" to one side of Via dei Fori Imperiali, the Mussolini-constructed avenue that bisects the archaeological site, and not on the other side, the "Roman Forum". Centered around the temple of Mars Ultor, it featured an atrium with porticos and two large apses, each of which contained a ring of sculptures (the niches for these, and some of the columns, survive). The show reminded you of the vast amount of color that existed then, not only in the statues, but in the marbled floor and the painted walls. As I had hoped, they also showed the gradual decay and ruin of the buildings during the Middle Ages, with sheep grazing in what was then "Campo Vaccino", and earth burying the apses halfway up. As it is, to stand at the level of the modern road, you look down at least 20 feet into the earth to see the ancient Roman ground level.
We finished the night wandering toward the Pantheon for gelato, which I didn't partake in (I have no problem turning down gelato, but somehow I can't resist a potato chip...) and then walked back across the Tiber and up the hill. Our last stop was a peek into the courtyard of San Pietro in Montorio so two of our group could get their first glimpse of the Tempietto. I was back in my room and ready for bed by 12:30 (or 00:30, as it reads on clocks here). A long day, and a good one!
Tonight will be another long one; we have the opening reception at 6:30, and a late dinner at 8:15. It's been described as "medium formal"; fellows will be wearing corsages to identify us to various guests (including the American ambassador to Italy!) More importantly, Carla is coming! She's already been here to sip prosecco on the roof, but I'm looking forward to introducing her to more of my companions. She also gets to sample the awesome dinner, though hers will be different--vegetarian and gluten-free. *shakes head*
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
There Once Was a Girl from Nantucket...
How did I never know this limerick existed? Liz told me about it today. I suppose it's not classy enough to appear in scholarly literature...
While Titian was mixing Rose Madder
His model lay posed on a ladder
Her position to Titian
suggested coition
So he climbed up the ladder and had her
His model lay posed on a ladder
Her position to Titian
suggested coition
So he climbed up the ladder and had her
Doppio Macchiato
My coffee virginity, such as it was, is gone. Aside from a gag-inducing sip of people's drinks here and there, I've never had a coffee, something that inspires no more than average surprise in the US but which here in Rome arouses a disbelief that mounts toward indignance. I don't drink coffee? What do I do in the morning? What about after lunch? How is such a thing possible? These aren't even Italians reacting this way--just other fellows!
I had already had the thought that perhaps I should begin to accustom myself to coffee during my time here. Literally, when in Rome, right? I had mentioned this to Carla, who said she would have me try some of her cappuccino the next time we're together in the morning (for, as any Italian will tell you with another look of disbelief, no one in their right mind drinks cappuccino after 11am). Then it came up toward the end of lunch today. Denise was busily recommending a cafe near the Pantheon, Sant'Eustachio, to which Tommaso added a recommendation for the gran caffe, their specialty. I agreed to try it at some point, as we shifted to the bar so Denise could get an espresso. The bartender, Gabri--who I have described to general acknowledgement as a slightly older and bald Daniel Craig, particularly in the piercing blue eyes--rebuffed the Sant'Eustachio recommendation but was horrified to hear I was not a coffee drinker. He looked at me with this semi-intimidating wide-open stare and asked "Doppio macchiato? You want one?" What could I do but say yes?
Denise assured me she'd drink it if I didn't like it. The little teacup appeared, Gabri frothed some milk into it. Denise puts in some sugar and demonstrates the proper slow stir technique. Then, the first sip: gross! Bitter, awful aftertaste, blech. But I am standing in a crowd of coffee drinkers, Gabri is bustling about behind the bar, I'm not going to just quit. Another sip: I try to actually consider the flavor. It's not so bad in my mouth this time, but the aftertaste is still a bit much. I manage to drain the cup (much slower than Denise, who is herself apparently a slow drinker; many people just shoot the cup) until there's only froth remaining. Denise tells me that the aftertaste is why so many people in cafes have a glass of water at their elbow; it's not just me.
Result: not very pleasant, but doable. Probably it will grow on me. White wine certainly did, followed by red (which I was also sort of forced into by my roommates the last time I stayed in Rome). One of my only regrets about Florence was that I didn't enjoy wine then, after all; at least now I will enter coffee the right way...which means the Italian way, of course!
I had already had the thought that perhaps I should begin to accustom myself to coffee during my time here. Literally, when in Rome, right? I had mentioned this to Carla, who said she would have me try some of her cappuccino the next time we're together in the morning (for, as any Italian will tell you with another look of disbelief, no one in their right mind drinks cappuccino after 11am). Then it came up toward the end of lunch today. Denise was busily recommending a cafe near the Pantheon, Sant'Eustachio, to which Tommaso added a recommendation for the gran caffe, their specialty. I agreed to try it at some point, as we shifted to the bar so Denise could get an espresso. The bartender, Gabri--who I have described to general acknowledgement as a slightly older and bald Daniel Craig, particularly in the piercing blue eyes--rebuffed the Sant'Eustachio recommendation but was horrified to hear I was not a coffee drinker. He looked at me with this semi-intimidating wide-open stare and asked "Doppio macchiato? You want one?" What could I do but say yes?
Denise assured me she'd drink it if I didn't like it. The little teacup appeared, Gabri frothed some milk into it. Denise puts in some sugar and demonstrates the proper slow stir technique. Then, the first sip: gross! Bitter, awful aftertaste, blech. But I am standing in a crowd of coffee drinkers, Gabri is bustling about behind the bar, I'm not going to just quit. Another sip: I try to actually consider the flavor. It's not so bad in my mouth this time, but the aftertaste is still a bit much. I manage to drain the cup (much slower than Denise, who is herself apparently a slow drinker; many people just shoot the cup) until there's only froth remaining. Denise tells me that the aftertaste is why so many people in cafes have a glass of water at their elbow; it's not just me.
Result: not very pleasant, but doable. Probably it will grow on me. White wine certainly did, followed by red (which I was also sort of forced into by my roommates the last time I stayed in Rome). One of my only regrets about Florence was that I didn't enjoy wine then, after all; at least now I will enter coffee the right way...which means the Italian way, of course!
Monday, September 15, 2014
Michelangelo show
Krys and I went to see the Michelangelo exhibition at the Capitoline museum on Saturday. It was a good show, but oddly arranged, with most of the material on the top floor with one big gallery downstairs where you enter. There were a number of really great items, including the sonnet in which Michelangelo complains about painting the Sistine, the preparatory drawing for the Libyan sibyl, and the massive model for the facade of San Lorenzo. The show-stopper, for me, was the drawing after Michelangelo's lost Leda, attributed to Rosso Fiorentino. I've seen it reproduced, but had no idea of its scale: 16 full-size sheets of paper, making it something like six or seven feet across and four or five feet high! The composition also struck me as remarkably tender and even sensual in its drawn form, as opposed to the painted copies that exist, which tend to appear colder and more sculptural. It was a surprise to find myself appreciating the sex appeal of a painting depicting bestiality!
Saturday, September 13, 2014
More
...I started to write a blog entry yesterday, around the same time (noon) about how something about the shift in time, plus the energy-consuming nature of this place, has rendered me both constantly hungry and in need of daily naps. I didn't get further than a couple of lines because...I went to take a nap before lunch! Haha.
It hasn't even been a week yet, so it still really hasn't sunk in that this is my home now. I haven't even crossed the Tiber yet; today after lunch I'm planning to go to the Capitoline Museum to see the Michelangelo exhibit that ends on Sunday, possibly in the company of some other people (I need to learn to stop mentioning my plans aloud...), and that will be my first venture into the centro. Afterward I need to hit the Vodafone store to finally acquire a new SIM, and then I guess I'll come back here, though I have to head back downtown for dinner. Carla has her conservatory entrance exam today, so tonight we're going out to Alfredo e Ada's, the little hole-in-the-wall place she introduced me to last year, where the wine is all house wine, and the menu is whatever Alfredo tells you (but which always includes my favorite, matriciana!)
Living on this side of the river kind of has that same sense of distance that Brooklyn has from Manhattan. Getting from one to the other requires effort. There, it's subway rides; here, it's walking or riding the bus. Walking back here is no joke; we may not be on one of the seven named hills of Rome, but holy shit is it steep! [Edit: that's not exactly true; our hill is named--Janiculum--it's just not one of the famous seven on the other side of the river, where the Romans actually lived] Going to the grocery store yesterday felt like traversing San Francisco: up and down, up and down. I walked to Carla's on Thursday afternoon, which first takes you along the beautiful ridge of the Gianicolo, so you get an incredible view out over Rome, and then goes down a super-windy switchback road...then a super-steep straight road...then stairs! I took a cab back...
I haven't taken a single picture here yet after the first batch I put up on Facebook. Today is the first day I'm even bringing my camera. The sense that this is a place of permanence frees me a little from the desire to obsessively capture every instance of beauty. Even when I do take pictures, I'm going to resist the urge to post lots of them on FB. Maybe I'll get an Instagram. (Someone here suggested creating a blog, and I was like, um, well...?) I don't want to appear to be shoving it in people's faces, "look how great my life is, peasant!" I remember feeling like that about Jasmine's posts, mostly out of my own feelings of dissertation-related-despair. It wasn't her fault, but I also don't want to be that person to someone else.
It hasn't even been a week yet, so it still really hasn't sunk in that this is my home now. I haven't even crossed the Tiber yet; today after lunch I'm planning to go to the Capitoline Museum to see the Michelangelo exhibit that ends on Sunday, possibly in the company of some other people (I need to learn to stop mentioning my plans aloud...), and that will be my first venture into the centro. Afterward I need to hit the Vodafone store to finally acquire a new SIM, and then I guess I'll come back here, though I have to head back downtown for dinner. Carla has her conservatory entrance exam today, so tonight we're going out to Alfredo e Ada's, the little hole-in-the-wall place she introduced me to last year, where the wine is all house wine, and the menu is whatever Alfredo tells you (but which always includes my favorite, matriciana!)
Living on this side of the river kind of has that same sense of distance that Brooklyn has from Manhattan. Getting from one to the other requires effort. There, it's subway rides; here, it's walking or riding the bus. Walking back here is no joke; we may not be on one of the seven named hills of Rome, but holy shit is it steep! [Edit: that's not exactly true; our hill is named--Janiculum--it's just not one of the famous seven on the other side of the river, where the Romans actually lived] Going to the grocery store yesterday felt like traversing San Francisco: up and down, up and down. I walked to Carla's on Thursday afternoon, which first takes you along the beautiful ridge of the Gianicolo, so you get an incredible view out over Rome, and then goes down a super-windy switchback road...then a super-steep straight road...then stairs! I took a cab back...
I haven't taken a single picture here yet after the first batch I put up on Facebook. Today is the first day I'm even bringing my camera. The sense that this is a place of permanence frees me a little from the desire to obsessively capture every instance of beauty. Even when I do take pictures, I'm going to resist the urge to post lots of them on FB. Maybe I'll get an Instagram. (Someone here suggested creating a blog, and I was like, um, well...?) I don't want to appear to be shoving it in people's faces, "look how great my life is, peasant!" I remember feeling like that about Jasmine's posts, mostly out of my own feelings of dissertation-related-despair. It wasn't her fault, but I also don't want to be that person to someone else.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
At Last
I'm sitting in my room, in a little white-covered chair, with my feet up on the red damask coverlet on the bed. Through the open window you can hear the sound of the courtyard fountain. It's surprisingly loud, since the courtyard amplifies noise; even a couple of people chatting sounds like a small group. Two massive pine trees dominate the courtyard space, and block my view of my office window, directly on the other side. It's beautiful, peaceful, and like everyone else here have already asked myself a dozen times, "is this my real life now?"
I wouldn't say that my jaw actually dropped when the van from the airport pulled up in front of the main Academy building, but there was distinct awe. It was so much bigger, so much more imposing and elegant than the photos were able to communicate, and that sense of wonder hasn't diminished from getting to know the layout more thoroughly. More than ever I recognize why Jasmine say Academy fellows were thought to be "insular and pretentious": they treat us like rock stars, we eat like kings, and everyone is so different, in their work, their background, that I can't imagine ever running out of things to discuss at the dinner table. For example: Paula is an experimental composer who will be doing field recordings of ambient sound in Rome's aqueducts; Liz and Khrys are novelists; Anna works as a restorer for the Met with Egyptian artifacts; Sarah is a historian working on the brothels of Pompeii--and we're all eating dinner together. It's really awesome.
In the vestibule to the McKim building, there are two ancient Roman fountains affixed to either wall, pouring water constantly. Above one, a plaque records the names of the original donors to the Academy, which include JP Morgan, Vanderbilt, Carnegie, and Henry Clay Frick of the wonderful NYC museum. Robber barons, in other words, and this stately pile is well worthy of their money. The site is the highest one inside the ancient walls of Rome (Morgan, who bought the land, supposedly wanted to be higher than the French academy across the city in the Villa Medici). The view from the roof is incomparable--all of Rome is spread out beneath you.
I feel like I could write so much about everything I've experienced here...and it's only been three days! The first night, I got up from the dinner table to use the restroom, and walking back toward the table, looking down that long, candle-covered table and everyone clustered around it talking so animatedly I thought "Two years of nights like this?" in this sort of awe-filled but also uncomprehending way. It just doesn't seem possible, that this is a thing I am now doing, and will do for a considerable period of time. But it is--and the only thing that's going to make it even better is when I get to share it with Sean!
I wouldn't say that my jaw actually dropped when the van from the airport pulled up in front of the main Academy building, but there was distinct awe. It was so much bigger, so much more imposing and elegant than the photos were able to communicate, and that sense of wonder hasn't diminished from getting to know the layout more thoroughly. More than ever I recognize why Jasmine say Academy fellows were thought to be "insular and pretentious": they treat us like rock stars, we eat like kings, and everyone is so different, in their work, their background, that I can't imagine ever running out of things to discuss at the dinner table. For example: Paula is an experimental composer who will be doing field recordings of ambient sound in Rome's aqueducts; Liz and Khrys are novelists; Anna works as a restorer for the Met with Egyptian artifacts; Sarah is a historian working on the brothels of Pompeii--and we're all eating dinner together. It's really awesome.
In the vestibule to the McKim building, there are two ancient Roman fountains affixed to either wall, pouring water constantly. Above one, a plaque records the names of the original donors to the Academy, which include JP Morgan, Vanderbilt, Carnegie, and Henry Clay Frick of the wonderful NYC museum. Robber barons, in other words, and this stately pile is well worthy of their money. The site is the highest one inside the ancient walls of Rome (Morgan, who bought the land, supposedly wanted to be higher than the French academy across the city in the Villa Medici). The view from the roof is incomparable--all of Rome is spread out beneath you.
I feel like I could write so much about everything I've experienced here...and it's only been three days! The first night, I got up from the dinner table to use the restroom, and walking back toward the table, looking down that long, candle-covered table and everyone clustered around it talking so animatedly I thought "Two years of nights like this?" in this sort of awe-filled but also uncomprehending way. It just doesn't seem possible, that this is a thing I am now doing, and will do for a considerable period of time. But it is--and the only thing that's going to make it even better is when I get to share it with Sean!
Sunday, September 07, 2014
Moving Day!
Holy crap, it's finally here. In 9 hours I'll be on a plane to Dublin!
In other news, I checked the intranet to find menus for this weeks' meals posted. Tomorrow's dinner:
Pomodori al forno
Pollo al mattone con salsa verde e limone
Granita di fragole con panna fresca
YUM.
In other news, I checked the intranet to find menus for this weeks' meals posted. Tomorrow's dinner:
Pomodori al forno
Pollo al mattone con salsa verde e limone
Granita di fragole con panna fresca
YUM.
Friday, September 05, 2014
Damn it, Janet
Janet is the name of the Academy's new intranet system (based on Janus, the two-headed Roman god who is an unofficial AAR mascot), to which I had eagerly been awaiting access. Now I know that my room is number 206, and my office is 242. Same floor, woohoo! (There are only two residential floors, but still).
We also got an email today about our pickup in Rome; sadly, my dreams of a private car with blacked-out windows has gone by the wayside--two other fellows are on my flight, so we'll all be piling into the same van. Still, someone is going to be waiting past customs with an AAR sign. That is going to be fucking awesome, especially given my 100 lbs of baggage!
While I was in the library the other day, photocopying my master's degree (which I need to present in order to gain access to the Vatican, the Bibliotheca Hertziana, and a couple of other places), I flipped through Anthony Doerr's Four Seasons in Rome, his account of spending a year in Rome along with his wife and 16-month-old twins. Carla's mom lent it to me years ago, when the phrase "American Academy" meant diddly-squat to me, and I even mentioned it in my interview, which seemed to please my interlocutors. I really only had vague memories of the book by that point, though, and what stood out most in my memory were the bad things that happened. For example, he saw a fatal traffic accident, an American tourist driving a car hit an Italian family in the crosswalk. That's one of my nightmares when we drive in foreign countries--and honestly, here too.
Flipping through it again left a very different impression. It sounded miserable!! A lot of that had to do with the aforementioned twin babies which they arrive with. No parents of twins would be getting a lot of rest, but living in another country with babies? Christ. Also, I know the Academy's on a hilltop, but reading his description of hefting a double-stroller down those stairs almost made me sweat. They spoke barely any Italian, and knew next to nothing about Rome or Italy in general. His wife spent most of her time cooped up in their apartment, which led to a collapse from nervous exhaustion. They didn't interact that much with the other fellows, from the sound of it, and when they did make appearances at the communal table (which was pre-Alice Waters intervention, so the food sucked) he reported feeling completely lost by the scholarly discussions that were going on about classical history or music or what have you (he's a novelist).
Part of me reads this as "cry moar, don't move to Italy with babies." It's especially hard to feel bad for him after reading that this asshole didn't even have to apply for his Rome Prize. Nor did he interview! He just mentions getting a letter saying his work had been nominated anonymously, and then getting another letter informing him of his win! What the shit is this? The nominations come from former fellows, I know that much, since I got an email a month ago inviting me to nominate up to three people. But it seems kind of unfair that some people (is it only scholars, I wonder?) have to go through the application process while others have it dropped in their laps.
That said, his perspective did shed some light on what Jasmine had told me, that AAR fellows are often seen, by people at other research institutions like the Hertz, as "insular pretentious people." The pretension thing I can certainly see, because AAR is definitely full of itself, institutionally speaking, and they encourage fellows to see themselves as super-duper-special. The lavish prize ceremony in NYC, for example? No other fellowship bothers with an award ceremony. As for insular, I think the language barrier is a factor; I'm sure plenty of the fellows, particularly the non-scholars, don't speak Italian, and for some this might be their first experience living abroad! That would be pretty nerve-wracking, and if you can just stay in the pretty villa where they feed you, why wouldn't you?
That said, I have every intention of making connections with people at the other institutions, particularly the Hertz, since some people Jasmine knew are still there. Most of the institutions reciprocally invite people to their events and parties. I don't know if AAR does, but at least one reception in September included an invitation to "Rome friends." I made Carla put it on her calendar!
We also got an email today about our pickup in Rome; sadly, my dreams of a private car with blacked-out windows has gone by the wayside--two other fellows are on my flight, so we'll all be piling into the same van. Still, someone is going to be waiting past customs with an AAR sign. That is going to be fucking awesome, especially given my 100 lbs of baggage!
While I was in the library the other day, photocopying my master's degree (which I need to present in order to gain access to the Vatican, the Bibliotheca Hertziana, and a couple of other places), I flipped through Anthony Doerr's Four Seasons in Rome, his account of spending a year in Rome along with his wife and 16-month-old twins. Carla's mom lent it to me years ago, when the phrase "American Academy" meant diddly-squat to me, and I even mentioned it in my interview, which seemed to please my interlocutors. I really only had vague memories of the book by that point, though, and what stood out most in my memory were the bad things that happened. For example, he saw a fatal traffic accident, an American tourist driving a car hit an Italian family in the crosswalk. That's one of my nightmares when we drive in foreign countries--and honestly, here too.
Flipping through it again left a very different impression. It sounded miserable!! A lot of that had to do with the aforementioned twin babies which they arrive with. No parents of twins would be getting a lot of rest, but living in another country with babies? Christ. Also, I know the Academy's on a hilltop, but reading his description of hefting a double-stroller down those stairs almost made me sweat. They spoke barely any Italian, and knew next to nothing about Rome or Italy in general. His wife spent most of her time cooped up in their apartment, which led to a collapse from nervous exhaustion. They didn't interact that much with the other fellows, from the sound of it, and when they did make appearances at the communal table (which was pre-Alice Waters intervention, so the food sucked) he reported feeling completely lost by the scholarly discussions that were going on about classical history or music or what have you (he's a novelist).
Part of me reads this as "cry moar, don't move to Italy with babies." It's especially hard to feel bad for him after reading that this asshole didn't even have to apply for his Rome Prize. Nor did he interview! He just mentions getting a letter saying his work had been nominated anonymously, and then getting another letter informing him of his win! What the shit is this? The nominations come from former fellows, I know that much, since I got an email a month ago inviting me to nominate up to three people. But it seems kind of unfair that some people (is it only scholars, I wonder?) have to go through the application process while others have it dropped in their laps.
That said, his perspective did shed some light on what Jasmine had told me, that AAR fellows are often seen, by people at other research institutions like the Hertz, as "insular pretentious people." The pretension thing I can certainly see, because AAR is definitely full of itself, institutionally speaking, and they encourage fellows to see themselves as super-duper-special. The lavish prize ceremony in NYC, for example? No other fellowship bothers with an award ceremony. As for insular, I think the language barrier is a factor; I'm sure plenty of the fellows, particularly the non-scholars, don't speak Italian, and for some this might be their first experience living abroad! That would be pretty nerve-wracking, and if you can just stay in the pretty villa where they feed you, why wouldn't you?
That said, I have every intention of making connections with people at the other institutions, particularly the Hertz, since some people Jasmine knew are still there. Most of the institutions reciprocally invite people to their events and parties. I don't know if AAR does, but at least one reception in September included an invitation to "Rome friends." I made Carla put it on her calendar!
Ready, Set...
I don't want to have to say goodbye to Sean, but at the same time...I'm ready to go! I'm tired of being in this constant state of "preparing." Almost all of my stuff is packed in the two larger suitcases, which weigh a combined 86lbs. Most of my clothes are in vacuum space-saver bags, which means all my shit is going to be incredibly wrinkled when I get to Rome. Hm, maybe I should have bought that iron that another fellow was offering? Oh well.
Most of my goodbyes have already been said. I had lunch with Jen and my cousin Lisa in Waterbury on Wednesday, and then Jen and Vinny came to Linda's for dinner that night. Jen gave me a ton of cash, which was really sweet and unnecessary, but Vinny's gift was just awesome: he took two used Samsung phones, turned off the cell-tower-seeking part, and stripped them of everything but Skype. That means Sean and I can talk for free, anywhere there's a wifi connection, instead of having to use our laptops! He warned me that the batteries are really lacking in life, but so what. It was such a thoughtful gift. Linda also gave me a wonderful going-away present: she pulled photos from my FB account to create an awesome collage on Snapfish, and had it framed in a lightweight frame so I could have something to put on my wall when I get there! Also incredibly thoughtful!
My to-do list has literally been whittled down to "switch Costco card into Sean's name" and "check for Ilchman diss at post office on Sat" (and cross my fingers that it doesn't come!) Yesterday I deep-cleaned the house, top to bottom, and took particular glee in employing Magic Erasers, which I am like the last person on the planet to learn about. Those fuckers are amazing! Walls, bathtub, microwave, they clean it all! I even used one on a pair of flip flops before packing them this morning.
Today's agenda includes my last yoga class and a pedicure. Sean and friends are playing at a golf tournament in honor of Jon Ward's dad. Theoretically I should go to the "banquet" at 3, but I'm also meeting the other girls for dinner in Milford at 6, and then we'll probably meet up with the guys afterward, so....I need to conserve my energy!
Most of my goodbyes have already been said. I had lunch with Jen and my cousin Lisa in Waterbury on Wednesday, and then Jen and Vinny came to Linda's for dinner that night. Jen gave me a ton of cash, which was really sweet and unnecessary, but Vinny's gift was just awesome: he took two used Samsung phones, turned off the cell-tower-seeking part, and stripped them of everything but Skype. That means Sean and I can talk for free, anywhere there's a wifi connection, instead of having to use our laptops! He warned me that the batteries are really lacking in life, but so what. It was such a thoughtful gift. Linda also gave me a wonderful going-away present: she pulled photos from my FB account to create an awesome collage on Snapfish, and had it framed in a lightweight frame so I could have something to put on my wall when I get there! Also incredibly thoughtful!
My to-do list has literally been whittled down to "switch Costco card into Sean's name" and "check for Ilchman diss at post office on Sat" (and cross my fingers that it doesn't come!) Yesterday I deep-cleaned the house, top to bottom, and took particular glee in employing Magic Erasers, which I am like the last person on the planet to learn about. Those fuckers are amazing! Walls, bathtub, microwave, they clean it all! I even used one on a pair of flip flops before packing them this morning.
Today's agenda includes my last yoga class and a pedicure. Sean and friends are playing at a golf tournament in honor of Jon Ward's dad. Theoretically I should go to the "banquet" at 3, but I'm also meeting the other girls for dinner in Milford at 6, and then we'll probably meet up with the guys afterward, so....I need to conserve my energy!