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Published: September 6th 2004
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Last night I felt in me the rise of loneliness. Yesterday I planned on walking to an area called Oltrarno, across the Arno river, to another part of Firenze more with street more quiet, calm and filled with beauty. As things have proved themselves to me so far, I happen upon the most mysterious and amazing things by chance. So a walk through the quiet streets in Oltrarno (a Sunday afternoon) let me to a modest church where inside are the famous frescoes by Massaccio. Not only did I watch a small cinema about their origin, but I was able to see the frescoes myself...smaller in life, more as abundant in color, detail and an acute observation and honesty about life. The Brancachi chapel is small-and the frescoes depict St.Peter (I hope I have the correct Saint) and stories, as well as the expulsion of Adam and Eve...a famous Massaccio fresco that was a precedent for depicting the humble torture and emotion of the moment of expulsion from Paradise. (photos will follow tomorrow if not already!)
An hour later, I walk another mile or so to the base of the hill that leads to San Miniato. I timed this walk
to entire the church around 5:30pm, when their is a service and the monks chant. And so a reunion...7 years ago and here I am again, at sunset, in a church with a variety of spectacular art as well as a sense of humility that some churches to not have. Perhaps it is the light setting and striking various columns inside, or sparks, the glint of the huge mosaic of Christ at the main altar. The stone walls have little design below but the floor is a laden with richly designed mosaics-blue and white. Up steps are insets with more gaudy sculptures, but on the sides and most walls are schema that seem arabic...geometric. Below, where the service proceeds, is more medieval-with triangular vaulting...I'll find out the technical name later. I do some drawing-wanting to know this place better, but cautious because I am just an outsider. At 7:30pm I come home and make myself an insalata (lunch was mortadella, fresh bread (panino) mozzarella, pepperoni (peppers), tonights salad was fresh peppers, chic peas, raisins, cherry tomatoes, mixed greens and un pezzo di biscotti (bisquit) with a peach fruit spread) and again am serenaded on my terrazza by the Romanian band
Finding art
Mark Cummings drew this for 11 hours. I sat and watched for the last 2 hours before it was completed. The next morning, these are usually washed away by the street cleaning machines...but this one stayed for 2 days. playing on the street below a block away. This time, however, I'm feeling lonely and isolated, as all these beauties and no one by my side to share them with. It is strange, different, and at times tiring, to be in this new place. At times I wonder that I"m staying. At times I feel over stimulated. While pondering this over dinner, in the evening breeze, I begin to download my photos from the day, and feel a bit more uplifted knowing that I am sharing them with you...
ON Saturday evening, I wandered out after dinner and happened on a young artist named Mark Cummings. I stayed for 2 hours, and watched this guy create a 5 foot square recreation of one of the Renaissance Madonna's...on the street stones. Hoards of people stopped as well, but I was compelled to talk to him...come to find out that he is from California, but a laid back, incredibly talented man studying classic technique here in Florence. I find a another artist. An American one. This makes me happy. He inspires me to make art, whatever and wherever and for whatever reason. His masterpieces are washed off at night. I go
Massaccio-Capelli Brancacci
One of the first to depict man as natural as possible...the variety of faces, emotions, hanging clothing, accurate depictions of buildings, etc. back to my apartment and copy a painting of a putti playing the lyre.
This morning is Monday. I go the police station at 7:30am, one last time. I stand in line for one hour. The wrong line. I have, however, met a friend. She asked me in Italian to save her place in line while she goes to buy water. It is now 5:00pm and we have spent most of the afternoon together. How fortunate we both are to have met in the wrong line. Congratulations to me, however, because I now hold my Permesso di Soggiorno (permission to stay) as she and I stood in line for 2 more hours....in a small, cramped room where you could feel the breath, hands, and heart beating of the person next to you....2 hours like this. People are on the verge of madness here, as it is not unlikely that someone might get trampled, and no one ever care! Politzia shouting. No lines. NO. Never. We are like animals. IN fact, this chaos is only students...aren't we supposed to be intelligent? Thank goodness I have my new friend Sophia, who speaks Italian incredibly well, and is from Switzerland, and is
fluent in English as well. She can swear alot...in the most appropriate places and ways. She gets us into the Questura (or police station) in the first place, and then swears in such a way that seems to make the right people smile and open a small, bright window in the house of disorder.
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