28.3.09

Sessa Saturday: Letters

I'm usually on the lookout for spolia (ancient architectural or sculptural material reused in a later structure), so I'm surprised I hadn't noticed these engraved stone blocks in the cathedral walls until a couple of weeks ago. For those of you who are curious about spolia, I first discussed it here in greater depth.

This block from the portico has three letters that I want to read as "VIR," though I can't say for certain that the mostly obscured letter is a "V." It may just be that my brain wants to make a word out of what is sees: vir, meaning man. I think it's more likely that the letters are a fragment of a larger word:

Spoliate block, portico, Cathedral of Sessa Aurunca

Here is a lone "P" from inside the cathedral. There are no other letters carved anywhere near it, and I am at a loss about what that means:

P, south aisle, Cathedral of Sessa Aurunca

Seeing it made me laugh, because "pea" is one of Pata's favorite words (and vegetables,) and I've been hearing it a lot lately.

26.3.09

Housework

I'm going to be posting less over the next two weeks because there are some projects around the house that I absolutely must finish if I am to retain (what is left of) my sanity. I will be doing Sessa Saturday, but more than that I cannot promise. But not to disappoint you too much, kind readers, I leave you in the meantime with a current Wordle for this blog:

Click on the image to enlarge it. Note that the word "managgia" (dammit) appears above "aunt." Indeed. In the loops of the "g" and "e" are the words "living" and "art." Inspiring. I love the sausage-like shape of the cloud itself.

21.3.09

Sessa Saturday: Tower

Torre di S. Biagio, Via Sta. Caterina

This tower stands at the northern edge of Sessa's historic center. It's all that remains of a fortress that was built in the 1270s by Charles of Anjou. I like how the modern metal girding supporting the medieval structure is in harmony with the tower's style and function.

19.3.09

Culture PSA

Just a reminder that all you really need to enjoy art is a little curiosity.

Pata in the cathedral

18.3.09

The Sausage

N's aunt recently gave us a sausage that was in the process of drying. "This sausage is drying," N said as he brought it into the kitchen. "Don't put it in the refrigerator."

"Where should we put it?"


He paused. It wasn't the first time I'd asked that question about a drying sausage. "Maybe we should put it outside the door this time," he suggested.

Later that day, I took the sausage onto the landing outside our door and looked around fruitlessly for a place to hang it. I wondered if I should rest it on the windowsill. As I contemplated having to move a sausage every time I wanted to open the window, I noticed two projecting loops on the window frame that lock the interior shutters into place. I hung the sausage there by the string that tied its two ends together.

A few days later the aunt came for a visit. When I opened the door, she said, "Oh, you're drying the sausage out here," obviously pleased. "But it's better this way," she said, turning the sausage ninety degrees so that it rested directly on the metal loops.

Reenactment (with broken sausage)

When N came home that evening he said, "I see that you've turned the sausage."

"No, your aunt did, she said it was better that way."


"But now the sun will hit the sausage."


"Boh," I said, shrugging.

A couple of days later, I noticed that the hallway smelled like a salumeria and that there was fluffy white mold growing on the sausage. When N came home that evening, I asked him if he had noticed the odor on the landing. I told him about the mold.

"Mannaggia!"
he said. "We shouldn't dry sausages in this house! Now we have to eat that sausage."

"Tonight?" I asked, wondering how well moldy sausage would complement chicken and dumplings.

"No, but soon."

The next day I decided to use the sausage. As I brought it into the kitchen, I noticed that it was already hard. I began to remove the moldy casing but the hardness of the sausage made it difficult. I broke it in half where it was folded, hoping to get a better start, but it was no easier.

"N," I shouted into the living room, "we are not eating this sausage today. I don't have all day to peel it!"

I put the sausage in a bowl on the kitchen counter, thinking that I would decide what to do with it later. But it wasn't long before the sausage stank up the kitchen. I moved it to the office, the driest room in the house. When the time came to dry a wet towel on the radiator there, I realized the office was no place to dry a sausage. Defeated, I hung it back up on the landing window, once again by its string; the sausage being broken, there was no other way. I resolved to ignore the sausage and its meaty odor.

***

I know the aunt will be displeased when she sees that the sausage no longer hangs in the manner she prefers.When she asks, I'll tell her the sausage fell and broke. Then, shrugging, I'll say, "Boh."

16.3.09

Signs of Spring

Apricot blossoms, Campo di Pere

14.3.09

Sessa Saturday: Doorway

Detail of portal, Via Seggetiello

While out walking in the medieval quarter the other day, I noticed this portal with its sculptural decoration partially obscured by the rising level of the street.

13.3.09

This Conversation is Over!

Yesterday, Pata didn't want to finish her bath when it was time.

"The water is getting cold. Do you want to come out now?" I asked her.

"No."


"Aren't you getting cold? Give me the washcloth
."

"No!"
In a flash, the washcloth disappeared, together with the determined little hand holding it, under the cloudy water.

"Come on baby, it's time to go."


"No-oh!"
Pata pushed away my outstretched arms with her free hand, one at a time. Then, visibly frustrated, she decided to change her tack: "Mamma?!"

"Yes?"


"Ciao ciao! Ciao ciao, mamma! Ciao! Ciao!"

12.3.09

Baby Steps

Remember this post? I think I may have found a project. While out for a walk the other day with Pata, I had a good look at the archivolt sculptures on the cathedral's portico. I had never really noticed them before- I tend not to pay much attention to architectural sculpture. Here's the arch:


It's a really bad photo, I know. I've been having problems with my camera's lens ever since it fell from a height of about 5 feet a few months ago. (Yes, I know it might be broken. Yes, I'm in denial.) Here's a detail:

The sculptures seem to illustrate scenes from the lives of Sts. Peter and Paul. Or maybe just St. Peter. (I still haven't had a chance to look very closely at all the scenes.) I am certain that there's already quite a bit of scholarship on them because Sessa's cathedral is fairly important and they're in good condition. However, I won't be able to do much research because I don't have access to a library. So I don't know yet what my finished product will be like. But I'm willing to accept that and proceed anyway.

I should mention that this is going to take a while.

In the meantime, I'm planning a couple of new medieval bestiary posts, and a few posts on some of my favorite artworks.

7.3.09

Sessa Saturday: Double-light

Window, Castello Ducale

This is one of two double-light windows remaining on the north façade of the castle here. I think it may date to the early thirteenth century, when the castle was enlarged under Frederick II. I like the contrast between the elegant spiral of the colonette and the rougher geometric decoration of the darker frame.

6.3.09

How not to deliver the mail

Several months ago, Sessa's main post office closed, we assume for renovations. We hope. We discovered this when N found a notice taped to the screen of its bank machine. "Go to the next town," it said. Okay, that's not exactly what it said, but you get the idea.

There is another much smaller branch that offers reduced services (not including an ATM, obviously,) at reduced hours. It is so tiny that the line often goes out the door, down the street. Even in the rain.

A couple of days ago, while I was giving Pata a bath, someone rang the buzzer. From the number of rings and their duration, I guessed it was the mail carrier. I couldn't answer the door but I expected that he would leave a notice of a delivery attempt. When N came home that evening, I asked him if he had found one in the mailbox. He hadn't. Strange, I thought, I wonder who it was?

The next day, we found half a sheet of white paper that had been slipped under the front door. It was a notice that someone was holding a letter for us, and it included a number to call to arrange "una nuova modalità," (a new way!) of delivery. Apparently, now that the main post office is closed here, they aren't holding mail or packages that haven't been delivered on the first attempt. Instead, they're turning them over to a company that uses poorly photocopied notification forms and provides only the cell phone number of the deliveryman.

Yesterday, I called to arrange a delivery. The man I spoke to said, "I can't deliver it today."

"That's fine," I told him. "What about tomorrow?"

"It depends,"
he said. "If it rains, I can't deliver it. That's why I can't deliver it today. I was going to work this morning, but I changed my mind because of the rain."

I paused, not really knowing what to make of that.

"I'm on foot, and I carry the letters in my hand. They get wet if it rains."

Has it never occurred to him to put the letters in a bag? I decided to be non-confrontational because he has our mail. "Oh, I understand," I told him.

"If it doesn't rain tomorrow, I can deliver it. Will there be someone at home?"


"Well, I have to do some shopping. Do you know around what time you'd deliver it?"

"No. But if you go out you can look for me. You can call me to find out where I am."


At that point, I was wishing I could just wait on a long line in the rain at the tiny post office to get the letter. Because it would be so much easier.

Today it looks like rain.

***

By the way, today is the second anniversary of this blog.

5.3.09

Perfect kiss

Well, this isn't my new project, but it's about one of my favorite works. (This is more or less how I used to teach it in my introductory classes:)

Giotto frescoed the walls of the Arena Chapel in Padua in the first decade of the fourteenth century. His patron was Enrico Scrovegni, a wealthy banker who appears in one of the frescoes offering a model of the chapel to the Virgin Mary. Scrovegni's father (or grandfather, forgive me, I'm working entirely from memory here!) had the dishonor of appearing in Dante's Inferno among the usurers. The fresco cycle, which consists mostly of scenes from the lives of the Virgin and Christ, is concerned with redemption, (most appropriate for a rich patron like Scrovegni.)

Giotto was unusual for his time in that he had something of an international reputation; although he was based in Florence, he also worked in the north and south of Italy, and in France. He was famous in his own lifetime. His contemporaries said that his paintings were so real that they lacked only breath. Whenever I told my students that, they would look at the slides projected on the lecture room wall with scrunched up faces, their disbelief apparent. Well, just what is "real?"

Leaving aside the characteristics of Giotto's visual style for now, consider the subject matter of the narrative frescoes- scenes from the lives of the Virgin Mary and Christ. These are stories about people who lived long, long before anyone in the chapel's intended audience. They involve people who were, to put it simply, unusual, or special, who, on the face of it, had very little in common with the frescoes' viewers.

I'm just going to focus on one scene, because I feel it is representative of what Giotto does in these frescoes, and because it's my favorite. The Meeting at the Golden Gate illustrates an encounter between Anna and Joachim, Mary's elderly parents, just outside Jerusalem. They have just discovered that after years of barrenness, they are finally going to have a child.

Giotto, Meeting at the Golden Gate

"Try to imagine that you are Joachim or Anna," I used tell my students. "Try to imagine what it would be like to be childless for all those years in a time when to be so was a sign that you were not favored by God, and when it could make you an outcast. Imagine the joy you feel when you discover that you'll finally have what you've longed for all those years. But you don't hear the news together. What's the first thing you want to do when you hear it?"

Some brave student would say timidly, "Go the other person?"

"And then what?"

Someone else, "Hug them?" (By this point I was always wondering what made nineteen-year-olds so sheepish in the classroom.)

"And what else?"

"Kiss!"

"And what kind of kiss would it be? You wouldn't close your eyes for this one, would you? You would stare at into your spouse's eyes, drinking in the joy you saw there. It wouldn't matter where you were, if there were other people around, you wouldn't be any less passionate, would you? Well, that's real."

That's what Giotto's contemporaries saw in his paintings. Giotto's frescoes illustrate the same narratives that other painters had depicted centuries before he did, but what is new about his works is that he tells the stories in human terms.

"Imagine now that you're a member of Scrovegni's family, looking up at this fresco while you're in the chapel for mass. These people, Anna and Joachim, lived a long, long time before you and in a place very far away, and they lived unusual lives, but they weren't so different from you, were they? And maybe, because of that, their story is just a little more interesting to you, a little more present to you, a little more real?"

To illustrate this emotional human drama, Giotto uses a visual style that emphasizes the physicality of his figures. They may be stocky, but they're solid and they stand firmly on the ground. To convey this, Giotto uses modelling and shadow. To create the space that these figures inhabit, Giotto relies on a system of two point perspective, which in this fresco, is visible in the projection of the city gate.

To create a concise, unified composition, (and to direct the viewer's eye through it,) Giotto repeats the arch shape: the city gate, the embracing couple, the bridge and the arches that support it. This allows him to place the main action in the scene off-center, and away from the framing device of the city gate, without misleading his viewers. Remember that before Giotto, artists relied on conventions like centering and framing to signal importance in their works. Giotto has more natural means at his disposition.

I think that what I like best about this fresco, and what makes it my favorite in the cycle, is its simplicity, and pure rhetorical style. Giotto's work is austere (without our noticing it, really) and powerful at the same time. He paints just enough and never too much and seems always to have his audience in mind.

"This is good rhetoric,"
I used to tell my students. "When you write your papers I want them to have the verbal equivalent of Giotto's clear, concise and powerful visual style." That always made them groan, which was fine. That's how I knew they got it.