Urbino, Piero, Laurana, e Federigo

Great weekend: Arezzo, San Sepulchro, Urbino, Monterchi, and Remini to see most of Piero della Francesco's works.  I gained a new appreciation for Piero della Francesca.  His art is far before its time: he dabbles with form and abstraction in a manner that does not emerge until the 19th century.  In my opinion, Piero explores these questions of vision and representation more subtly and beautifully than modern artists who exclusively focus on them.  Not discounting his other works, I particularly enjoyed seeing The Resurrection of Christ in San Sepulcher and The Legend of the True Cross fresco cycle in Arezzo.

In Urbino, we saw the Flagellation of Christ, likely Piero's most famous work, but the palace itself impressed me the most.  The structural archictect, Luciana Laurana, created the palazzo with such proportions that each room and hall has a great sense of space, airiness, and light.  There is also speculation that he painted the Ideal City panel, which I believe, but I doubt that he did it alone.  At any rate, the panel shows his calm, rational approach to architecture.  Outside of the palace, in the courtyards and gardens, Laurana used evening-colored sandstone (which is very similar in color to the stone at Sewanee) and white marble, which create a much stronger sense of warmth than the coolness of the pietra serena used in Florence and the travertine in Rome.

It is said that Duke Federigo hold audience with anyone and never needed bodyguards.  His citizens loved him, and he could walk through the city alone without being disturbed.  Federigo created a court composed of many of the leading intellectuals and artists of his time.  Kenneth Clark, a famous English art historian, said that in the late 15th century, Urbino was the most civilized place on Earth.  The sense still lingers in the ducal palace.

Lavorando

Not much to report.  I have spent most of the week and last weekend working on three papers: Bronzino's Descent of Christ into Limbo, Etruscan wall painting restoration technique, and the creation of the high chapel of Santa Maria Novella.  Otherwise, I have been studying Fra Angelico in San Marco and Bronzino and Brunelleschi in Santa Croce.

I went to the clubs last weekend with friends, but I have found that I do not like going out anymore.  Chalk it up to my bankrupt youth.  It's expensive, the people you meet are rarely interesting, and you end up wasting too many hours that night and sleeping late the next morning.  The upside is unlimited Lady Gaga, gaggles of drunk American girls begging for someone to pay them attention, and showing off your Euro-shiek.

A pigeon had died on the terrazza two days ago.  Silvia has been freaking out about the "zombie-pigeon" since then.  She won't go into the kitchen, fearing that it would watch her with empty eyes through the window.  I was planning to depose of the bird last night but got in late and forgot.  While I was in Santa Croce this morning, Silvia cleaned that apartment, gathering her courage, and tried to remove the pigeon.  She failed, claiming she almost threw up.  The bird hadn't begun to decompose.  I removed it this afternoon, picking it up by the wing and throwing it out in a grocery bag.  She retreated through the hall, shaking her hands, crying out in disgust, and then locking herself in her room.  Italians can be so weird.

Francesco is probably moving out this month, and we're looking for a new flatmate.  Tonight, a ragazzo who works at Gucci is coming to see the apartment, now free from any signs of pigeon death.

Amici e giardini

Two Wednesdays ago, my cohorts and I had our first presentation in Context and Audience.  None was perfect, but all in all, they went smoothly.  Caitlin and I drank heavily afterwards.

The next afternoon, as I made my way to deliver Gatorade and Lemonsoda to Caitlin,  I ran into Meredith, a friend from Columbia who was visiting her sister.  We had a long lunch and caught up before my restoration class.  That evening, the teaching assistants and Masters students gathered for Mexican food and margaritas.  Susanne, another friend from Columbia, was in town for the night, and she met us out.  I hadn't seen her since eighth grade, and we discussed the courses our lives had taken since then.  It's amazing what can happen in a decade, and it's even funnier to think back on who you once were but no longer are.  The essence of identity is one hell of a question.

After dinner, a few of us went local and drank a bottle of vodka on the stairs of Santa Croce.  By about midnight Silvia, Tom, Tom's girlfriend, Teresiana, and I were left.  We left the deserted piazza for Tom's apartment and threw a late night 80's dance party, which woke up his Tawainese neighborhoods, who joined us and began speaking Chinese with Teresiana, who, besides studying literary theory and Proust, speaks Chinese.  It was good to hang out with Tom.  We are rare beings: straight males studying art history without a political, sexual, or religious axe to grind.  We decided a Hemmingway day is in order.  Hemmingway day = one inconspicuous bottle of bourbon + walking tour of Florence and its museums.

I didn't do much the next day.  I read slowly in the morning, ate tripe for lunch, and hit some museums during the afternoon.  Museums, Mozart, and tripe can put you back on the rails after a long night.  I met an art historian for drinks that evening, and she asked me if I would be willing to help her put together a Bronzino conference over the course of the year.  We are organizing the conference in collaboration with the Bronzino show that opens this fall at Palazzo Strozzi.  Scholarship in action!

I spent that weekend hitting museums and gardens with friends and cohorts before they left for Spring Break.  I visited Herbert Horne's palazzo on Via de' Benci.  Like Davanzati, many of the items there are arranged as the would have been positioned in a 15th century Florentine home.  Some very interesting and odd objects, like a birth tray with a putti playing the bagpipes on one side and a scene of the last judgement on the other.  I wonder what were the connections between Florence and Scotland in the 15th century, and given the theory that scenes on birth trays inspire positive qualities in a gestating child, why depict the Last Judgement with the wrathfulness of Christ and the malbolgie of Hell?  Afterwards, Silvia, Caitlin, and I saw the Bardini and Boboli Gardens, and then walked through the hills south of Florence to San Minato al Monte.  That evening, we saw Alice in Wonderland in Italian, which made it no less stupid.

That Sunday, I attended church at St. Mark's, changed clothes, and then toured the gardens at Castello and La Petraia.  Much of the garden flora in this area of Italy is similar as those in South Carolina: boxwoods, hydrangea, loquats, pines, etc.  I am writing my Master's thesis about Renaissance and 19th gardens around Florence, and I love visiting them, especially with spring approaching.

Volunteering in Aquila

Before dawn on Saturday, twelve students left Piazza Savonarola to volunteer in Aquila, which was hit by an earthquake on Sunday, April 6, 2009.  This trip was the first time that Americans had volunteered through the Caritas Foundation and also the first time Syracuse had sent volunteers to Abruzzo.  When we arrived, we were broken into different groups of American and Italian volunteers.  Each group had a different task: laying foundations for temporary housing, staining wood, moving furniture between apartments, building fences, laying floors, and reading and playing with children.  We worked hard through the weekend while we sung Italian and American songs and discussed our lives.  During meals, we ate together at loud, communal tables, and at night, we slept in "containers", metal structures akin to storage units.

After lunch and saying our goodbyes on Sunday, we went to the city center to witness the effects of the earthquake.  The Italian volunteers had told that the city will never recover, and we saw why.  The earthquake damaged or destroyed the majority of the city's downtown, which is now condemned and abandoned.  The cupola of the duomo has crumbled into the transept, and the westwork towers of another church that had twisted with the earth no longer stand parallel to one another.  It would cost too much to rebuild Aquila, and there are questions as to whose responsibility rebuilding is anyway.  The scaffolding and supports that line the streets only keep structures from falling into them; no work is being to done to restore the buildings.

The state neglected both the city and those who have lost homes or jobs.  Less than 10% of people who lost their homes have moved into newly built ones in Aquila, and many dislocated people have spent the past year in hotel rooms in the resorts on Abruzzo's coast.  They do not have jobs or a city to return to.  Families are falling apart, and businesses have left.  Those whose homes were not entirely destroyed have received little to no help from the state; they remain responsible for their mortgages and costs, even if their home was severely damaged.  Aquila is a ghost town, its emptiness heartbreaking.  The earthquake destroyed many buildings, but in its neglect, the state destroyed the lives and worlds of many people who will never recover home.

Our work was directed towards building temporary housing for those with little resources and hope left, those who see their city as a cemetery.  Volunteers have made significant contributions to the rebuilding of Aquila outside of its historical center, and there is still much work to be done.  When we left on Sunday, we were sore but happy, having received more by giving back to devastated community.  There are pictures in the album "Aquila": http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2037575&id=44700526&ref=mf.

Roma, Siena, e San Gimignano

I have a lot of writing I to do.  The past two weeks have been eventful.  Two weekends ago, I went to Rome, where it snowed for the first time in over the decade.  Our class was allowed a private viewing of the Sistine Chapel, and for two hours that Friday evening, I enjoyed Michelangelo's ceiling, his Last Judgment, and the frescoes of many 15th century masters..  I spent the rest of the weekend exploring the city with a friend, romping through the ruins and popping into churches to find what we would find.  Despite the snow, it eventually warmed up to the point that it nearly felt like spring, and the streets were crowded with Carnivale plays and festivities.  We stopped for coffee during the day and for wine during the evening.  We spent Saturday night in Piazza dei Fiori, awaiting a Communist rally that was supposed to take place that evening.  It never happened, and after drinking with our countrymen, we headed home to watch American movies.  There are pictures in the album "Roma": http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2037597&id=44700526&ref=mf.

Last weekend, I went to Siena and San Gimignano with Pr. Hatfield's Masterpieces class on Friday.  Though it rained all morning, we saw the duomo, walked along the fasaccio, and explored the Palazzo Popolo.  We heard lectures on how to develop a better eye for dating, style, and phony attributions.  There are many falsely attributed works, and so much of the scholarship of art history is detective work.  After the morning's tour, Caitlin and I were soaked from the rain but ate a late, boozy, and good lunch with a group of fun undergrads.  All of us then went to San Gimignano, escaping the rain momentarily until arrived there also.  The city still has many of its medieval towers that create an odd skyline.  In its duomo are frescoes that may also have been misattributed to different periods, like those in the Palazzo Popolo in Siena.  There is also a beautiful chapel by Ghirlandaio that I want to spend more time examining.  Otherwise, the city's famous gelateria was closed, and since it was evening by the time lecturing was finished, we headed back to Florence.  There are pictures in the album "San Gimignano & Siena": http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2037596&id=44700526.

per mangiare

I love food, as anyone who sees me can probably guess.  I am on a mission to find the best and cheapest spots to eat in Florence, and I hit gold twice this weekend.  On Thursday, Cat and I met up and grabbed lunch at Trattoria Anita, which is hidden away in the block just north of the Arno between the Bargello and Via de' Benci.  It prides itself on being authentic Italian housewife (casalinga) cooking, and offers two courses and a contorno for €8.  The potatoes roasted in butter and sage nearly fell apart like mashed potatoes, and the stewed tripe was stewed well.  Simple food done perfectly.  Another casalinga spot is Trattoria Casalinga near Santo Spirito, which has been discovered, but is also good and relatively inexpensive.  The other week I had the rabbit there.  They had removed most of the meat from a dressed rabbit, made it into sausage, and then restuffed the rabbit with the sausage.  They roasted and sliced the rabbit vertically like a loin and served it with salt and olive oil.  It was fantastic.  The other place I hit this weekend was Trattoria Mario by mercato centrale.  I meant to go there five years ago, and it finally came together on Friday.  Trattoria Mario is a local hangout, and it can take time to get a table.  It's only open for lunch, and like the others, the meal was inexpensive, simple, and of excellent quality.  It was raining and cold on Friday, so I ordered a bowl of ribollita, a traditional Tuscan bean stew made with black cabbage and stale bread.  I spent an hour eating, sharing a table with two couples, and debating theology and church history with a friend.  If you want to find an excellent a relatively inexpensive bistecca fiorentina, try Mario for lunch on Saturday.  Go early, order wine, and make a Saturday out of it.

The next two places I want to try are Trattoria Giovanni and Cibreino.  One of the secrets to eating in Florence is finding the best restaurants' "sister" restaurants, which usually share the same kitchen, are more vibrant and clustered, and less stuffy and expensive.  Trattoria Giovanni is owned by the same folks who run Il latini, which is one of Florence's best and most expensive.  At Il latini, from what I hear, there is no menu, they just feed you, course by course, ending only when you ask for the check.  Another famous restaurant in Florence is Cibreo, and it has a trattoria, Cibreino, attached to it on the other side of the block.  The two share its kitchen, and Cibreino offers the same but limited menu of Cibreo, charges standard prices, and serves one of the best meals that the human race offers.

When you want to stay in and cook, the open markets offer excellent ingredients, usually fresh from the surrounding countryside.  You can find anything nearly anything there, from obscure fish and spices to fine wines and organ meat.  The markets are beautiful places places, saturated with the noise, color, and smell, and the people watching, a national past-time in Italy, is unmatched.

il fine settimana scorso (bozza)

This past weekend was the first weekend that I felt at home in Florence.  Friday was cold and grey; I spent the morning in the Bargello and ate lunch at the mercate centrale with Sarah.  That evening I cooked the pork loin and vegetables that I had bought after lunch for Caitlin, Maddie, and my flatmates.  The meal was simple and good, the ingredients perfect.  We drank Campari and wine and discussed Italian and American culture.  For example, in Italy, when you want to say something is delicious, touch the corner of your lip with your index finger and twist your fist.  In America, you say, "Nom nom nom nom nom."

After dinner, we walked through the rain to go dancing.  Oibò was packed, and after meeting friends of Franci and Sivi, we left for Twice.  The scene was typical of many Italian dance clubs: wasted American girls clustered in the center of the dance floor, wearing nothing, shouting and dancing with their arms in the air, while Italian and Albanian guys watch like lions searching for the weak and wounded.  We left for Rooms, a members only club that you have to be invited to join.  I learned from Smith Point that exclusive clubs are usually more expensive and less fun than a good dive.  Rooms followed this rule.  People went there for air-kissing and posturing; many seemed only a step above the furniture.  Men wore suits that cost more than my first car, and the women were dressed to kill (one wore a see-through dress that I couldn't help admiring).  For whatever reason, I received a membership, which I owe it to my my flawless Italian, svelte beauty, and virile style (Levi's Jeans and Jos. A Bank).  It was a late night.

Saturday, Caitlin and I ate a long lunch and saw the Capponi chapel in Santa Felicita.  Here Brunelleschi originally tested the double vaulted design that he would later use to construct the cathedral's dome.  His ceiling was destroyed in the 16th century when Vasari constructed the corridor between the Palazzo Pitti and Palazzo Vecchio.  The corridor cuts through the interior of the church, creating a balcony over the main entrance that allowed Cosimo I to attend Mass without mingling with the hoi polloi.  Pontormo painted the frescoes and his famous Deportation altarpiece for the chapel.  Seeing his work in person changed my opinion about Pontormo.  In the past, I thought he was too mannerist and affected, but his work wass truly beautiful.  We explored the Boboli gardens, its tea houses, overlooks, and grottos.  The day was windy and grey, and the garden was still wet with the rain from the previous night.  It smelled like gravel, boxwoods, and clean air.  Once the gardens closed, we joined the rest of the city strolling in centro, people watching and window shopping.

That evening Silvia cut my hair, and I now sport a rocking Italian haircut.  She made comfort food for dinner: rice, broth, porcini, and peas.  We ate for a long time and then sat around the kitchen talking.  Despite being exhausted from the night before, we went out again to meet my cohorts at Glamour.  Once the Americans hijacked it, we went to Tabasco, a gay club near Piazza Signoria.  It was drag queen night, and the theme was jungle fever.  We all had a blast, dancing together, while jacked drag queens in leopard onesies pranced through the dance floor with microphones, singing along to Lady Gaga and She Wolf.  Around three, we finally emerged into the cold night air and said our goodbyes.  Silvia and I walked home slowly through the empty streets, her feet hurting from dancing all night in heels.

I woke up late on Sunday with a headache.  There is no word for hangover in Italian.  The colloquial expression roughly translates as, "I feel like a monkey is pounding on my head."  But I wasn't hungover.  You don't drink much here; it's too expensive and frowned upon.  I had instead smoked a million cigarettes over the weekend, which is something I am not used to nor plan to be.  I met a friend for lunch, and afterwards, Silvia and I took a walk through the countryside south of the city.  It was a clear Sunday, and we caught glimpses of Florence's spires and domes past the hills.  We walked back to the city through Piazzale Michelangelo, and strolled through the Oltrarno to Piazza del Carmine, where we had a drink and chocolate at Hemingway, an incredible chocolateria.  I cooked mushroom soup for us for dinner and went to bed early.  I am tired still but truly happy to be here.