Pier Paolo Pasolini, an Italian director, screenwriter, essayist, poet, critic and novelist, lamented: “What is Rome? Where is the real Rome? Where does it begin and where does it end? Rome is surely the most beautiful city in Italy, if not the world. But it is also the most ugly, the most welcoming, the most dramatic, the richest, and the most wretched… The contradictions of Rome are difficult to transcend because they are contradictions of an existential order. Rather than traditional contradictions, between wealth and misery, happiness and horror, they are part of a magma, a chaos.”
When the plane landed and I walked into the sunlit airport I felt a new kind of awareness coursing through my body. My senses perked up, my heart raced, and I could feel the blood rushing through my veins. The car ride was complete silence, a hazy blur, as I stared, my eyes brimming with tears of shock, at the city of Rome. I checked into my small hotel room, set down my bags and collapsed into my bed. Shock and awe washed over me and I fell into a restless sleep. We toured the streets of Rome that the evening. I was mute. Stunned at the beauty around me, the vibrant culture, the song of the Italian language all of this mixing before my eyes, piercing my ears, leaving me speechless. It was at this point that I fell madly in love with Rome.
I did not come to Rome with expectations or preconceived notions. Of course I came wary of Italian men, but that is to be expected. I came with a child’s notion that this might be fun, but not with an adult’s expectations or prior knowledge. With this as my starting point I was able to view Rome as it is, my own ideas not combating what I saw.
By 4am the skeleton of the market is already up, a few dedicated sellers cleaning and arranging their wares. The Plaza del Biscione is littered with broken bottles, cigarettes butts and the stench of marijuana. The young Italians, a medley of bad asses, who frequent this small plaza leave not only remnants of the nights’ activities, but new graffiti appears nightly. New tags, names, symbols, drawings and incorrectly spelled American swear words cover the stone walls and wooden doors in the plaza. Standing at the door, hunting through my bag for keys, I can hear the heartbeat of Rome: the noise of the market, the clinks and bangs from people already rising from bed, the noise of the few cars littering the streets. The sounds of Rome breathe a life into the city that can be found no where else.
Mornings in Italy force even the most fatigued to rise, not simply because the noise is deafening, but because the sounds are riveting. As my alarm abruptly breaks my dream state I immediately hear the conversations and laughter of construction workers, the honk of car horns, the dropping of construction material and the cries of vendors in the market. If it is a weekend I often hear the crying lady, or as Lisa has dubbed her the Biscione crier. She is a large, rotund woman, swathed in layers of black and dirty orange cloth. I often hear her screams during the day. No one knows why she yells or who she is yelling at so vehemently, but everyone in the Campo de’ Fiore knows who she is. If I am not awake by 10am I often gently nudged awake by the sounds of the Campo.
I sip my morning coffee at Caffé del Biscione, un café macchiato, and listen to conversations around me. Two Italian women sit smoking cigarettes inside, even though it’s not allowed, the rhythm of their conversation a melodic up and down song. A group of giggling American girls, who share the first floor conference room with me, stomp in a cacophony of noise, clicking of flip flops and bad Italian as they ask for their lattes to go. The owner of the café smiles graciously at everyone, but I realize as the American girls go to pay he has charged them an extra 10 centisimi. The owner and the tall, imposing, dark haired barman sing in harmony to the opera music cooing softly in the background. After I have paid, said my goodbyes (a volley of ciaos, buongiornos and gracious smiles) I enter into the plaza.
The fountain giggles as I walk past, the water splashing into buckets put out by the men at the butcher’s shop. My mornings are filled with walks through Rome. The more we stomp around this city the more I realize that there is a never-ending noise to the place, a hum that fills your ears and remains there long after you have left the street. The car horns, the clicking of heels against the cobblestone, the constant mutters of Italian men as high heels pass, the opening and closing of shop doors. These noises make Rome. They are the song that pieces together the streets of Roma.
On our walks through Rome churches loom on every street corner solemn and silent, standing as reminders of one’s duty to God and the Roman Church. As you pull back the heavy wooden doors you enter into a new world. The interiors are gilded, the ceilings high, and marble coats the walls. Within churches there are new sounds: the awe-filled gasps of tourists, the banging of heels against marble floors, the echoes of mass wafting from small chapels to your right and left, the constant mutter of students and teachers and the silent whispers of prayers. The universe within the walls of the church is different. The air is musty. The lights are dim. There are constant reminders to devote oneself to God, to give to the Church. The place wreaks of guilt. The opulence is often overwhelming, blurring and confusing the Church’s message of piety.
In the afternoons the city shuts down: doors close, shutters click shut, the traffic slows and the streets seem bare. Restaurants fill with hungry customers the buzz of Italian coupled with wild hand gestures makes every meal an adventure. Schools also have adopted this break. The Pantheon fills with youngsters: laughing, eating and playing in the piazza. Slowly the streets begin to fill again as everyone leisurely strolls back to work. This abrupt stop in the day took me a month of adjustment. The idea that life could slow for two hours, that lunch could be eaten at a leisurely pace instead of a quick run to McDonalds, shocked me.
After the break shops grind back into action, the city picks up again, cars bustle down the streets. As the sun begins to go down there is a new buzz to the air. Students are done with school. Jobs end. Restaurants open their doors. By 8pm the city is a bustle of hungry people either on their way home or on their way out to eat. This is when Rome is filled with laughter. From every restaurant the clink of silverware on plates can be heard. The hum of laughter, raised voices, the whoosh in the air of wild hand gestures all blend into to a cacophony of joyous sound.
As the sky becomes filled with stars, the moon glistening down on the ancient roads a new life emerges: the nightlife. By 10pm the Campo is filled with Italian and American voices. The bars filled with chatter and noise, music from each restaurant and pub echoes through the Campo mixing and melding together with the conversations happening throughout the square. Men and women dressed in their best coming home from dinner. Teens stand smoking in the Plaza del Biscione. The girls fix their hair, snap their gum, stare with looks of superiority at the foreigners, and giggle at the boys as their young suitors make fools of themselves. The boys roll joints, drink beer and play fight. They are loud and excited, constantly acting up for the attention of the surrounding girls. The Americans stick out in the crowd: stiletto heels stuck in the cobblestone, short skirts, sweats and drunken behavior. By midnight the Americans can be spotted drunkenly stumbling out of the Drunken Ship giggling and falling over one another. By two the Campo is filled with the remainder of drunken Americans, most of the Italians have left for home. By three the Campo is silent, the tourists have left, the Americans have stumbled home, the pubs all closed.
Life in Rome is an amazing adventure full of interesting and shocking surprises. One of the greatest changes for me was the way Italians approach time. Drinking small, quick cafes in the morning, a two minute event. Then in the evenings or over lunch you are never asked to pay or given the bill until you are ready. The pace contradicts itself. One minute you are rushing to finish your café in order to make more space at the bar and the next you are leisurely enjoying a 3 hour dinner not once thinking about rushing. The same is true with traffic. Drivers in Rome like to drive with minimal notice to laws: cutting corners, running red lights, and speeding are their main pleasures. On the road Italians are maniacs, but on the streets they stroll, walking as though they have no where to be in the world but right there. This contradiction is a pleasure to me. There are certain activities that deserve the time taken to truly enjoy the experience. Dinner with friends is a pleasure that should be enjoyed. Walking the streets of Rome there is so much to see that taking the extra minutes to get from point A to point B is worth it. Coffee drinking and driving are activities dubbed less important and therefore the time spent on them is less.
Romans also have a unique friendliness. Store owners, workers and every once in a while fellow occupants of my apartment say hello and goodbye at every meeting. At the grocery store or the market Italians meet and make small talk with the workers. I am never treated poorly for not speaking the language or laughed at for my unique miming technique. But, this friendliness only reaches so far. It is a surface friendliness. When I walk around the streets of Rome I am accosted by stares, not simply of men, but also of the haughty Italian women. The teens sneer as I walk out of the building into the plaza at night. I am constantly aware of the piercing eyes of Italians, summing me up, coming to conclusions. The contradiction between friendliness and coldness is about Italian’s pride. The hellos are a friendly gesture, something ingrained in the culture. The haughty response to foreigners comes from a love of Italian culture and a desire to maintain that vibrancy and life with minimal outside interference.
Rome is a beautiful city, filled with antiquity and yet the city is dingy. The streets are dirty and grimy, although every 12 hours the street cleaners appear and sweep the streets with their witches’ brooms. Minutes after the streets are freshly cleaned the trash begins to pile again, the cigarette butts litter the ground and the trashcans start to overflow. At night the streets fill with the younger Italian crowd, who jeer, sneer and yell at the Americans. They stand outside my big, green door and break bottles, chant communist sayings and from time to time riot in the Campo. Graffiti covers the walls of many buildings, a mixture of American and Italian sayings and swearwords. Italians have such a love for their city and culture and yet they disrespect the city they live in. At the AS Roma games the stadium reverberates with Roma cheers, Roma pride bubbles over the edges of the colosseum. But, when you leave you see the youth tagging buildings and the crowds dropping their trash on the ground.
But, the greatest contradiction of all is that while this city is grimy, the younger crowds can be menacing and troublesome, people can be rude and pushy there is never a moment that I do not feel safe and in love with this town. There has not been one moment in my trip that I have not rejoiced at the inconsistencies of this place. That I have not simply laughed at my grocery store being closed at five for no reason or smiled and waited patiently in line at the Post Office for an hour and a half. Rome teaches you to slow down, to learn to smile at contradictions, laugh at closed doors, revise schedules and never once complain. Rome wants you to fall in love with this lifestyle, to embrace the three-hour dinners and long walks through the crowded streets. Rome asks that you choose to slow down and appreciate life and learn to live it to the fullest.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
The Counter Reformation and Bernini’s Cornaro Chapel
Walking up to the Cornaro chapel the figure of St. Teresa in Ecstasy loomed above me. The statue was lit with a golden light and placed so that I felt I was witnessing a heavenly scene. On either side of the statue were marble windows with spectators, from inside St. Peters, viewing Teresa’s ecstasy. The scene in front of me was moving. Witnessing Teresa, the angel raising his spear to pierce her again, evoked curiosity. The reclining woman above me, limp to the world, was receiving God’s love not forcing it upon herself. St. Teresa was experiencing a miracle from God. The viewer wants to have the same experience, wants to be touched by God as well. After seeing this chapel, seeing the serene, reclining figure of St. Teresa, I felt if I been a 17th century viewer I would have wanted to have the same experience with God.
I walked up a small step and was in the Altieri Chapel. I was only a few feet away from the statue of the Blessed Ludovica Albertoni. Ludovica is not placed on a heavenly level, but directly in front of the viewer. The chapel is plain, the decoration minimal all denoting the earthly world. The sculpture itself is carved differently than many of Bernini’s other works. There is minimal definition between textures: the robes and the bed seemed to meld together. By bringing this image of ecstasy to an earthly plane I felt Bernini was telling the viewer that this experience could be had on earth.
The difference between viewing St. Teresa in Ecstasy and Blessed Ludovica Albertoni is that the first is a heavenly scene removed from the viewer and the latter a scene of ecstasy on earth. St. Teresa in Ecstasy was commissioned by the church and therefore the scene needed to be removed from the viewer and raised to a heavenly level. The scene could also be viewed in an erotic manner and by moving the statue up, away from earth, the sculpture loses any hedonistic reference. When viewing Blessed Ludovica the viewer is invited into the scene, asked to watch the ecstasy. This is a private commission by the Altieri family and is not required to fulfill the desires of the church. Bernini does not shy away from eroticism in this piece. Ludovica is more feminine, she clutches her heart, her toes curl in ecstasy. Ludovica is of the earth. These two statues both show a similar experience, but their commissioners dictate the viewers experience with the sculptures.
The chapels also serve very different purposes. The Cornaro Chapel is ornate: gilded stucco and marble coats the place. The statue sits high above the viewer with marble columns surrounding the scene. The image is encased in a marble chamber that removes the scene even further away from the viewer. Rays of golden light shine behind the sculpture. The Altieri Chapel is markedly plain. The walls are bare, there is minimal gilding and the only source of vibrant color comes from painting of the Virgin Mary and Child hanging over Ludovica’s sculpture. The chapel is small and Bernini opens the space by angling the walls out toward the viewer, opening the space and inviting the spectator in. The Altieri Chapel is not imposing, upon entering the chapel you feel welcomed in, a bench sits to the side where you can rest and experience the chapel. The Cornaro Chapel is closed to the viewer while the Altieri Chapel opens itself to the spectator.
As a 17th century viewer of these chapels the two messages you receive differ greatly. In the Cornaro Chapel the scene is removed, it is a heavenly scene that is gated from the viewer. In the Altieri Chapel the chapel is wide open inviting you into the scene. The church is showing the viewer the miraculous nature of God and encouraging the viewer to act piously. The private Altieri Chapel shows Ludovica’s experience on an earthly plane, bringing the viewer close to the experience. Both chapels are dedicated to God’s miracles, but the church removes those miracles from the viewer while the private chapel brings the experience closer to the spectator.
I walked up a small step and was in the Altieri Chapel. I was only a few feet away from the statue of the Blessed Ludovica Albertoni. Ludovica is not placed on a heavenly level, but directly in front of the viewer. The chapel is plain, the decoration minimal all denoting the earthly world. The sculpture itself is carved differently than many of Bernini’s other works. There is minimal definition between textures: the robes and the bed seemed to meld together. By bringing this image of ecstasy to an earthly plane I felt Bernini was telling the viewer that this experience could be had on earth.
The difference between viewing St. Teresa in Ecstasy and Blessed Ludovica Albertoni is that the first is a heavenly scene removed from the viewer and the latter a scene of ecstasy on earth. St. Teresa in Ecstasy was commissioned by the church and therefore the scene needed to be removed from the viewer and raised to a heavenly level. The scene could also be viewed in an erotic manner and by moving the statue up, away from earth, the sculpture loses any hedonistic reference. When viewing Blessed Ludovica the viewer is invited into the scene, asked to watch the ecstasy. This is a private commission by the Altieri family and is not required to fulfill the desires of the church. Bernini does not shy away from eroticism in this piece. Ludovica is more feminine, she clutches her heart, her toes curl in ecstasy. Ludovica is of the earth. These two statues both show a similar experience, but their commissioners dictate the viewers experience with the sculptures.
The chapels also serve very different purposes. The Cornaro Chapel is ornate: gilded stucco and marble coats the place. The statue sits high above the viewer with marble columns surrounding the scene. The image is encased in a marble chamber that removes the scene even further away from the viewer. Rays of golden light shine behind the sculpture. The Altieri Chapel is markedly plain. The walls are bare, there is minimal gilding and the only source of vibrant color comes from painting of the Virgin Mary and Child hanging over Ludovica’s sculpture. The chapel is small and Bernini opens the space by angling the walls out toward the viewer, opening the space and inviting the spectator in. The Altieri Chapel is not imposing, upon entering the chapel you feel welcomed in, a bench sits to the side where you can rest and experience the chapel. The Cornaro Chapel is closed to the viewer while the Altieri Chapel opens itself to the spectator.
As a 17th century viewer of these chapels the two messages you receive differ greatly. In the Cornaro Chapel the scene is removed, it is a heavenly scene that is gated from the viewer. In the Altieri Chapel the chapel is wide open inviting you into the scene. The church is showing the viewer the miraculous nature of God and encouraging the viewer to act piously. The private Altieri Chapel shows Ludovica’s experience on an earthly plane, bringing the viewer close to the experience. Both chapels are dedicated to God’s miracles, but the church removes those miracles from the viewer while the private chapel brings the experience closer to the spectator.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Silence and Belief
A small young nun, pious and kind looking, let us into the cloister. The air was filled with the song of prayer from a door to our left. As we moved into the cloister the singing stopped and the air reverberated with the trickle of the fountain and the crunch of gravel beneath our feet. We each took up post at different ends of the cloister, nestled ourselves into the columned niches and began to write. Sitting in the silence, the leaves rustling through the shrubs and scattering the water droplets from the fountain, I was amazed at my own sense of inner peace and comfort.
In the hubbub of church on a Sunday (people watching, music, rustling of clothing and chairs) the spiritual experience can be lost. Many churches today focus their services on celebration and leave their congregants on their own to find an outside, quiet connection with spirit. Silence is a spiritual experience for me. While sitting quietly alone, with no distractions one is able to take a step back from the business of everyday life. In the constant day in and day out chatter and fast-paced life style reflection can be put to the side to handle more pressing matters. Silence gives one the opportunity to breathe deeply, slow down and reflect.
Silence can also be a terrifying experience. Only when I am silent, when I let my body relax and breathe deeply, do I become aware of my honest feelings. So often business can act as a mask or Band-Aid to cover one’s true emotions. While I sat in the Santi Quattro Coronati cloister I was shocked to realize that I have not taken a moment of silence this trip. I have not stopped to reflect upon my experience here or to breathe deeply and be calm. So much of this trip has been an overwhelming jumble of thoughts and feelings, my emotions on a never-ending roller coaster of awe and amazement.
At this point in my reflection the buzzer pierced the silence. I sat waiting as the nun let a three older women and a man into the cloister. The women’s shoes clicked on the pavement: two of the women speaking loudly until shushed by the nun, the man clicking photos with his wife. I was shocked and affronted at the abrupt intrusion upon my silence. I watched and as they began to walk through the cloister they slowly fell silent, the soothing nature of the place washing over them. Then we all quietly experienced the space, all enjoying the peace within the place. I closed my eyes letting the sounds soothe me and sat silently. The noon bell began to chime, vibrating through the place, shaking up the cloister. We all packed up, everyone migrating towards to door and postcards. The sound of water, the echo of the bell and the whistle of the wind escorting us through the door.
Walking out from the grey and dismal church into the blinding sunshine I was shocked at how wonderful I felt. I felt free, happy and at ease. I felt like smiling and dancing down the street. Silence is a spiritual and healing experience. We walked down the winding hill, speaking very little, all still stunned with the cloister and our experiences in it. As I walked I kicked a small stone and it bounced joyously in front of me. As I watched it bounce I was reminded of the first mediation training I co-facilitated. We were all given rocks with the word breathe written on them because during my first mediation I scrawled “breathe” all over my page because I was so terrified. I spent the rest of the day thinking about my rock and reminding myself to breathe and take the time to reflect.
As a group we visited the S. Carlo alla Quattro Fontane, a church designed by Borromini. The church is a wash of white, with little decoration. The place soothes you when you enter it, invites you to sit quietly and breathe deeply. Attached to this church is a small cloister that mimics the plainness of S. Carlo alla Quattro Fontane. We walked from the church into the cloister and the calm feelings stayed with us. There was no business within the cloister, no noise at all, except for the jarring clop of shoes. We only spent a few minutes enjoying the quiet cloister and left marching out onto a busy street.
The experience at S. Carlo alla Quattro Fontane was unique because I am used to the overwhelming, ornate churches that flood the streets of Rome. I have never entered into a church and seen white or felt as though I was meant to sit quietly and relax. The churches here so often seem to invite awe and not spirituality. The cloister was a continuation of this experience of peace and serenity. I was amazed that I could experience that in both spaces of the church.
The cloister experience in Santi Quattro Coronati was a more profound experience for me because I was able to sit quietly, alone and reflect upon the space. In the cloister attached to S. Carlo alla Quattro Fontane my time was rushed and I was still reeling from my experience within the church. The cloister in Santi Quattro Coronati is an inviting place with places to sit and greenery. The cloister in S. Carlo alla Quattro Fontane is colder. The cloister acts as a continuation of the church, as a place to stand and admire, but not to get lost in for hours.
I do not consider myself religious, but I consider myself spiritual. I feel there is interconnectedness, an ebb, a pulse that links us all. For me I am most aware of this feeling when I sit in silence. My belief is somehow confirmed, it is inexplicable, but my connection with spirit and with my own spirituality is strengthened through silence. Silence reminds me of vastness of the Universe and forces me to remember that I am here to enjoy life and live it to the fullest, not to be weighed down by petty matters. I am reminded to let go, to release and to enjoy life. Silence helps me to redirect and find a new path when I am lost. In the Santi Quattro Coronati cloister I was reminded again that all I need to do is breathe and relax - to not get caught up in the business of life.
In the hubbub of church on a Sunday (people watching, music, rustling of clothing and chairs) the spiritual experience can be lost. Many churches today focus their services on celebration and leave their congregants on their own to find an outside, quiet connection with spirit. Silence is a spiritual experience for me. While sitting quietly alone, with no distractions one is able to take a step back from the business of everyday life. In the constant day in and day out chatter and fast-paced life style reflection can be put to the side to handle more pressing matters. Silence gives one the opportunity to breathe deeply, slow down and reflect.
Silence can also be a terrifying experience. Only when I am silent, when I let my body relax and breathe deeply, do I become aware of my honest feelings. So often business can act as a mask or Band-Aid to cover one’s true emotions. While I sat in the Santi Quattro Coronati cloister I was shocked to realize that I have not taken a moment of silence this trip. I have not stopped to reflect upon my experience here or to breathe deeply and be calm. So much of this trip has been an overwhelming jumble of thoughts and feelings, my emotions on a never-ending roller coaster of awe and amazement.
At this point in my reflection the buzzer pierced the silence. I sat waiting as the nun let a three older women and a man into the cloister. The women’s shoes clicked on the pavement: two of the women speaking loudly until shushed by the nun, the man clicking photos with his wife. I was shocked and affronted at the abrupt intrusion upon my silence. I watched and as they began to walk through the cloister they slowly fell silent, the soothing nature of the place washing over them. Then we all quietly experienced the space, all enjoying the peace within the place. I closed my eyes letting the sounds soothe me and sat silently. The noon bell began to chime, vibrating through the place, shaking up the cloister. We all packed up, everyone migrating towards to door and postcards. The sound of water, the echo of the bell and the whistle of the wind escorting us through the door.
Walking out from the grey and dismal church into the blinding sunshine I was shocked at how wonderful I felt. I felt free, happy and at ease. I felt like smiling and dancing down the street. Silence is a spiritual and healing experience. We walked down the winding hill, speaking very little, all still stunned with the cloister and our experiences in it. As I walked I kicked a small stone and it bounced joyously in front of me. As I watched it bounce I was reminded of the first mediation training I co-facilitated. We were all given rocks with the word breathe written on them because during my first mediation I scrawled “breathe” all over my page because I was so terrified. I spent the rest of the day thinking about my rock and reminding myself to breathe and take the time to reflect.
As a group we visited the S. Carlo alla Quattro Fontane, a church designed by Borromini. The church is a wash of white, with little decoration. The place soothes you when you enter it, invites you to sit quietly and breathe deeply. Attached to this church is a small cloister that mimics the plainness of S. Carlo alla Quattro Fontane. We walked from the church into the cloister and the calm feelings stayed with us. There was no business within the cloister, no noise at all, except for the jarring clop of shoes. We only spent a few minutes enjoying the quiet cloister and left marching out onto a busy street.
The experience at S. Carlo alla Quattro Fontane was unique because I am used to the overwhelming, ornate churches that flood the streets of Rome. I have never entered into a church and seen white or felt as though I was meant to sit quietly and relax. The churches here so often seem to invite awe and not spirituality. The cloister was a continuation of this experience of peace and serenity. I was amazed that I could experience that in both spaces of the church.
The cloister experience in Santi Quattro Coronati was a more profound experience for me because I was able to sit quietly, alone and reflect upon the space. In the cloister attached to S. Carlo alla Quattro Fontane my time was rushed and I was still reeling from my experience within the church. The cloister in Santi Quattro Coronati is an inviting place with places to sit and greenery. The cloister in S. Carlo alla Quattro Fontane is colder. The cloister acts as a continuation of the church, as a place to stand and admire, but not to get lost in for hours.
I do not consider myself religious, but I consider myself spiritual. I feel there is interconnectedness, an ebb, a pulse that links us all. For me I am most aware of this feeling when I sit in silence. My belief is somehow confirmed, it is inexplicable, but my connection with spirit and with my own spirituality is strengthened through silence. Silence reminds me of vastness of the Universe and forces me to remember that I am here to enjoy life and live it to the fullest, not to be weighed down by petty matters. I am reminded to let go, to release and to enjoy life. Silence helps me to redirect and find a new path when I am lost. In the Santi Quattro Coronati cloister I was reminded again that all I need to do is breathe and relax - to not get caught up in the business of life.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Observations on Roma
con·tra·dic·tion n
1. something that contains parts or elements that are illogical or inconsistent with each other
2. a statement or the making of a statement that opposes or disagrees with somebody or something
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
Rome is the center of chaos and contradiction. It is a city that is so closely tied with its past that the present must fight in order to be noticed. The heart of Rome is minutes away from ruins like the Foro Romano and the Colosseo, moments away from the La Fontana di Trevi, the Pantheon, Piazza Navona and Bernini’s Four Rivers Fountain. The past is alive, art and architecture from every era loom around each corner. Centuries of history all mingle together. And yet with the past everywhere there is still a distinct Italian culture that is unique to today.
cul·ture n
1. art, music, literature, and related intellectual activities
2. enlightenment and sophistication acquired through education and exposure to the arts
3. the beliefs, customs, practices, and social behavior of a particular nation or people
4. a group of people whose shared beliefs and practices identify the particular place, class, or time to which they belong
5. a particular set of attitudes that characterizes a group of people
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
Rome is alive, a melting pot for people from every walk of life, a cacophony of different languages and cultures all harmoniously coexisting. The Italians strut their streets, aware of their culture, their lifestyle and our attempts to assimilate. We stand at bars quickly gulping down a café, jam onto packed buses pushing and shoving, gesture wildly as we speak as though we are true Italians. Foreigners all attempt to melt into this culture because we are drawn to the life and vibrancy that surrounds us.
im·i·tate vt
1. to copy somebody’s behavior, voice, or manner, especially in order to make fun of him or her
2. to use somebody or something as a model, attempting to copy an existing method, style, or approach
3. to be or look like something else
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
We try to imitate the Italian style. Mold ourselves into cookie cutter shapes of the cool kids we see sauntering down the streets of Rome. We wear the clothes, laughing as we try on the baggy, underwear-showing, jeans of the younger Italian girls. Smirk as we walk into jewelry stores and see the rows of raver bracelets and big, shiny jewelry frequently worn by the younger Italians. We stumble around the cobblestone streets in our new Italian boots and tights. In this sea of style you see the Americans: flip-flops in Winter, Ugg boots and short skirts at the Vatican. You wonder if you look like them? How well are you hiding it? Do the clothes make you Italian? Constantly questioning how well you fit into this unique culture, how well can you imitate? Then you see those who have lived here for long enough they assimilate the clothing, the Italian strut, the hair – trying to become perfect models of Italian culture just like you want to be.
age n
1. the length of time that somebody or something has existed, usually expressed in years
2. one of the stages or phases in the lifetime of somebody or something
3. the age at which somebody is legally considered to be an adult
4. condition of having lived many years
5. age or Age a period in history, especially a long period or one associated with and named for a distinctive characteristic, achievement, or influential person
6. age or Age a relatively short division of recent geologic time, shorter than an epoch
7. a level of development equivalent to that of an average person of the stated age
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
Rome is ageless city. This timelessness is present not only around every street corner, but in every Italian man and woman. Italian women seem to have no set age. Although they may be old they have a spark that keeps them young for decades and the younger generation have a maturity that enables them to walk around with their head held high and a sneer on their face. The men never seem to mature. They still stare like boys who have just hit puberty no matter their age. They drool like dogs from across the room and point and gesture wildly in any girls’ direction. From the younger boys you hear the cries of “bella,” “bellisimo,” “amore.” From the older men there are the frequent whispers of adoration and nods and gestures to their friends. Italian women are pillars of maturity: hard, distant and unapproachable. They live in their own shell, closed in from too many sexual advances. The Italian men refuse to grow up, living at home sometimes well past college, yelling and jeering on the street corners at any girls that crosses their path. The men and women appear to be raised on different planets and yet share the same streets, classrooms, jobs and even city.
glam·our or glam·or n
1. an irresistible alluring quality that somebody or something possesses by virtue of seeming much more exciting, romantic, or fashionable than ordinary people or things
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
Rome is not all glamour. The streets are dirty and grimy, although every 12 hours the street cleaners appear and sweep the streets with their witches’ brooms. Minutes after the streets are freshly cleaned the trash begins to pile again, the cigarette butts litter the ground and the trashcans start to overflow. At night the streets fill with the younger Italian crowd, who jeer, sneer and yell at the Americans. They stand outside my big, green door and break bottles, chant communist sayings and from time to time riot in the Campo. Graffiti covers the walls of many buildings, a mixture of American and Italian sayings and swearwords. Italians have such a love for their city and culture and yet they disrespect the city they live in. At the AS Roma games the stadium reverberates with Roma cheers, Roma pride bubbles over the edges of the colosseum. But, when you leave you see the youth tagging buildings and the crowds dropping their trash on the ground.
filth n
1. dirt or refuse that is disgusting or excessive
2. something considered extremely morally objectionable or obscene, for example, coarse language or explicit descriptions or depictions of sexual activity
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
But, the greatest contradiction of all is that while this city is grimy, the younger crowds can be menacing and troublesome, people can be rude and pushy there is never a moment that I do not feel safe and in love with this town. There has not been one moment in my trip that I have not rejoiced at the inconsistencies of this place. That I have not simply laughed at my grocery store being closed at five for no reason or smiled and waited patiently in line at the Post Office for an hour and a half. Rome teaches you to slow down, to learn to smile at contradictions, laugh at closed doors, revise schedules and never once complain. Rome wants you to fall in love with this lifestyle, to embrace the three-hour dinners and long walks through the crowded streets. Rome asks that you choose to slow down and appreciate life and learn to live it to the fullest.
love n
1. an intense feeling of tender affection and compassion
2. a passionate feeling of romantic desire and sexual attraction
3. somebody who is loved romantically
4. a romantic affair, possibly sexual
5. strong liking for or pleasure gained from something
6. something that elicits deep interest and enthusiasm in somebody
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
1. something that contains parts or elements that are illogical or inconsistent with each other
2. a statement or the making of a statement that opposes or disagrees with somebody or something
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
Rome is the center of chaos and contradiction. It is a city that is so closely tied with its past that the present must fight in order to be noticed. The heart of Rome is minutes away from ruins like the Foro Romano and the Colosseo, moments away from the La Fontana di Trevi, the Pantheon, Piazza Navona and Bernini’s Four Rivers Fountain. The past is alive, art and architecture from every era loom around each corner. Centuries of history all mingle together. And yet with the past everywhere there is still a distinct Italian culture that is unique to today.
cul·ture n
1. art, music, literature, and related intellectual activities
2. enlightenment and sophistication acquired through education and exposure to the arts
3. the beliefs, customs, practices, and social behavior of a particular nation or people
4. a group of people whose shared beliefs and practices identify the particular place, class, or time to which they belong
5. a particular set of attitudes that characterizes a group of people
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
Rome is alive, a melting pot for people from every walk of life, a cacophony of different languages and cultures all harmoniously coexisting. The Italians strut their streets, aware of their culture, their lifestyle and our attempts to assimilate. We stand at bars quickly gulping down a café, jam onto packed buses pushing and shoving, gesture wildly as we speak as though we are true Italians. Foreigners all attempt to melt into this culture because we are drawn to the life and vibrancy that surrounds us.
im·i·tate vt
1. to copy somebody’s behavior, voice, or manner, especially in order to make fun of him or her
2. to use somebody or something as a model, attempting to copy an existing method, style, or approach
3. to be or look like something else
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
We try to imitate the Italian style. Mold ourselves into cookie cutter shapes of the cool kids we see sauntering down the streets of Rome. We wear the clothes, laughing as we try on the baggy, underwear-showing, jeans of the younger Italian girls. Smirk as we walk into jewelry stores and see the rows of raver bracelets and big, shiny jewelry frequently worn by the younger Italians. We stumble around the cobblestone streets in our new Italian boots and tights. In this sea of style you see the Americans: flip-flops in Winter, Ugg boots and short skirts at the Vatican. You wonder if you look like them? How well are you hiding it? Do the clothes make you Italian? Constantly questioning how well you fit into this unique culture, how well can you imitate? Then you see those who have lived here for long enough they assimilate the clothing, the Italian strut, the hair – trying to become perfect models of Italian culture just like you want to be.
age n
1. the length of time that somebody or something has existed, usually expressed in years
2. one of the stages or phases in the lifetime of somebody or something
3. the age at which somebody is legally considered to be an adult
4. condition of having lived many years
5. age or Age a period in history, especially a long period or one associated with and named for a distinctive characteristic, achievement, or influential person
6. age or Age a relatively short division of recent geologic time, shorter than an epoch
7. a level of development equivalent to that of an average person of the stated age
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
Rome is ageless city. This timelessness is present not only around every street corner, but in every Italian man and woman. Italian women seem to have no set age. Although they may be old they have a spark that keeps them young for decades and the younger generation have a maturity that enables them to walk around with their head held high and a sneer on their face. The men never seem to mature. They still stare like boys who have just hit puberty no matter their age. They drool like dogs from across the room and point and gesture wildly in any girls’ direction. From the younger boys you hear the cries of “bella,” “bellisimo,” “amore.” From the older men there are the frequent whispers of adoration and nods and gestures to their friends. Italian women are pillars of maturity: hard, distant and unapproachable. They live in their own shell, closed in from too many sexual advances. The Italian men refuse to grow up, living at home sometimes well past college, yelling and jeering on the street corners at any girls that crosses their path. The men and women appear to be raised on different planets and yet share the same streets, classrooms, jobs and even city.
glam·our or glam·or n
1. an irresistible alluring quality that somebody or something possesses by virtue of seeming much more exciting, romantic, or fashionable than ordinary people or things
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
Rome is not all glamour. The streets are dirty and grimy, although every 12 hours the street cleaners appear and sweep the streets with their witches’ brooms. Minutes after the streets are freshly cleaned the trash begins to pile again, the cigarette butts litter the ground and the trashcans start to overflow. At night the streets fill with the younger Italian crowd, who jeer, sneer and yell at the Americans. They stand outside my big, green door and break bottles, chant communist sayings and from time to time riot in the Campo. Graffiti covers the walls of many buildings, a mixture of American and Italian sayings and swearwords. Italians have such a love for their city and culture and yet they disrespect the city they live in. At the AS Roma games the stadium reverberates with Roma cheers, Roma pride bubbles over the edges of the colosseum. But, when you leave you see the youth tagging buildings and the crowds dropping their trash on the ground.
filth n
1. dirt or refuse that is disgusting or excessive
2. something considered extremely morally objectionable or obscene, for example, coarse language or explicit descriptions or depictions of sexual activity
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
But, the greatest contradiction of all is that while this city is grimy, the younger crowds can be menacing and troublesome, people can be rude and pushy there is never a moment that I do not feel safe and in love with this town. There has not been one moment in my trip that I have not rejoiced at the inconsistencies of this place. That I have not simply laughed at my grocery store being closed at five for no reason or smiled and waited patiently in line at the Post Office for an hour and a half. Rome teaches you to slow down, to learn to smile at contradictions, laugh at closed doors, revise schedules and never once complain. Rome wants you to fall in love with this lifestyle, to embrace the three-hour dinners and long walks through the crowded streets. Rome asks that you choose to slow down and appreciate life and learn to live it to the fullest.
love n
1. an intense feeling of tender affection and compassion
2. a passionate feeling of romantic desire and sexual attraction
3. somebody who is loved romantically
4. a romantic affair, possibly sexual
5. strong liking for or pleasure gained from something
6. something that elicits deep interest and enthusiasm in somebody
Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
Eavesdropping Assignment
The music switches from a Jay-Z song to 50 Cent’s Candy Shop. Three girls walk in singing and laughing, wiggling to the music and shooting stares in my direction as I sit solo at a table writing in my journal sipping on a glass of wine. There is a skinny, plain-faced redhead who sits at the right corner of the table. Her larger, more aggressive-looking, flat-faced friend in the bright red coat is wedged between the redhead and a young Italian woman wearing a black hat with a pompom.
They play with their menus, giggling as they stare at the bartender and then switch to discussing drinks.
“Any draft beer is like 5 euro.” coos the young Italian in her raspy, singsong voice, “but, I’ll ask, maybe he’ll charge less.” She nods her head in the direction of the bartender.
“I’ll take you to the candy shop…” blurs their conversation as they order drinks.
“I like it outside more, better atmosphere, a little quieter, but the view is better inside.” The flat-faced Italian shrugs in the directions of the bartender. Her voice rises and falls in a rhythmic pattern: slow and methodical.
Her friends pause both looking simultaneously confused, “They don’t got a bartender outside…” Giggles fill the air as they all simultaneously smirk towards the bar.
“You can dance inside.” The redhead nods toward the dance platform above her table. “Although you know me, I don’t think you could ever get me up there. Maybe after a few drinks, but I’d really have to be pissed.” Giggles fill the air and the Italians begin to dance in their chairs, the redhead stares at her beer glass.
The Italian in the red jacket begins to rhythmically pack her cigarettes against the table. She checks the mirror behind her, fixing her hair and jacket, all the while smiling at the reflection of the bartender in the mirror. “I’ll be back. Do you think he’d want a cigarette? I should ask…” Talk is masked with a volley of high-pitched giggles and motioning in the bartenders direction.
The redhead and young Italian sit quietly, moving to the music. “I really wanted this pair of boots I saw by San Pietro today. I know I can’t spend any more money, but the were perfect, black and only 40 euro. That’s so cheap in Italy. I should have got them you know.” The redhead chimes in, “But, you want to have money for Torino. I can’t wait to be a little more touristy over there, I am going to ham it up. Can you believe we get to go up there? My mom is so excited.”
“Your mom?”
“Well she really wanted to go to the games, I dunno...” Conversation fades into the music.
The flat-faced Italian walks back in. “I think he’s Cuban. Like I know he’s Hispanic; you don’t look like that otherwise.” She smiles, flipping her hair as she sits down, trying to catch his eye.
“I could do with a Cuban, he’s a cute little one too.”
“Is he Cuban, I mean, well, I’ve never met one…” The young Italian trails off.
“I don’t think he that cute, he can make drinks, I see him at Abbey, he must work there too and he always really nice.”
A second round of beers shows up, the young Italian pays, which starts a lot of muttering and protests from her two friends.
“I owe you two, it’s only 3 euro.”
“But, really I can pay, don’t worry, you don’t have to pay for me.”
The young Italian wrings her hands at the two in the customary Italian prayer gesture. The protests fade out.
“Grazie”
“Va bene.”
“Thanks”
The waiter walks away and the young Italian pulls out her cigarette pack and begins to bang it against the table. The music turns up and the conversation is drowned out.
They play with their menus, giggling as they stare at the bartender and then switch to discussing drinks.
“Any draft beer is like 5 euro.” coos the young Italian in her raspy, singsong voice, “but, I’ll ask, maybe he’ll charge less.” She nods her head in the direction of the bartender.
“I’ll take you to the candy shop…” blurs their conversation as they order drinks.
“I like it outside more, better atmosphere, a little quieter, but the view is better inside.” The flat-faced Italian shrugs in the directions of the bartender. Her voice rises and falls in a rhythmic pattern: slow and methodical.
Her friends pause both looking simultaneously confused, “They don’t got a bartender outside…” Giggles fill the air as they all simultaneously smirk towards the bar.
“You can dance inside.” The redhead nods toward the dance platform above her table. “Although you know me, I don’t think you could ever get me up there. Maybe after a few drinks, but I’d really have to be pissed.” Giggles fill the air and the Italians begin to dance in their chairs, the redhead stares at her beer glass.
The Italian in the red jacket begins to rhythmically pack her cigarettes against the table. She checks the mirror behind her, fixing her hair and jacket, all the while smiling at the reflection of the bartender in the mirror. “I’ll be back. Do you think he’d want a cigarette? I should ask…” Talk is masked with a volley of high-pitched giggles and motioning in the bartenders direction.
The redhead and young Italian sit quietly, moving to the music. “I really wanted this pair of boots I saw by San Pietro today. I know I can’t spend any more money, but the were perfect, black and only 40 euro. That’s so cheap in Italy. I should have got them you know.” The redhead chimes in, “But, you want to have money for Torino. I can’t wait to be a little more touristy over there, I am going to ham it up. Can you believe we get to go up there? My mom is so excited.”
“Your mom?”
“Well she really wanted to go to the games, I dunno...” Conversation fades into the music.
The flat-faced Italian walks back in. “I think he’s Cuban. Like I know he’s Hispanic; you don’t look like that otherwise.” She smiles, flipping her hair as she sits down, trying to catch his eye.
“I could do with a Cuban, he’s a cute little one too.”
“Is he Cuban, I mean, well, I’ve never met one…” The young Italian trails off.
“I don’t think he that cute, he can make drinks, I see him at Abbey, he must work there too and he always really nice.”
A second round of beers shows up, the young Italian pays, which starts a lot of muttering and protests from her two friends.
“I owe you two, it’s only 3 euro.”
“But, really I can pay, don’t worry, you don’t have to pay for me.”
The young Italian wrings her hands at the two in the customary Italian prayer gesture. The protests fade out.
“Grazie”
“Va bene.”
“Thanks”
The waiter walks away and the young Italian pulls out her cigarette pack and begins to bang it against the table. The music turns up and the conversation is drowned out.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Pompei
Pompei was amazing. I have some pictures of my adventures there. This is Nicole and I strolling along one of the perfectly preserved streets.
We went into a house and here I am coming out of the very short doorway. This makes me think that people in Pompei were not very tall.
Here I am standing by some ancient painting on the wall of the Pompei baths. The baths also housed some very well preserved dead bodies that were put in little plastic cases. The people were completely solid and covered in ash.
Here I am ordering from Ms. Nicole the bartender. Nicole also acted as our Pompei tourguide, she had the book and all. Good thing she can double as a tourguide and a bartender, that way we can drink and not get lost.
Ciao,
Ema
We went into a house and here I am coming out of the very short doorway. This makes me think that people in Pompei were not very tall.
Here I am standing by some ancient painting on the wall of the Pompei baths. The baths also housed some very well preserved dead bodies that were put in little plastic cases. The people were completely solid and covered in ash.
Here I am ordering from Ms. Nicole the bartender. Nicole also acted as our Pompei tourguide, she had the book and all. Good thing she can double as a tourguide and a bartender, that way we can drink and not get lost.
Ciao,
Ema
Windows on History: Caravaggio
Caravaggio was an artist who drew his inspiration from the world around him. In his earlier works Caravaggio grappled with the challenge of how to put reality onto canvas. In his earlier works he is inexperienced, his art is playful and not yet completely refined. Caravaggio was always a unique character, but in his early career he was still living in Rome, not yet a murderer and this innocence can be seen in his work. As Caravaggio matures as an artist his life become more hectic, his choices less reasoned. With the chaos surrounding his life his religious side becomes more profound and all encompassing. His later works are incredible, gripping depictions of saints, without his own spirituality the images would not be so profound and riveting.
Caravaggio used light and contrast to his advantage, he chose earth tones, and painted reality onto canvas. Bacchino Malato is one of his early works that struck me most. The grapes looked real enough to pick off the canvas and eat, but were not idealized grapes, the imperfections were present. Young Bacchus is a model, the viewer is aware that Bacchus is not an invention from the mind of Caravaggio, but a live specimen. In Caravaggio’s earlier works the use of models is much more apparent. The viewer can see when the model has moved, or the position has changed because Caravaggio does not correct it completely. If the arm moves slightly then the arm in the painting becomes larger. Where Caravaggio had mastered the art of rendering reality of still objects onto canvas, humans still presented a challenge for him.
In his youth Caravaggio was a purest. He chose not to taint his paintings with his imagination. While it may have been a lack of confidence that caused him to use only models it seems more likely that his desire for reality to be shown on canvas was the true culprit. In his depiction of Bacchus he has chosen not to show the swaggering, healthy, vibrant drunkard, but instead a sickly younger boy, malnourished, yet still smirking mischievously at the grapes in his hand. This is meant to be a depiction of Caravaggio himself, it is said that his face is the face of Bacchus. By painting himself a sickly form of a impish pagan God he shows himself not only as a sickly soul, but also reveals to the viewer his more roguish character. Caravaggio was known for his fowl temper and unique unfriendly character. His Bacchus depiction could have been a warning to his ways, a sign that he might be a difficult young man to work with.
Using Bacchus as his subject one can also see a playful side to Caravaggio. He seems to be pushing boundaries and enjoying himself. He is not a commissioned artist at this time so he is able to create what moves him. This impish, playful nature can also be seen in his other works during this time, particularly the image of the nude, young Saint John. Caravaggio reveals his mischievous nature through his earlier works.
In his later works there is a shift from adolescent errors to a new and amazing understanding of the materials and models he was working with. All of the sudden the bodies of the characters are real. The viewer waits with baited breath to see the chest of St. Peter move up and down as he breaths or to hear his heart race as they pull him onto the cross. Where Caravaggio’s early works were stunted and static his later pieces have a life of their own. They capture the viewer because the moment Caravaggio has chosen to depict leaves the viewer questioning what led up to the moment and what will happen the second after.
The Napoli Museo Capodimonte houses Caravaggio’s Flagellation of Christ. In this painting the viewer can tell how Caravaggio has matured as an artist. He takes artistic liberties and is no longer afraid to correct body parts if the model moves. He is more aware of the human body and therefore does not draw strictly from what he views, but from his knowledge of the human body. The face of the standing torturer is more gruesome and less realistic because Caravaggio chooses to paint him so that his true evil nature shines through. The use of natural light illuminates Christ and shadows and hides the torturers. Caravaggio also has mastered the art of depicting completely three-dimensional images. The crouching torturer’s head is lit from the behind and obviously directly in front of, although not touching, Christ’s leg. As Caravaggio matured as an artist he began to take artistic liberties as well as became more aware of the human body and his own ability to depict it without being confined to his model. The realism of his depictions and his ability to choose the perfect captivating moment draws in and engages the viewer.
In Caravaggio’s later works he has run away from Rome over an indiscretion at a tennis match. He is constantly on the run and yet it is said that he became more devoted to the church and religion during this period than any other time in his life. Living piously and devoting himself to God. These later works show a shift from impish youth, depicting the Virgin Mary with an indecent amount of cleavage, to a refined older man who serves the church by creating works that violently, passionately grip and move the viewer. The change in Caravaggio’s work marks his move to adulthood. He is no longer a little boy who can be playful. His works show a devotion to God.
There is also a bit of a manic side to Caravaggio. What he sees in his head is conveyed to canvas and the images within his head are dark and gruesome. He sees the world with eyes that are clouded with disgust. His depictions are of what he sees in the world and the world to Caravaggio is a dark and vile place. He stormed around swathed in a black cloak, his face probably never lined with a smile. As Caravaggio grew up any pretense of playfulness and impish pleasure was washed away and replaced with a dark view on the world.
Caravaggio’s depictions, while often gruesome, are more engaging to me than viewing the lighter, more hopeful depictions of Catholocism and the afterlife. Caravaggio pulled on the heartstrings of his viewers and caused them to question their experience with religion and what God truly meant to them. Today, viewing Caravaggio’s works invokes the same questions and emotions. In the S. Maria del Popolo, two of Caravaggio’s commissioned works flank a brighter depiction of the heavens and of what awaits those who are good Christians. Caravaggio’s works actually force the viewer to contemplate their life on earth and what their actions truly mean. By bringing religion into the realm of reality and choosing to depict religious imagery in a tangible context, Caravaggio changes one’s relation with life, death, and the afterlife. Religion is not purely for the goal of the afterlife, but also becomes about one’s life on earth and how they choose to live.
Caravaggio used light and contrast to his advantage, he chose earth tones, and painted reality onto canvas. Bacchino Malato is one of his early works that struck me most. The grapes looked real enough to pick off the canvas and eat, but were not idealized grapes, the imperfections were present. Young Bacchus is a model, the viewer is aware that Bacchus is not an invention from the mind of Caravaggio, but a live specimen. In Caravaggio’s earlier works the use of models is much more apparent. The viewer can see when the model has moved, or the position has changed because Caravaggio does not correct it completely. If the arm moves slightly then the arm in the painting becomes larger. Where Caravaggio had mastered the art of rendering reality of still objects onto canvas, humans still presented a challenge for him.
In his youth Caravaggio was a purest. He chose not to taint his paintings with his imagination. While it may have been a lack of confidence that caused him to use only models it seems more likely that his desire for reality to be shown on canvas was the true culprit. In his depiction of Bacchus he has chosen not to show the swaggering, healthy, vibrant drunkard, but instead a sickly younger boy, malnourished, yet still smirking mischievously at the grapes in his hand. This is meant to be a depiction of Caravaggio himself, it is said that his face is the face of Bacchus. By painting himself a sickly form of a impish pagan God he shows himself not only as a sickly soul, but also reveals to the viewer his more roguish character. Caravaggio was known for his fowl temper and unique unfriendly character. His Bacchus depiction could have been a warning to his ways, a sign that he might be a difficult young man to work with.
Using Bacchus as his subject one can also see a playful side to Caravaggio. He seems to be pushing boundaries and enjoying himself. He is not a commissioned artist at this time so he is able to create what moves him. This impish, playful nature can also be seen in his other works during this time, particularly the image of the nude, young Saint John. Caravaggio reveals his mischievous nature through his earlier works.
In his later works there is a shift from adolescent errors to a new and amazing understanding of the materials and models he was working with. All of the sudden the bodies of the characters are real. The viewer waits with baited breath to see the chest of St. Peter move up and down as he breaths or to hear his heart race as they pull him onto the cross. Where Caravaggio’s early works were stunted and static his later pieces have a life of their own. They capture the viewer because the moment Caravaggio has chosen to depict leaves the viewer questioning what led up to the moment and what will happen the second after.
The Napoli Museo Capodimonte houses Caravaggio’s Flagellation of Christ. In this painting the viewer can tell how Caravaggio has matured as an artist. He takes artistic liberties and is no longer afraid to correct body parts if the model moves. He is more aware of the human body and therefore does not draw strictly from what he views, but from his knowledge of the human body. The face of the standing torturer is more gruesome and less realistic because Caravaggio chooses to paint him so that his true evil nature shines through. The use of natural light illuminates Christ and shadows and hides the torturers. Caravaggio also has mastered the art of depicting completely three-dimensional images. The crouching torturer’s head is lit from the behind and obviously directly in front of, although not touching, Christ’s leg. As Caravaggio matured as an artist he began to take artistic liberties as well as became more aware of the human body and his own ability to depict it without being confined to his model. The realism of his depictions and his ability to choose the perfect captivating moment draws in and engages the viewer.
In Caravaggio’s later works he has run away from Rome over an indiscretion at a tennis match. He is constantly on the run and yet it is said that he became more devoted to the church and religion during this period than any other time in his life. Living piously and devoting himself to God. These later works show a shift from impish youth, depicting the Virgin Mary with an indecent amount of cleavage, to a refined older man who serves the church by creating works that violently, passionately grip and move the viewer. The change in Caravaggio’s work marks his move to adulthood. He is no longer a little boy who can be playful. His works show a devotion to God.
There is also a bit of a manic side to Caravaggio. What he sees in his head is conveyed to canvas and the images within his head are dark and gruesome. He sees the world with eyes that are clouded with disgust. His depictions are of what he sees in the world and the world to Caravaggio is a dark and vile place. He stormed around swathed in a black cloak, his face probably never lined with a smile. As Caravaggio grew up any pretense of playfulness and impish pleasure was washed away and replaced with a dark view on the world.
Caravaggio’s depictions, while often gruesome, are more engaging to me than viewing the lighter, more hopeful depictions of Catholocism and the afterlife. Caravaggio pulled on the heartstrings of his viewers and caused them to question their experience with religion and what God truly meant to them. Today, viewing Caravaggio’s works invokes the same questions and emotions. In the S. Maria del Popolo, two of Caravaggio’s commissioned works flank a brighter depiction of the heavens and of what awaits those who are good Christians. Caravaggio’s works actually force the viewer to contemplate their life on earth and what their actions truly mean. By bringing religion into the realm of reality and choosing to depict religious imagery in a tangible context, Caravaggio changes one’s relation with life, death, and the afterlife. Religion is not purely for the goal of the afterlife, but also becomes about one’s life on earth and how they choose to live.
Melancholy of the Antique World
Flaubert wrote, “The melancholy of the antique world seems to me more profound than that of the moderns, all of whom more or less imply that beyond the dark void lies immortality. But for the ancients that ‘black hole’ is infinity itself; their dreams loom and vanish against a background of immutable ebony. No crying out, no convulsions—nothing but the fixity of the pensive gaze…
When walking through the Forum there is a sorrow for the past, for what we have lost, and a comtemplation of where we are now and what it all means. The idea that there is no permanence, that what we have today, our religion, government, house, car, and even family is only fleeting, rests upon the heart of those who witness ancient ruins. The ancient ruins of Rome stand as a permanent reminder of the past, but also a reminder that there is no permanence. The ancient ways of the past have been replaced with modern adaptations.
The haunting echo of bustling crowds, laughing children, cries of vendors hawking their wares, dogs barking, water splashing from fountains fills the air in the Forum. The inexplicable desire to witness the Forum at the height of its glory, to see the Forum in action sparks my imagination. I want to envision the Forum, breath in the scent of the Forum, see buildings and not ruins. Only through my imagination does the Forum suddenly have life and vibrancy again.
The ancient Romans strived to be remembered and revered for their actions. The buildings, statues and monuments were all erected in order to invoke their memory. The Forum is a reminder of the dreams and desires of the past. Today we walk through and discuss the building and their meaning, we talk about the arches and triumphal processions, we discuss who lived in what building, or talk about the importance of an ancient statue. The immortality of the past lies in the interest of the future, without our constant questioning of the past it will float slowly away into nothing.
Walking through the deserted streets of Pompei the same strange emptiness washed over me. I began to question, “What if this was never unearthed?” “What if we never dug down, or choose to open this site to the public?” I was filled with “What ifs?” In an instant all of Pompei was covered, the possibility of their future ended, and all was covered in black. As I slowly strolled through Pompei all that I could think about was the fact that people used to live and laugh and grow old in this city. There used to be life and vibrancy. The houses used to be filled with people, the streets full of vendors, the bars filled with people drinking and eating. Now there are simply miles of tourists, laughing and snapping photos.
Pompei invoked more questions for me than the Forum did. The idea that I was walking into the house of a family moved me more than witnessing an arch and discussing the implications behind it. The Roman Forum slowly lost its purpose and fell into disrepair, while the city of Pompei was covered in ash. Pompei could have continued on for centuries, Pompei could even be a functioning city today. What is difficult about viewing the past is that it causes one to question their current existence and the implications of their actions today. The idea that you and your life could be erased, or that what you know so well may someday fall into disrepair and be neglected for centuries is a terrifying thought. This is the melancholy of antiquity. The past causes us to question our life, the future and what will be remembered about ourselves. The antique world lives because our interest in it and we are pushed to live life to the fullest after we witness the past.
When walking through the Forum there is a sorrow for the past, for what we have lost, and a comtemplation of where we are now and what it all means. The idea that there is no permanence, that what we have today, our religion, government, house, car, and even family is only fleeting, rests upon the heart of those who witness ancient ruins. The ancient ruins of Rome stand as a permanent reminder of the past, but also a reminder that there is no permanence. The ancient ways of the past have been replaced with modern adaptations.
The haunting echo of bustling crowds, laughing children, cries of vendors hawking their wares, dogs barking, water splashing from fountains fills the air in the Forum. The inexplicable desire to witness the Forum at the height of its glory, to see the Forum in action sparks my imagination. I want to envision the Forum, breath in the scent of the Forum, see buildings and not ruins. Only through my imagination does the Forum suddenly have life and vibrancy again.
The ancient Romans strived to be remembered and revered for their actions. The buildings, statues and monuments were all erected in order to invoke their memory. The Forum is a reminder of the dreams and desires of the past. Today we walk through and discuss the building and their meaning, we talk about the arches and triumphal processions, we discuss who lived in what building, or talk about the importance of an ancient statue. The immortality of the past lies in the interest of the future, without our constant questioning of the past it will float slowly away into nothing.
Walking through the deserted streets of Pompei the same strange emptiness washed over me. I began to question, “What if this was never unearthed?” “What if we never dug down, or choose to open this site to the public?” I was filled with “What ifs?” In an instant all of Pompei was covered, the possibility of their future ended, and all was covered in black. As I slowly strolled through Pompei all that I could think about was the fact that people used to live and laugh and grow old in this city. There used to be life and vibrancy. The houses used to be filled with people, the streets full of vendors, the bars filled with people drinking and eating. Now there are simply miles of tourists, laughing and snapping photos.
Pompei invoked more questions for me than the Forum did. The idea that I was walking into the house of a family moved me more than witnessing an arch and discussing the implications behind it. The Roman Forum slowly lost its purpose and fell into disrepair, while the city of Pompei was covered in ash. Pompei could have continued on for centuries, Pompei could even be a functioning city today. What is difficult about viewing the past is that it causes one to question their current existence and the implications of their actions today. The idea that you and your life could be erased, or that what you know so well may someday fall into disrepair and be neglected for centuries is a terrifying thought. This is the melancholy of antiquity. The past causes us to question our life, the future and what will be remembered about ourselves. The antique world lives because our interest in it and we are pushed to live life to the fullest after we witness the past.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
My new haircut
Today I got a haircut with Lisa from this crazy Italian hairdresser. He would stand back from the chair and then procede to attack my hair with scissors. He would pause and stop and move around and sometimes just lovingly brush my hair for awhile. It was fantastic. I have never been pampered so much, or so terrified at the same time. Finally, once he finished, one of the assistants began to fluff and blowdry and curl and hairspray my hair. She straightened parts and curled others and now I have pictures for you to see of me and my new hairdo!!!!
This is the back with the curly waves they made, quite amazing to watch them do!!!
These are the new bangish things that I now have and love.
I am standing by a graffiti that says "erotik." Lisa and I thought that was funny.
Ciao
This is the back with the curly waves they made, quite amazing to watch them do!!!
These are the new bangish things that I now have and love.
I am standing by a graffiti that says "erotik." Lisa and I thought that was funny.
Ciao
Monday, February 13, 2006
Art History Paper
Renaissance Love of Ancient Art
“The Renaissance…which was only one of many results of a general excitement and enlightening of the human mind…the care for physical beauty, the worship of the body, the breaking down of those limits which the religious system of the middle age imposed on the heart and the imagination…”
~Walter Pater, The Renaissance
The period of the Renaissance was a rebirth of classical culture and a return to artistic ideals of ancient Greece and Rome. The Renaissance emerged out of the ashes of the Middle Ages where art and architecture was commissioned strictly for the glorification of God. Art in the Renaissance period was intended to invoke memories of ancient art and sculptures. Artists during this period focused on the technique of ancient sculptures and art and mimicked the ancient figures in their own paintings. Giorgio Vasari, in his book Lives of the Artists, explains that the “arts of antiquity provided a model of excellence which had been debased by what he referred to as the ‘barbarian’ style of the Middle Ages” (Paolett 26). Vasari thought perfection in art occurred when one could reproduce forms in a natural manner, similar to the art of ancient Greece and Rome. The return to natural depictions of humans and landscapes was at the heart of the Renaissance.
Before the Renaissance classical art was neither appreciated nor revered. Much of the ancient art we see today littered Rome, but instead of being glorified the art was considered simply ruins. The idea that some of the pieces, such as the Apollo Belvedere, Belvedere Torso and possibly the Laocoön, were above ground before they were taken by the papacy and displayed is remarkable (Barkan 1-2). What about the 16th century ignited this desire to glorify ancient art? During the Renaissance the display of ancient artwork by the papacy was a symbol of the Church’s rise over paganism as well as a symbol of the imperial nature of the papacy. The idea of using art as a tool of propaganda occurred during the Baroque period as well when the Popes incorporated ancient obelisks into their fountains and statues as a symbol of the Church overthrowing pagan values.
The Renaissance flourished in Rome because of the papacy. Popes during the Renaissance were among Italy’s largest patrons of the arts and hoarded all of the rediscovered art as well as commissioned some of the finest artists of that period. 1420, papacy of Pope Martin V, marked the beginning of Rome as a Renaissance city and of absolute papal rule. Pope Martin V was not a patron of the arts, but laid the government structure, authoritarian papal rule, that made Rome the capital of the Renaissance. After Pope Martin V came Pope Nicholas V (1447-1455) then Pope Sixtus IV (1471-1484) both known for their renovation of the city of Rome. Under their papal rule the medieval streets of Rome were widened and crumbling buildings restored in the Renaissance style. During the renovation, many ancient monuments were torn apart and reused as building materials (“Rome" Encyclopædia Britannica). The destruction of ancient monuments can clearly be seen when viewing the remains of the Roman Forum. At the same time that many sites were being destroyed the upheaval of the land meant that many ancient statues were unearthed. Under the papal rule Pope Julius II, a patron of the arts, many of the unearthed statues were given a home in the Vatican.
Pope Julius II was a patron of the arts before he became Pope, but as Pope he was able to use art as part of his reform platform, opposing the self-indulgent lifestyle of the previous Pope, Alexander IV. Julius II chose his papal name, Julius, to invoke memories of Julius Caesar and the Roman imperial model of rule. His first action was to focus on transforming the Vatican (Paolett). One of his first renovations was to bring together the medieval living quarters with the summerhouse, the area that merged the two is called the Cortile del Belvedere. The Cortile del Belvedere acted as a formal garden, a place to show art, as well as a space for theatrical displays. Today the Cortile del Belvedere consists of two courtyards, the Cortile dello Pigna and the Cortile delle Statue. .The Cortile delle Statue, a small octagonal courtyard, has been remodeled by Simonetti, but still fulfills its original purpose which was to display Pope Julius II’s collection of Roman and Hellenistic statues (Hersey, 97-101). Among the collection of statues are the Laocoön, Apollo Belvedere, and the Belvedere Torso. In addition to housing these statues, the Cortile delle Statue acts as an entrance to the Villa Belvedere Bramante. During his papacy, Pope Julius II, tore down the Old St. Peter’s Church and created the new St. Peter’s as well as commissioned Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel. Renaissance art flourished because of art patrons like Pope Julius II (Paolett).
During the Renaissance there was a return to the study of ancient art. The Renaissance was a response to the Medieval period of art where bodies could not be seen and the imagination was stifled. When Pope Julius II began to collect ancient art it signaled that antiquity could not only be studied, but also copied. Some of the most skilled Renaissance artists studied pieces like the Laocoön, Apollo Belvedere, and the Belvedere Torso and depictions of these sculptures appear in Renaissance art.
The Apollo Belvedere was glorified because of his incredible angelic beauty and softness. Artists, such as Michelangelo and Bernini (later on), modeled some of their sculptures and paintings after Apollo. The Apollo Belvedere is a second century AD Roman copy of a fourth century BC bronze sculpture done by the Greek sculptor Leochares. The sculpture is thought to have been found near the San Pietro in Vincoli and when Guiliano della Rovere was cardinal of that church, the Apollo Belvedere was housed in the gardens there (Brown, 236). The statue was moved to the Cortile delle Belvedere, in 1511 AD, by Pope Julius II. The Apollo Belvedere is a sculpture of the young God Apollo, nude with a chlamys hanging about his neck. His leg is resting against the trunk of a tree, which would not have been there in the original bronze, and he has a quiver of arrows on his back. In his hand is what appears to be the remains of the bow he was probably holding when he was first sculpted. His body is not muscular, there is only minimal muscle definition attributed to the time period he was replicated from (Havelock). Apollo’s face is beautiful, unlined and serene, framed by a mass of perfectly arranged curls.
The Apollo sculpture is one of the most revered antique sculptures because of the sheer beauty of the piece. Schiller describes the piece as indescribable by any mere mortal because of its “celestial mixture of accessibility and severity, benevolence and gravity, majesty and mildness” (Hersey 103). J.J. Winckelmann has a similar comment about the Apollo Belvedere “Here is the consummation of the best that nature, art and the human mind can produce” (Havelock). When this statue was moved to the Vatican it was viewed and replicated by many artists of the time. The Apollo in Raphael’s Stanza della Segnatura is modeled after the Apollo Belvedere. In Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne, Apollo is modeled after the Apollo Belvedere. The beauty of the Apollo Belvedere drew many artists to him, but the anguish of the Hellenistic period, the Laocoön era, had a great effect on many artists of the time.
The Laocoön was one of Pope Julius II’s last additions to the Cortile delle Statue, first of July 1506, but became of the most popular pieces to live there. The statue was unearthed 14 January, 1506 above the ruins of the Golden House of Nero in Rome and may have been a piece in Nero’s collection after it was brought to Rome. When the Laocoön was unearthed in 1506 artists of that time, including Michelangelo, came to watch it being unearthed The Laocoön is a Greek sculpture from the Hellenistic period that depicts the priest Laocoön and his twin sons, Antiphantes and Thembraeus, being strangled by sea serpents. Pliney the Elder attributes the Laocoön to three sculptors from Rhodes: Agesander, Athenedoros and Polydorus. The sculpture is the original piece, not a Roman copy, and dates somewhere between 42 and 20 BC, the Hellenistic period. The Hellenistic period is known for its vivid depictions of pain and suffering (Harkan 2).
The story of the tragic death of Laocoön has been debated. There are two stories to explain the death of Laocoön: either the Laocoön angered the God Apollo by breaking his oath of celibacy and while preparing to sacrifice a bull on the altar of the God Poseidon (another God he had offended), he and his sons were strangled by the sea serpents, Porces and Chariboae, sent by Apollo. The other story is that Laocoön offended Poseidon by warning the Greeks of the strategy of the Trojan horse and Poseidon punished him for speaking. The Hellenistic piece received much attention because of the expert marble work and the horrific emotions portrayed by the statue. In Virgil’s story the Aeneid he describes the death of Laocoön and his sons:
“and first each serpent enfolds in its embrace the youthful bodies of Laocoön’s twin sons and with its fangs feeds upon the hapless limbs. Then [Laocoön] himself, as he comes to their aid, weapons in hand, they seize and bind in mighty folds; and now, twice encircling his waist, twice winding their scaly backs around his throat, they tower above with head and lofty necks. He meanwhile strains his hands to burst the knots, his fillets steeped in gore and black venom as he lifts to heaven hideous cries (Hersey, 105).”
When viewing this piece, the agony described by Virgil is etched in every line of the work.
The Laocoön piece sparked much discussion because the right arms of Laocoön and one of his sons’ were missing. Pope Julius II wanted a new arm to be made in order to complete the statue. He attempted to convince Michelangelo to create the arm, but Michelangelo refused. The first known restoration of the statue was done by Giovanni Angelo Montorsoli, who chose to model the arm in a triumphal position reaching up towards the heavens (Hersey, 105-107). In 1957, the arm was found in a field and reattached (Vatican Tour Guide). The original arm was not in the position Montorsoli thought, but actually similar to that of Michelangelo’s musings: the arm positioned with the hand resting behind the head as a sign of death. During the Renaissance the idea of repairing ancient sculptures was common and the decision to “fix” or “finish” a piece occurred frequently.
The body of the Laocoön’s can be seen in the artwork of important Renaissance painters like Michelangelo and Titian. Michelangelo mimics many of the characteristics of this piece in his paintings and sculptures. He used the Laocoön in his works: Saint Matthew, the Sistine ignudi and in later works of the crucified Christ. Titian is another artist who depicts the Laocoön in his works: Crowning with Thorns, Christ is depicted as Laocoön (Hersey). The sculpture of the Laocoön sculpture appealed because of the raw emotion and horror depicted through the marble. The pain and anguish could be used in depictions of Christ and martyrdom in order to appeal more to the pathos of the viewer.
The Belvedere Torso is another piece housed in the Cortile del Statues that received a plethora of attention during the Renaissance because of the muscular sculpting of the body and the fact that the only remains of the statue is the torso. The Belvedere Torso was found in the Campo dei Fiori in the workshop of a cobbler, who is said to have been using the torso as part of his workbench. When the torso was found, it was immediately taken by Pope Julius II to the Vatican. “The Torso Belvedere, sublime in its fragmentariness, has stood as the (literal) embodiment of an art based on inward struggle” (Barkan 2). Because this piece was incomplete, it sparked the desire in some to figure out who the torso belonged to. On the Belvedere Torso’s left leg there is a fur with two paws showing. Hercules is always depicted with fur and therefore there is a general consensus that the torso belongs to Hercules. Because the fur appears to be leopard some have speculated that it might be the god Dionysus, but Dionysus was never depicted as a muscular God and therefore the theory of Hercules seems to ring true. The Belvedere Torso was appreciated because of the unanswerable questions about its past as well as a beautiful depiction of a muscular male torso.
One of the aspects of the Renaissance that is very interesting is their desire to piece together antiquities by restoring, copying and studying ancient art. Not only was art restored and copied, but verses and books were written about the pieces, discussions held, all to understand more about these works. Today I do not think that we would choose to add an arm to a work where it was missing or reattach a nose unless the original piece was present or there was a drawing of the original. By choosing to complete a piece the artist is giving new meaning to the sculpture. The idea that this was not only allowed, but encouraged by the papacy, may give one the impression that the Church wanted to push their own agenda on a sculpture. Not only could they turn an ancient piece into a symbol of the Church, the papacy could also add to the sculpture and make it their own.
During the Renaissance the appreciation and study of classical art was revived. The papacy collected and showed the classical art, their control over antiquity meant that art that was once hedonistic could be appreciated. Without the Church classical art could not have been viewed or replicated, but by using ancient art as a symbol of the power of the Church over paganism and the non-Christian past, antiquities were given a new propagandistic power.
Bibliography
Barkan, Leonard., “Unearthing the Past: Archeology and Aesthetics in the Making of Renaissance Culture”. New Haven, 1999.
Brown, Deborah. “The Apollo Belvedere and the Garden of Giuliano della Rovere at SS. Apostoli.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 49 (1986): 235- 238.
Havelock, Christine M. “Hellenistic Art: The Art of the Classical World from the Death
of Alexander the Great to the Battle of Actium.” W.W. Norton & Company. New York, 1981.
Hersey, George. “High Renaissance Art in St. Peter’s and the Vatican.” The University of
Chicago Press. Chicago, 1993.
Paolett, John T. and Radke, Gary M., “Art in Renaissance Italy.” Laurence King
Publishing. London, 1997.
"Rome." Encyclopædia Britannica. 2006. Encyclopædia Britannica Online. 29 Jan. 2006
.
Tansey, Richard G., “Art through the Ages, 6th Edition.” Harcourt Brace Jovanovich,
Inc. San Francisco, 1975.
“The Renaissance…which was only one of many results of a general excitement and enlightening of the human mind…the care for physical beauty, the worship of the body, the breaking down of those limits which the religious system of the middle age imposed on the heart and the imagination…”
~Walter Pater, The Renaissance
The period of the Renaissance was a rebirth of classical culture and a return to artistic ideals of ancient Greece and Rome. The Renaissance emerged out of the ashes of the Middle Ages where art and architecture was commissioned strictly for the glorification of God. Art in the Renaissance period was intended to invoke memories of ancient art and sculptures. Artists during this period focused on the technique of ancient sculptures and art and mimicked the ancient figures in their own paintings. Giorgio Vasari, in his book Lives of the Artists, explains that the “arts of antiquity provided a model of excellence which had been debased by what he referred to as the ‘barbarian’ style of the Middle Ages” (Paolett 26). Vasari thought perfection in art occurred when one could reproduce forms in a natural manner, similar to the art of ancient Greece and Rome. The return to natural depictions of humans and landscapes was at the heart of the Renaissance.
Before the Renaissance classical art was neither appreciated nor revered. Much of the ancient art we see today littered Rome, but instead of being glorified the art was considered simply ruins. The idea that some of the pieces, such as the Apollo Belvedere, Belvedere Torso and possibly the Laocoön, were above ground before they were taken by the papacy and displayed is remarkable (Barkan 1-2). What about the 16th century ignited this desire to glorify ancient art? During the Renaissance the display of ancient artwork by the papacy was a symbol of the Church’s rise over paganism as well as a symbol of the imperial nature of the papacy. The idea of using art as a tool of propaganda occurred during the Baroque period as well when the Popes incorporated ancient obelisks into their fountains and statues as a symbol of the Church overthrowing pagan values.
The Renaissance flourished in Rome because of the papacy. Popes during the Renaissance were among Italy’s largest patrons of the arts and hoarded all of the rediscovered art as well as commissioned some of the finest artists of that period. 1420, papacy of Pope Martin V, marked the beginning of Rome as a Renaissance city and of absolute papal rule. Pope Martin V was not a patron of the arts, but laid the government structure, authoritarian papal rule, that made Rome the capital of the Renaissance. After Pope Martin V came Pope Nicholas V (1447-1455) then Pope Sixtus IV (1471-1484) both known for their renovation of the city of Rome. Under their papal rule the medieval streets of Rome were widened and crumbling buildings restored in the Renaissance style. During the renovation, many ancient monuments were torn apart and reused as building materials (“Rome" Encyclopædia Britannica). The destruction of ancient monuments can clearly be seen when viewing the remains of the Roman Forum. At the same time that many sites were being destroyed the upheaval of the land meant that many ancient statues were unearthed. Under the papal rule Pope Julius II, a patron of the arts, many of the unearthed statues were given a home in the Vatican.
Pope Julius II was a patron of the arts before he became Pope, but as Pope he was able to use art as part of his reform platform, opposing the self-indulgent lifestyle of the previous Pope, Alexander IV. Julius II chose his papal name, Julius, to invoke memories of Julius Caesar and the Roman imperial model of rule. His first action was to focus on transforming the Vatican (Paolett). One of his first renovations was to bring together the medieval living quarters with the summerhouse, the area that merged the two is called the Cortile del Belvedere. The Cortile del Belvedere acted as a formal garden, a place to show art, as well as a space for theatrical displays. Today the Cortile del Belvedere consists of two courtyards, the Cortile dello Pigna and the Cortile delle Statue. .The Cortile delle Statue, a small octagonal courtyard, has been remodeled by Simonetti, but still fulfills its original purpose which was to display Pope Julius II’s collection of Roman and Hellenistic statues (Hersey, 97-101). Among the collection of statues are the Laocoön, Apollo Belvedere, and the Belvedere Torso. In addition to housing these statues, the Cortile delle Statue acts as an entrance to the Villa Belvedere Bramante. During his papacy, Pope Julius II, tore down the Old St. Peter’s Church and created the new St. Peter’s as well as commissioned Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel. Renaissance art flourished because of art patrons like Pope Julius II (Paolett).
During the Renaissance there was a return to the study of ancient art. The Renaissance was a response to the Medieval period of art where bodies could not be seen and the imagination was stifled. When Pope Julius II began to collect ancient art it signaled that antiquity could not only be studied, but also copied. Some of the most skilled Renaissance artists studied pieces like the Laocoön, Apollo Belvedere, and the Belvedere Torso and depictions of these sculptures appear in Renaissance art.
The Apollo Belvedere was glorified because of his incredible angelic beauty and softness. Artists, such as Michelangelo and Bernini (later on), modeled some of their sculptures and paintings after Apollo. The Apollo Belvedere is a second century AD Roman copy of a fourth century BC bronze sculpture done by the Greek sculptor Leochares. The sculpture is thought to have been found near the San Pietro in Vincoli and when Guiliano della Rovere was cardinal of that church, the Apollo Belvedere was housed in the gardens there (Brown, 236). The statue was moved to the Cortile delle Belvedere, in 1511 AD, by Pope Julius II. The Apollo Belvedere is a sculpture of the young God Apollo, nude with a chlamys hanging about his neck. His leg is resting against the trunk of a tree, which would not have been there in the original bronze, and he has a quiver of arrows on his back. In his hand is what appears to be the remains of the bow he was probably holding when he was first sculpted. His body is not muscular, there is only minimal muscle definition attributed to the time period he was replicated from (Havelock). Apollo’s face is beautiful, unlined and serene, framed by a mass of perfectly arranged curls.
The Apollo sculpture is one of the most revered antique sculptures because of the sheer beauty of the piece. Schiller describes the piece as indescribable by any mere mortal because of its “celestial mixture of accessibility and severity, benevolence and gravity, majesty and mildness” (Hersey 103). J.J. Winckelmann has a similar comment about the Apollo Belvedere “Here is the consummation of the best that nature, art and the human mind can produce” (Havelock). When this statue was moved to the Vatican it was viewed and replicated by many artists of the time. The Apollo in Raphael’s Stanza della Segnatura is modeled after the Apollo Belvedere. In Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne, Apollo is modeled after the Apollo Belvedere. The beauty of the Apollo Belvedere drew many artists to him, but the anguish of the Hellenistic period, the Laocoön era, had a great effect on many artists of the time.
The Laocoön was one of Pope Julius II’s last additions to the Cortile delle Statue, first of July 1506, but became of the most popular pieces to live there. The statue was unearthed 14 January, 1506 above the ruins of the Golden House of Nero in Rome and may have been a piece in Nero’s collection after it was brought to Rome. When the Laocoön was unearthed in 1506 artists of that time, including Michelangelo, came to watch it being unearthed The Laocoön is a Greek sculpture from the Hellenistic period that depicts the priest Laocoön and his twin sons, Antiphantes and Thembraeus, being strangled by sea serpents. Pliney the Elder attributes the Laocoön to three sculptors from Rhodes: Agesander, Athenedoros and Polydorus. The sculpture is the original piece, not a Roman copy, and dates somewhere between 42 and 20 BC, the Hellenistic period. The Hellenistic period is known for its vivid depictions of pain and suffering (Harkan 2).
The story of the tragic death of Laocoön has been debated. There are two stories to explain the death of Laocoön: either the Laocoön angered the God Apollo by breaking his oath of celibacy and while preparing to sacrifice a bull on the altar of the God Poseidon (another God he had offended), he and his sons were strangled by the sea serpents, Porces and Chariboae, sent by Apollo. The other story is that Laocoön offended Poseidon by warning the Greeks of the strategy of the Trojan horse and Poseidon punished him for speaking. The Hellenistic piece received much attention because of the expert marble work and the horrific emotions portrayed by the statue. In Virgil’s story the Aeneid he describes the death of Laocoön and his sons:
“and first each serpent enfolds in its embrace the youthful bodies of Laocoön’s twin sons and with its fangs feeds upon the hapless limbs. Then [Laocoön] himself, as he comes to their aid, weapons in hand, they seize and bind in mighty folds; and now, twice encircling his waist, twice winding their scaly backs around his throat, they tower above with head and lofty necks. He meanwhile strains his hands to burst the knots, his fillets steeped in gore and black venom as he lifts to heaven hideous cries (Hersey, 105).”
When viewing this piece, the agony described by Virgil is etched in every line of the work.
The Laocoön piece sparked much discussion because the right arms of Laocoön and one of his sons’ were missing. Pope Julius II wanted a new arm to be made in order to complete the statue. He attempted to convince Michelangelo to create the arm, but Michelangelo refused. The first known restoration of the statue was done by Giovanni Angelo Montorsoli, who chose to model the arm in a triumphal position reaching up towards the heavens (Hersey, 105-107). In 1957, the arm was found in a field and reattached (Vatican Tour Guide). The original arm was not in the position Montorsoli thought, but actually similar to that of Michelangelo’s musings: the arm positioned with the hand resting behind the head as a sign of death. During the Renaissance the idea of repairing ancient sculptures was common and the decision to “fix” or “finish” a piece occurred frequently.
The body of the Laocoön’s can be seen in the artwork of important Renaissance painters like Michelangelo and Titian. Michelangelo mimics many of the characteristics of this piece in his paintings and sculptures. He used the Laocoön in his works: Saint Matthew, the Sistine ignudi and in later works of the crucified Christ. Titian is another artist who depicts the Laocoön in his works: Crowning with Thorns, Christ is depicted as Laocoön (Hersey). The sculpture of the Laocoön sculpture appealed because of the raw emotion and horror depicted through the marble. The pain and anguish could be used in depictions of Christ and martyrdom in order to appeal more to the pathos of the viewer.
The Belvedere Torso is another piece housed in the Cortile del Statues that received a plethora of attention during the Renaissance because of the muscular sculpting of the body and the fact that the only remains of the statue is the torso. The Belvedere Torso was found in the Campo dei Fiori in the workshop of a cobbler, who is said to have been using the torso as part of his workbench. When the torso was found, it was immediately taken by Pope Julius II to the Vatican. “The Torso Belvedere, sublime in its fragmentariness, has stood as the (literal) embodiment of an art based on inward struggle” (Barkan 2). Because this piece was incomplete, it sparked the desire in some to figure out who the torso belonged to. On the Belvedere Torso’s left leg there is a fur with two paws showing. Hercules is always depicted with fur and therefore there is a general consensus that the torso belongs to Hercules. Because the fur appears to be leopard some have speculated that it might be the god Dionysus, but Dionysus was never depicted as a muscular God and therefore the theory of Hercules seems to ring true. The Belvedere Torso was appreciated because of the unanswerable questions about its past as well as a beautiful depiction of a muscular male torso.
One of the aspects of the Renaissance that is very interesting is their desire to piece together antiquities by restoring, copying and studying ancient art. Not only was art restored and copied, but verses and books were written about the pieces, discussions held, all to understand more about these works. Today I do not think that we would choose to add an arm to a work where it was missing or reattach a nose unless the original piece was present or there was a drawing of the original. By choosing to complete a piece the artist is giving new meaning to the sculpture. The idea that this was not only allowed, but encouraged by the papacy, may give one the impression that the Church wanted to push their own agenda on a sculpture. Not only could they turn an ancient piece into a symbol of the Church, the papacy could also add to the sculpture and make it their own.
During the Renaissance the appreciation and study of classical art was revived. The papacy collected and showed the classical art, their control over antiquity meant that art that was once hedonistic could be appreciated. Without the Church classical art could not have been viewed or replicated, but by using ancient art as a symbol of the power of the Church over paganism and the non-Christian past, antiquities were given a new propagandistic power.
Bibliography
Barkan, Leonard., “Unearthing the Past: Archeology and Aesthetics in the Making of Renaissance Culture”. New Haven, 1999.
Brown, Deborah. “The Apollo Belvedere and the Garden of Giuliano della Rovere at SS. Apostoli.” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 49 (1986): 235- 238.
Havelock, Christine M. “Hellenistic Art: The Art of the Classical World from the Death
of Alexander the Great to the Battle of Actium.” W.W. Norton & Company. New York, 1981.
Hersey, George. “High Renaissance Art in St. Peter’s and the Vatican.” The University of
Chicago Press. Chicago, 1993.
Paolett, John T. and Radke, Gary M., “Art in Renaissance Italy.” Laurence King
Publishing. London, 1997.
"Rome." Encyclopædia Britannica. 2006. Encyclopædia Britannica Online. 29 Jan. 2006
Tansey, Richard G., “Art through the Ages, 6th Edition.” Harcourt Brace Jovanovich,
Inc. San Francisco, 1975.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Another look at "Moses" and the "Risen Christ"
This is another look at the two pieces by Michelangelo: "Moses" and the "Risen Christ"
Distortion…two pieces equally beautiful and yet at the same time distorted on different counts. The story of Moses: changed? edited? a metaphor? Christ misshapen, ungraceful and yet perfect from the left?
The “Risen Christ”- nude, chunky, bulging, imperfect and yet beautiful, graceful when viewed from the left. Questions raised, statue pushed aside as a failure, a disaster and then someone looked again and saw beauty, saw a new angle that revived the perfection of the piece. Move to the left, do not look into the face of Christ and Christ evolves, the further left the more Christ slims, becomes graceful, until…perfection. His leg wraps about the cross, the symbols of the Passion grasped in his hand, the smooth peace of his face glowing.
Questions…each piece leaves the viewer with questions, a feeling as though something has not been answered, as though one is left to search through their own mind to piece together the mystery.
Freud questions Michelangelo’s intent with “Moses.” Did Michelangelo rewrite the story with Moses saving the Tablets? Does the placement of the fingers in the beard denote Moses pausing from his rage, choosing to stop and not throw the Tablets to the ground? Is the metaphor Michelangelo and Pope Julius II’s tormented relationship? Is there more to the statue that appears at first glance? Can you really read into a statue?
Answers…Moses angry, Christ serene and yet the questions still flow, the hypotheses flower, the conclusions are drawn. But, who knows, can you really solve the puzzle of the statues? Can anyone assume that the position of the finger, or the angle of the viewer is part of the intent of the artist? Without these questions art would become obsolete, without the desire to understand and conclude from artwork one would simply have a carved piece of marble-lifeless. The questioning brings life to the statues.
Both statues lead to questions. They make you think. It is a question of intent, of motive. Christ is not an imperfect statue. Michelangelo sculpted for a different vantage point. He did not rewrite the story of Moses. Moses clutches his beard, not to steady himself, but to contain his rage. His foot poised for movement, he is not calming, but rising to action. Maybe Moses is Michelangelo’s statement that he wants to rise up and break the Tablets as well. Michelangelo’s sly way of telling off Pope Julius. These are my answers. This is what I saw. Because I questioned, because I paused to ask, the statues came to life. I was able to question the intent of the artist and come to a conclusion of my own.
The power of art comes from the study of art. An artist’s intent reveals volumes about the artist, the time period, the commissioner. Behind every beautiful painting and sculpture is a story waiting to be revealed.
Distortion…two pieces equally beautiful and yet at the same time distorted on different counts. The story of Moses: changed? edited? a metaphor? Christ misshapen, ungraceful and yet perfect from the left?
The “Risen Christ”- nude, chunky, bulging, imperfect and yet beautiful, graceful when viewed from the left. Questions raised, statue pushed aside as a failure, a disaster and then someone looked again and saw beauty, saw a new angle that revived the perfection of the piece. Move to the left, do not look into the face of Christ and Christ evolves, the further left the more Christ slims, becomes graceful, until…perfection. His leg wraps about the cross, the symbols of the Passion grasped in his hand, the smooth peace of his face glowing.
Questions…each piece leaves the viewer with questions, a feeling as though something has not been answered, as though one is left to search through their own mind to piece together the mystery.
Freud questions Michelangelo’s intent with “Moses.” Did Michelangelo rewrite the story with Moses saving the Tablets? Does the placement of the fingers in the beard denote Moses pausing from his rage, choosing to stop and not throw the Tablets to the ground? Is the metaphor Michelangelo and Pope Julius II’s tormented relationship? Is there more to the statue that appears at first glance? Can you really read into a statue?
Answers…Moses angry, Christ serene and yet the questions still flow, the hypotheses flower, the conclusions are drawn. But, who knows, can you really solve the puzzle of the statues? Can anyone assume that the position of the finger, or the angle of the viewer is part of the intent of the artist? Without these questions art would become obsolete, without the desire to understand and conclude from artwork one would simply have a carved piece of marble-lifeless. The questioning brings life to the statues.
Both statues lead to questions. They make you think. It is a question of intent, of motive. Christ is not an imperfect statue. Michelangelo sculpted for a different vantage point. He did not rewrite the story of Moses. Moses clutches his beard, not to steady himself, but to contain his rage. His foot poised for movement, he is not calming, but rising to action. Maybe Moses is Michelangelo’s statement that he wants to rise up and break the Tablets as well. Michelangelo’s sly way of telling off Pope Julius. These are my answers. This is what I saw. Because I questioned, because I paused to ask, the statues came to life. I was able to question the intent of the artist and come to a conclusion of my own.
The power of art comes from the study of art. An artist’s intent reveals volumes about the artist, the time period, the commissioner. Behind every beautiful painting and sculpture is a story waiting to be revealed.
Venezia
Here are some pictures of me in Venice. Mostly me standing on bridges and then the goodbye shot where I lovingly stare at another train.
Venice is incredible. I think when you here that a city is built around water you envision something like a moat. Atleast the was the conclusion Mandie and I came to. When you come to Venice however you realize that there are actually canals running through the city and that everywhere you turn you will find water. I spent about two days after the trip feeling like I was still rocking on a boat. I am glad that has finally passed.
Ciao
Venice is incredible. I think when you here that a city is built around water you envision something like a moat. Atleast the was the conclusion Mandie and I came to. When you come to Venice however you realize that there are actually canals running through the city and that everywhere you turn you will find water. I spent about two days after the trip feeling like I was still rocking on a boat. I am glad that has finally passed.
Ciao
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Two Michelangelo Sculptures
Compare and Contrast the more subtle “Risen Christ” by Michelangelo in Santa Maria Sopra Minerva to his “Moses” in San Pietro in Voncoli.
Michelangelo was a master of marble, and while each of his statues are distinctly his own, the way in which he changes the sculpture in order to reflect the desires of the commissioner as well as his own agenda is remarkable. The “Risen Christ” depicts a nude Christ, entwined with a cross, holding the elements of the Passion. Michelangelo’s “Moses” is a harsh piece that depicts an enraged Moses seated precariously on a chair. While these two pieces are both religious statues the depiction of the two religious characters is very different. Christ is long, lean and elegant while Moses is hostile, large and muscular. Both of these pieces have been given much attention, not only for their beauty, but also because there are many interpretations of Michelangelo’s intent in the two pieces.
Michelangelo’s “Risen Christ” in Santa Maria Sopra Minerva has received much attention since the day it was erected, first because Christ is nude and second because when staring into the eyes of Christ the statue is stocky and ungraceful. Christ stands nude with his left foot wrapping around the cross he clutches in his hands. He is holding the symbols of the passion: a bamboo pole, sponge and coil of rope. His left foot appears to be lifting off the ground; the heel of his foot has already left, as though he is springing up to the sky. When viewed from the left the statue is slim, the marks of crucifixion can be seen on his hands and feet, and the sweet serenity of his face is more prevelant. The sculpture of Christ is beautiful and depicts Christ as he is ascends from this earthly plane.
When first looking at the “Risen Christ” one approaches looking into the face of Christ. From this angle Christ is disproportionate, dwarfing his cross, and the only beauty is depicted in his face. Only when one walks to the left side does Christ suddenly become graceful, the cross melds with his body and the beauty of the statue is truly apparent. Wallace argues that when the “Risen Christ” was first commissioned he was meant to rest in a niche in the chapel, this would have meant that one could not walk around the whole statue and the best viewing would have been from the left side. Wallace also argues that to view Christ by staring directly in his eyes would have never been expected and that the viewer was never meant to directly look into the eyes of Christ. The argument Wallace makes is trying to disprove the assertions by other scholars that the “Risen Christ” is one of Michelangelo’s worst works because of the disproportion of the piece. Wallace states that not only did the commissioners ask for a nude Christ, they also loved the piece when it arrived. The interpretation by Wallace seems valid because the moment one moves to the left of Christ, Christ is the embodiment of perfection and innocence.
Michelangelo’s “Moses” in San Pietro in Vincoli is a statue of a brooding, angry Moses who is either in the act of calming himself or rising to action. The body of this piece is muscular and well defined, the veins in the hands bulge and there is tenseness is every muscle. His hands are clenched, one around his beard and the other clutching at his stomach. His robes are disheveled, one half pulled above his knee, as though he has been fidgeting with the cloth. There is a sense of movement in this piece. Moses’ left foot is pushing off the ground while the other remains flat against the floor. His gaze is off to the left and his face is stern. When one views this piece there is an immediate sense that Moses is displeased, not simply angry, but enraged.
The details in Michelangelo’s “Moses” are stunning. The muscles in the arms and the protruding veins in his hands all give a sense of strain. The flowing beard is tangled in his grip as though he is holding it simply to keep himself at bay. The Tablets rest next to his right arm and at the same time there is a sense he is clutching them close to himself. When Freud describes this piece he concludes that Michelangelo has changed the story of Moses and that this work is actually of Moses after his fit of rage choosing not to break the Tablets. Freud’s conclusion could be plausible, but there is a sense of movement and action in this piece that does not appear to denote a calming, but more the possibility of action.
The statue of the “Risen Christ” and of “Moses” are immediately recognized as Michelangelo’s pieces although the works are sculpted differently. The “Risen Christ” is a softer, more subtle piece of work. Christ is slim and graceful, his limbs are elegant and while his muscles are defined there is no sense of tenseness or anger. Moses is larger and stockier, his arms and legs tense and the veins protrude from his hands. Michelangelo has depicted Moses in a rage, every part of his body tense, his face glaring off into the distance. The interpretation of these two pieces is also different. Wallace argues that the “Risen Christ” is not one of Michelangelo’s worst works, but that is has been viewed for centuries incorrectly. Freud argues that “Moses” is actually Michelangelo changing the story of Moses, as well as a piece about his relationship with Julius II. The interpretation of the “Risen Christ” is much subtler than the assertion by Freud that Michelangelo has reinterpreted the story of Moses. These two statues differ greatly not only because of their form, but also because of the interpretation of these two pieces.
Michelangelo was a master of marble, and while each of his statues are distinctly his own, the way in which he changes the sculpture in order to reflect the desires of the commissioner as well as his own agenda is remarkable. The “Risen Christ” depicts a nude Christ, entwined with a cross, holding the elements of the Passion. Michelangelo’s “Moses” is a harsh piece that depicts an enraged Moses seated precariously on a chair. While these two pieces are both religious statues the depiction of the two religious characters is very different. Christ is long, lean and elegant while Moses is hostile, large and muscular. Both of these pieces have been given much attention, not only for their beauty, but also because there are many interpretations of Michelangelo’s intent in the two pieces.
Michelangelo’s “Risen Christ” in Santa Maria Sopra Minerva has received much attention since the day it was erected, first because Christ is nude and second because when staring into the eyes of Christ the statue is stocky and ungraceful. Christ stands nude with his left foot wrapping around the cross he clutches in his hands. He is holding the symbols of the passion: a bamboo pole, sponge and coil of rope. His left foot appears to be lifting off the ground; the heel of his foot has already left, as though he is springing up to the sky. When viewed from the left the statue is slim, the marks of crucifixion can be seen on his hands and feet, and the sweet serenity of his face is more prevelant. The sculpture of Christ is beautiful and depicts Christ as he is ascends from this earthly plane.
When first looking at the “Risen Christ” one approaches looking into the face of Christ. From this angle Christ is disproportionate, dwarfing his cross, and the only beauty is depicted in his face. Only when one walks to the left side does Christ suddenly become graceful, the cross melds with his body and the beauty of the statue is truly apparent. Wallace argues that when the “Risen Christ” was first commissioned he was meant to rest in a niche in the chapel, this would have meant that one could not walk around the whole statue and the best viewing would have been from the left side. Wallace also argues that to view Christ by staring directly in his eyes would have never been expected and that the viewer was never meant to directly look into the eyes of Christ. The argument Wallace makes is trying to disprove the assertions by other scholars that the “Risen Christ” is one of Michelangelo’s worst works because of the disproportion of the piece. Wallace states that not only did the commissioners ask for a nude Christ, they also loved the piece when it arrived. The interpretation by Wallace seems valid because the moment one moves to the left of Christ, Christ is the embodiment of perfection and innocence.
Michelangelo’s “Moses” in San Pietro in Vincoli is a statue of a brooding, angry Moses who is either in the act of calming himself or rising to action. The body of this piece is muscular and well defined, the veins in the hands bulge and there is tenseness is every muscle. His hands are clenched, one around his beard and the other clutching at his stomach. His robes are disheveled, one half pulled above his knee, as though he has been fidgeting with the cloth. There is a sense of movement in this piece. Moses’ left foot is pushing off the ground while the other remains flat against the floor. His gaze is off to the left and his face is stern. When one views this piece there is an immediate sense that Moses is displeased, not simply angry, but enraged.
The details in Michelangelo’s “Moses” are stunning. The muscles in the arms and the protruding veins in his hands all give a sense of strain. The flowing beard is tangled in his grip as though he is holding it simply to keep himself at bay. The Tablets rest next to his right arm and at the same time there is a sense he is clutching them close to himself. When Freud describes this piece he concludes that Michelangelo has changed the story of Moses and that this work is actually of Moses after his fit of rage choosing not to break the Tablets. Freud’s conclusion could be plausible, but there is a sense of movement and action in this piece that does not appear to denote a calming, but more the possibility of action.
The statue of the “Risen Christ” and of “Moses” are immediately recognized as Michelangelo’s pieces although the works are sculpted differently. The “Risen Christ” is a softer, more subtle piece of work. Christ is slim and graceful, his limbs are elegant and while his muscles are defined there is no sense of tenseness or anger. Moses is larger and stockier, his arms and legs tense and the veins protrude from his hands. Michelangelo has depicted Moses in a rage, every part of his body tense, his face glaring off into the distance. The interpretation of these two pieces is also different. Wallace argues that the “Risen Christ” is not one of Michelangelo’s worst works, but that is has been viewed for centuries incorrectly. Freud argues that “Moses” is actually Michelangelo changing the story of Moses, as well as a piece about his relationship with Julius II. The interpretation of the “Risen Christ” is much subtler than the assertion by Freud that Michelangelo has reinterpreted the story of Moses. These two statues differ greatly not only because of their form, but also because of the interpretation of these two pieces.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Firenze
I'm back from Florence where I spent the week studying the Medici family. It was fantastic. I have never seen more amazing art in my life or been inside of so many museums. I just wanted to drop a quick line and add some photos of me doing the Florence thing.
We've got a lot of pictures of me staring at exciting things in Florence: grabbing an orange from an orange tree, staring at the copy of the David, looking at a ceiling, standing by art. There is a lot of staring that goes on in these beautiful art places.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Reading a Roman Portrait
Roman portraiture portrays the values of the era that it is produced in. During the end of the Republican era the pieces are of older men, wrinkled and lined-not hiding their age. With age comes wisdom, in the Republican era wisdom was a valued virtue and therefore was depicted. With the era of Augustus came a new sort of portraiture. Augustus was the first emperor and therefore needed to preserve his youth and grandeur even into old age. This is why the face of Augustus never changes although his body and clothing might. Augustus needed to revive the hope of the people and showing a decrepit, wrinkled old man would not have solidified the role of emperor as god. Roman portraiture is a tool to represent the values of the era and had uses both as a reminder of the individual, but also as a political or religious tool.
The piece I selected is a portrait of a man named Antinous and was found in the Da Villa Andriana somewhere around 117-138 d.C. The portrait appears to be made out of marble, but was at one time painted because you can see specks of a golden color coating the portrait. The portrait is of the face of a man. He appears to be young because his face is unlined and his hair consists of loosely arranged curls on the top of his head. His face is very proportionate-almost a little too perfect at first glance. His eyes are spaced evenly apart, his eyebrows are shaped perfectly, his nose is a little large, but not disproportionate to his face, his mouth is in a resting position, and his face is framed by perfectly placed, untidy, curly hair.
The bust does not appear to have use as a political or religious tool. The sculpture is of a young man, in his late teens or early twenties. His face is unlined and his hairstyle is playful, which suggests his younger age. The most interesting aspect of this piece is that although his face at first appears expressionless the more one looks the more one can read into the emotions of the portrait. He has an air of concern or confusion, but at the same time and incredible innocence, beauty and youthfulness. At first glance he appears stern, I imagine his sternness acts as a mask of his true emotions. The more the viewer looks the softer his features become and a humanness appears. His face is smooth and unwrinkled, but the strange depiction of his mouth, lifeless and yet at the same time smirking and almost tensing in fear, gives a new dimension to his otherwise serene face. His mouth acts as the conveyor of many emotions.
The portrait is youthful and yet at the same time the viewer feels there is some great event about to occur in his life. His hair gives him a roughish, adventurous look, as though he is preparing for something, but what the viewer is not sure. His face seems scared, as though this portrait was being taken before a great event in his life-a marriage or perhaps before he went off to battle. He has two defining features that help to bring life to his portrait. First, his hair gives him his youthful, adventurous appearance. Second, the shape of his mouth is the feature that gives his portrait the most depth. These two features are unique when I contrasted him with other portraitures in the room.
As I walked around the museum I saw either portraits that were of older men, gods, or athletes. The portrait I chose had none of these characteristics. He was set apart in his room by his youth and beauty. None in the room of portraits could rival his curling locks. I was drawn to the uniqueness of his portrait and captivated by the depth of emotions that could be found on his placid face. This piece fascinated me because it seemed that for a face that looked so young and uncomplicated, so many different interpretations of his mood could be concluded.
I imagine this portrait would have been commissioned for a household. Because he is so young it seems to be commemorating a specific important event in this man’s life. This is why I thought that it might have been made before he went off to war or before he married. It seemed that both of these events might cause a mother to want a portrait of her son. I also do not think that this young man is old enough to hold an official position that might warrant his portraiture being sculpted. This also leads to my conclusion that it does not have a religious or political motive.
In Nodelman’s article he discusses the idea of Roman sculptures as aware of their viewer: “the formalized gestures and self-consciously assumed attitude of a Roman portrait statue, and the equally self-conscious composed, or constrained emotion of a Roman face, reflect an acute awareness of the spectator.” Although my portrait lacks age lines and the serious, angry face of the end of the Republican era, my portrait appears to be aware of his viewer. The lack of detail in his face, in fact, causes the viewer to look more closely, to become intimate with the portrait in order to find more depth to the piece. Nodelman’s theory that Roman sculptures were modeled to engage and also be aware of the viewer seems apparent in the bust I choose. Antinous appears as though he knows he is being watched and the sculpture seemed aware of the ways to engage the viewer.
This piece is unique because as I looked at it I felt more and more engaged by the piece. The image reminded me of the pangs of confusion of youth and the transition from youth to adult. There was a sense of irony and contrast in the image. The bust was made of marble, solid and unchanging, and yet the depiction of the boy was of a period of transition and change.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Keats and Shelley
Today we took a very long walk and visited many of the less touristy sites. My favorite of all of our adventures was to the graveyard that house Shelley and Keats. The cemetary is only for those who are non-Catholic and not native to Rome. The graves were beautiful-so I have some pictures for you to look at.
The first is of Keat's grave.
Second a plaque dedicated to Keats.
Third is Keat's headstone.
Then come Shelley's headstone.
Last the writing on Shelley's headstone.
There is such an appeal to Rome that people want to be buried here so that in some way they will always be a part of Rome. Keats chose this path as well as many of those burried in the cemetary for foreigners.
Roman Fever
Rome is an inexplicably seductive and enticing city. The lure of Rome is unexplainable and yet there is an innate desire to understand the Eternal City, to let Rome slowly and sweetly divulge all of her secrets until you intimately know Rome. Authors use Rome because of this very fact, because Rome is not explainable and yet everyone feels that they somehow know Rome. To me, Roman Fever is a perfect example of how an author can use Rome to give more meaning to their story. In Roman Fever, Edith Wharton uses the Roman Forum to help set the stage of the intricate play between past and present.
Roman Fever is a short story that contrasts the mistakes of the past with the lies and deceit of the present. The girlish impropriety of Mrs. Ansley has forever haunted Mrs. Slade and her own error in writing the forsaken letter has torn at her over the years. Both women are aware of the errors of their past, but are unaware of their consequences in the present. As the two women sit staring over the Forum- Mrs. Slade contemplates the letter she wrote, while Mrs. Ansley is reminded of her midnight romp with Mr. Slade. Both women hold the secrets of the past yet sit together in the present with the unspoken truth permeating the air. Mrs. Slade only intending to injure the pride of her “dear” friend and possibly right the wrongs of her past mistake finds that her whole life has been a lie-beginning and ending with Mrs. Ansley. The Forum is the beginning and the end of their relationship.
The Roman Forum is a testament to the past-the ruins of the once great political hub of Rome. The Forum is the heart of Rome-a place that is shrouded with mystery and inexplicable seduction. Overlooking the Forum from a rooftop restaurant near Trajan’s Forum, as Edith Wharton’s characters would have been, one would be able to see the whole expanse of the Roman Forum. The women would have been surrounded by many of the ancient sites of Rome: the Colosseum, the Palatine, and the Capitoline. These sites have specific relevance for Wharton’s story. The Palatine and the Capitoline gain their significance as the birthplace of Rome because of the myth of Romulus and Remus. The jealousy of these two brothers ended in one’s demise. This is the same in the case of the two women- Mrs. Slade’s jealousy is the catalyst for the tryst between Mrs. Ansley and Mr. Slade. By using the Roman Forum as the setting for her short story Edith Wharton is able to use metaphors and myths regarding the Forum to enhance her story.
The Forum is also linked with the concept of Roman fever. Roman fever is malaria and at one time plagued those who spent their evenings in the Forum. The characters in Wharton’s Roman Fever talk about this illness and how their parents warned them to stay away from the Forum at night or they would catch the terrible disease. I think that Edith Wharton plays with the idea of Roman fever and uses it as a metaphor for the feverish passion that Rome unleashes in all of those who come here. Mrs. Ansley may have caught Roman fever, but it was not the illness of malaria that she was taken by, she was captured by love and the madness of love.
By choosing the Roman Forum for the setting of her short story Wharton chose to use the seductive mystery of the Forum to enhance her tale. As Ovid states in looking for a partner one might venture to “the courts of the law, the bustle and noise of the forum…” (Smiles, 27) Even in the time of Augustus the Forum was a place where love might be found. It seems that now the Forum is still alive with that passion-alive with Roman fever.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Etruscan Places
Walking through the ancient Etruscan tombs I was taken aback by the vibrancy and life depicted on the walls. Instead of mourning death, death appeared to be a celebration. Death was not a sorrowful event, but instead a continuation of the splendor of life on Earth. When one thinks of a cemetery in the United States ghostly, haunting images comes to mind. Cemeteries are a place where bodies are housed and await judgment day, where it is decided if they will reside in Heaven or Hell. This negative concept of the afterlife instills the idea that death is a terrifying, unknown experience. In the Etruscan tombs there is no feeling of morbidity, the colorfully painted walls depict and afterlife that is full of fancy, fun and more celebration. In this light, death is not a scary experience.
In Etruscan Places D.H. Lawrence uses diction that denotes his contradicting concept of death. As they two travelers walk towards Ladispoli Lawrence notes the contrast between the “ancient” “ghostliness” of the town in contrast with the “new concrete villas, new concrete hotels…” (Etruscan Places, 49) that also fill the place. The town is a mirror for Lawrence’s divide between the ancient Etruscan belief of the afterlife and his own concept of death. In the town the new villas and hotels taint the streets, sucking from them the life and vibrancy of the past, just as the Christian belief of the afterlife has removed celebration of life. Lawrence begins to struggle with the contrast between life and death when he visits the effigies and see the tombs “the carved figure of the dead rears up as if alive from the lid of a tomb…” (Etruscan Places, 62). Although the image is made of stone there is still an eternal life to the image. It is this eternal life, this continuation of life even after death that fascinates and simultaneously contradicts Lawrence’s own concept of death.
D.H. Lawrence witnessed the Etruscan tombs only a year or two before his own death. Instead of shying away from the experience of death Lawrence chose to visit the tombs. In his writing he struggles with the European concept of death as dirty, tainted and impure in contrast with the Etruscan celebration of the afterlife. The idea of the afterlife as continuation of the good of life on Earth would have been a foreign concept to someone who lived entrenched in Christian ideology of the afterlife. Lawrence knowing of his impending death looks to the Etruscans and their understanding of the “mystery of the journey out of life, and into death; the death journey, and the sojourn in the after-life” in order to find another solution to the question of life and death (Etruscan Places, 86). Knowing that this is a journey he will soon be taking, but appearing unsatisfied with European concept of the afterlife he begins a dance with the concept of death as a celebration. The reader is aware that this dance is not smooth, a series of jerky motions, as Lawrence struggles with his internalized notions of death as the end. It is the idea of death as the ending point of everything and not a continuation that appears to be the most daunting idea surrounding death.
The Etruscan concept of the afterlife as a continuation of the celebration of life on Earth is very clear in the images depicted on the walls. One feels death is not the ending point, that with death life continues, upon entering and viewing the tombs. I felt such awe at witnessing celebration surrounding death instead of the typical American mourning of passing. The idea of celebrating death struck me so strongly that as I walked from tomb to tomb I had to think of what death and the experience of death meant to me. I am not afraid of my own death, but what I fear most is the death of loved ones around me. The idea of the afterlife and where one goes when they pass does not concern me. The idea of loss and the concreteness of death is what scares me. The idea of not getting to say goodbye or not saying everything I meant to, thinking of all of those missed moments, has always been my greatest fear. Walking through the tombs enabled me to take a step back from the absoluteness that we perceive as death and take a moment to think about death in another light. To think about death not as an ending point, but as another step in life, gives life another meaning. The desire to constantly question and fixate upon death is absolved and there is a feeling that life can be a celebration. The Etruscans seem to have shared this belief. Because death was not the focus of life, life could be lived vibrantly and with a passion that has been lost to this age.
The tombs, however, did not feel like cells for the dead, but places of celebration. The aspect of rejoicing at passing and knowing that the afterlife is only another experience of life helps to curb the terror of loss.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Rome
Yesterday we spent the morning at the Roman Forum. The walk to the Forum is absolutely incredible because as you walk up the stais it opens to this wonderful statue of Marcus Araleus (that is spelled wrong) and you walk into this magnificent compo. The compo is symmetric with huge building on either side and a fountain with an image of Rome in the center flanked by two river gods: the Nile and the Tiber. Then you walk behind one building past a garden and the Forum appears. The buildings are weather beaten ruins, but the buildings that are still standing are magnificent. The arches from the triumphs still stand and are massive, intricate things with pictues depicting war, feasting and the triumphs. They are also adorned with many little doodley-bobs, otherwise known as intricate designs.
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