Recently I contributed a blog post for the Aegean Center’s website. The entry can be found here
I apologize to those for whom this is old news…
JDCM
Tag Archives | travel
Some Emerson from an autumnal island…
The weather here on Paros has been a blessing. It has felt like summer in early October and although the students at the Aegean Center are working hard and discovering the rhythms of the school, they have also enjoyed the sun, swimming and island life. The heat, however, has forced those of us in the darkroom to take measures for chilling our chemistry. This is not a problem, but it does require an extra step or two if one wishes to develop film properly. We will begin printing next week and by that time the ambient temperature should have cooled and our lives will be less complex. The breeze moving down the streets and alleys this evening is more crisp and there was a heavy dew this morning. We are supposed to have some rain next week which will slowly turn the amber and silver-grey hills around the bay light green. I enjoy the change of seasons and this time of year I am reminded that Paros, and all of Greece, has distinct times of year beyond the sun-drenched blue and white stereotype of tourist advertising.
red tomatoes in a blue bowl
I realized the other day that I left my collected Emerson paperback in Italy, perhaps in some hotel. I imagine it slipped from my backpack and under the bed, forgotten in my eagerness to return to Greece. I hope it ends up on some shelf to be read by a passing traveler. I do have my ‘A Year with Emerson”, which will quote for today, October 10. He wrote about his ideal scenario regarding readers and how he would like to be perceived: “I would have my book read as I have read my favorite books, not with explosion & amazement, a marvel and a rocket, but a friendly & agreeable influence stealing like the scent of a flower or the sight of a new landscape on a traveler. I neither wish to be hated & defied by such as I startled, nor to be kissed and hugged by the young whose thoughts I stimulate.”
He also wrote,
“Whatever you do, you need courage. Whatever course you decide
upon, there is always someone to tell you that you are wrong. There
are always difficulties arising that tempt you to believe your critics are
right. To map out a course of action and follow it to an end requires some
of the same courage that a soldier needs. Peace has its victories, but it
takes brave men and women to win them.”
Both of these concepts–the idea of the more quiet path, modesty being the philosophy and the understanding that one must always be true to oneself and not falter regardless of outside influences–inspire me to be a better person. The given fact is, of course, that I am human and will sometimes stumble, sometimes reach for glory or even react in a self-deprecating manner. Imperfection makes the best and most lofty ideals attainable.
(Tomatoes have nothing to do with this post. I just liked the picture. Think of it as an interlude. It is also 4 years old and from New York. Nothing to do with Greece, Emerson or anything at all, really.)
JDCM
Building the foundation…
We all begin somewhere. If one wishes to build fine furniture, knowledge of the tools, types of wood, adhesives, joinery, stains and finishes must be mastered first. This begins with an apprenticeship, since the novice knows nothing except the novel desire to see a project through. ‘The right tool for the right job’ is not an idle cliché. This applies to the studio arts as well. When I began my painting classes last spring I knew little of this craft and had very limited skills. All I knew was what I would like to portray, not how to accomplish it. I had to ask for help. I asked my teachers, since that is what they were for. I asked fellow students who were more able than myself, for that is part of their role as well. The great leap is that I took their advice and my work improved. I also do this with my photography. I ask for help and take the advice. There are many ways to do this. I go to the Kodak webpage for help with start times and other technical details, for example. I ask those who have come before “How did you do this…?”
And so my foundation is built of sturdy stuff–strong mortar, supportive materials, able to carry the larger structure that becomes the rooms, halls and stairways of this artistic domicile. There is more to the photography than that, however. My skills and craft are broadened by reading Homer, or T.S. Eliot. I get ideas from looking at the sculpture of Canova and Bernini and the paintings from a diverse world of museums and galleries. I soak in the experience of waiting at the bus station in Ravenna in the rain. By writing about these things I synthesize what I know into something else, perhaps not new to the untrained eye, but certainly original, if only in small ways.
The foundation–my foundation–is greater than the sum of its parts, yet contains all that I have seen and heard. I become my work and in doing so my work defines part of my being, part of my ‘self’ and grants a sense of community. More about this later…
JDCM
Ghosts in the Eternal City…
Rome. As one friend called it, a palimpsest. Echoes upon shades of history, currently covered with a veneer, like a carapace, of the modern age. Here I am and I am not sure what I am doing. I laid in bed last night, tossing and turning, the rusty wheels in my head grinding their chipped cogs, trying to make sense of it all. I am surprised no one else heard the clanking din. I finally slept around 04:30.
I exist in a grey area. I have been here at the Aegean Center for over two years and this is my fifth session. I have been designated a ‘working intern’. I am not sure what this means but I know how it feels. I fall somewhere in-between the students, who are much younger than I, and the faculty, of which I am not. I wander this middle path feeling at times like a ghost, a shade in the midst of the group. A good friend reminded me that perhaps I am inside an egg, dark and muffled. If so, let’s get this hatching over with, please.
“To thine own self be true” can be applied to my current state. I can keep my own counsel, play my cards close to my chest but when push comes to shove I have to be able to find the right people to speak to about my thinking. This I will do. Last spring I was honest about my feelings and for that I have lost a dear friend forever. If I could change the past I would (who wouldn’t, really?) but the fact remains that I opened up my heart and welcomed vulnerability. I am paying the price for this. I wish I could just blow it off, be less sensitive, think of these things in a more superficial way. I guess it is to my credit that I have depth and feelings but I envy those who can just shrug off life’s little tragedies like so many random raindrops.
There are few who I could go to and receive the direction I need. Thankfully I have some friends here in Rome who can help me out in ways that most people around me will never understand. I will see them tonight. We will laugh at our pains as we discard our phantasmagoric vestments for a time. Ghosts no more, our temporal selves will reveal the human frailties and shortcomings normal for our kind. As we disperse, we will blend back in to the mix, walking the middle grey again, another layer, more echoes, a faint outline resembling…
JDCM
white, middle grey (18%), and black
Something caught my eye and holds it still…
Standing outside having coffee on this autumn afternoon I am reminded of the passage of time. Looking south from here, across the valley of Pistoia and over the hills, I see a landscape that Gentile Da Fabriano could have used for his painting ‘Rest during the flight into Egypt’, the small panel beneath his much more elaborate and ground-breaking altar piece ‘Adoration of the Magi.’ Some art historians consider this small piece, the second of three, to be the first example of a painted landscape. The rolling hills contain cast shadows, much like those my eyes trace here on the distant foothills of the Apennines. There are strips of clouds, adding depth to not only Da Fabriano’s pigmented tempera but my own 21st century view. Far away from Mary and Joseph, a small city sits on a hill, the gravely road winding its way towards their safe haven from Herod’s swords. I can see a city from where I stand: Pistoia’s duomo and campanile rise up from the more modern town. Olive groves and fruit trees are illuminated in this clear, crisp sunlight, the wind blowing their leaves, and I imagine the circumstances must have been cold and fraught with peril for the small family, colder still for the elderly Joseph leading them and the small baby held in the arms of a young mother. The two servants walk behind them, perhaps gathering fruit from the apple trees at the bottom of the hill. The landscape opens up on each side. Such perspective and such drama for such a tiny piece of wood and paint.
This piece fills me with such love for humanity. Every time I see it I am struck by the depth of the color and the size of the panel. At only 32 x110 cm Da Fabriano has told an entire story. It portrays such a human condition and the cast of players seem so common: an old man, his young wife, their baby, two assistants and a donkey. Would we have paid any attention had it not been the Son of God?
JDCM
‘Rest during the flight into Egypt’, Gentile Da Fabriano
Venice, Vivaldi, good food and some of my reality…
I have heard some lovely music in the past two nights, mostly Vivaldi, and all performed by the Interpreti Veneziani, the chamber music organization that performs almost every night here in this ancient and mysterious town. Last night it was a series of four violin concertos and tonight, his well-known ‘The Four Seasons’. I was able to attend last night’s performance with a friend who is also an expert on the subject and afterwards we compared notes. I mentioned that I could hear musical references to Renaissance folk music running through Vivaldi’s Baroque style, like small threads of musical memory, and my friend agreed. He then reminded me that much of the electricity that emanates from Vivaldi’s music can also be seen as a direct link to the Enlightenment, the era in which Vivaldi lived and composed much of his work. Previous to Vivaldi’s time, the primary source for inspiration in many of life’s venues had been the church. With the cultural onslaught of the Enlightenment came ideas such as life, liberty and the innate equality of all. To think of that and then hear ‘Il Quattore Staggione’ tonight made me quite aware that during the composer’s era this piece must have shocked and amazed his audience, as it still does today.
Venice is lovely and I am lucky to be able to spend some time here although I came down with a brutal head cold that simply wiped me out. I had to miss a tour of San Marco yesterday in favor of bed, fluids and medication but was able to make it to dinner and then the aforementioned concert. Last night I ate at the restaurant adjacent to my hotel. I had baccala with polenta and then pan-seared angler fish in a deconstructed puttanesca sauce. Really nice. Then the music. Tonight it was bresaola salad followed by some branzino at a cafe in Campo di San Stefano. Then more music.
On a more serious note, I have been aware for some time that many people feel that I take life too seriously, don’t smile enough and seem to not be as joyful as some. For many years I lived a life…No, that’s not correct…I existed on a plane of desperation and pain driven by ego and hubris. This trajectory brought me in line with situations and circumstances that can simply be described as ‘dark.’ I have played cards many times with Death and by some miracle have survived each hand. So if my smile seems a bit strained sometimes it is only because I have tasted much bile in my time. My demeanor is that of the lucky few. Contrary to popular belief, those who have courted death and have lived to tell the tale do not wave our hands about in glee nor do we shout at the top of our lungs our pyhrric victories, aping the latest Youtube sensation. We sit somewhat stunned, grateful and quiet and remember from whence we came. Life is serious business and should not be treated as a rehearsal. You will forgive my not always laughing.
JDCM
angler fish with deconstructed puttanesca sauce
Florence, Pisa and lunch…
The fall session of the Aegean Center for the Fine Arts is going swimmingly. The students are a lively and engaged group of 26, myself included. So far we have made a couple of day trips to Florence and our adopted hometown of Pistoia and have just returned from a long day in Pisa. In the past week have seen some of the most influential art and architecture in the past 2000 years and all of our minds are full of inspired ideas to take back to Paros in a few weeks. For those of us who have already experienced the work environment of Greece, we are champing at the bit to get to work and let loose some of this pent-up energy. The downside is that we still have almost three weeks left here in Italy. The upside is, of course, that we still have almost three weeks left here Italy. In a couple of days we head to Venice for a two-night excursion and then back again. Following that we still have trips to Siena, Florence and Rome. Interspersed are days spent at the Villa Rospigliosi in classes (drawing, watercolor painting, vocal training, writing, and photography discussions), one-on-one conversations with mentors and, of course, the deep fellowship that comes with an enriching experience such as this. What I am saying is that for all that we have seen and experienced, there is still a great deal ahead.
The food here at the Villa is very good, filling and the kind of food that brings us all joy and comfort when our tired bones rest for dinner after trekking about all day long. It is not haute cuisine but rather the kind of food one’s grandmother (not mine, by the way…she could barely boil water) might prepare. The other night some students and I were discussing “Italian food” and I noted that here we are in Italy, eating dinner. Therefore we were having ‘Italian food”. As someone who has been in the food business in a professional capacity and still retains most of what he learned, I have to admit that even back then, 12 years ago or so, I had become disenchanted by all the ‘specialness’ and ‘preciousness’ of the so-called cuisines that popped up every time a new celebrity chef graced the television or newspapers. What I most desired was simple food, food that I have already written about here and food that exists in the sense memories of many people I know. We remember a warm house on a cold day, the aroma of fresh cookies wafting over us as we shake the snow from our boots; the primal experience of grilling over an open fire as the sun sets on a summer’s day; the joy of family and friends as we all gather for a holiday feast. Regardless of season, these memories flood my thinking, driving away the cold efficiency of Nouvelle-this or Pan-American-that…Where was I?
Ah, yes…food. Florence, Pisa and lunch.
Yesterday I found a lovely little spot off the tourist track, yet in the middle of Florence. Tired with the usual panini routine, I emptied my mind and wandered about. I turned a couple of corners and happened upon ‘Pizzacheria Antonio Porrati’, in the Piazza Pier di Maggiore. The area was tiny, with three tables inside, a glass case with myriad foods prepared that day, dried pasta on the shelves and a large cabinet of wine. The fellow behind the counter greeted me with a joyful ‘buongiorno!’ Out of the many choices I ordered some roast chicken and fresh green beans chock full of garlic and olive oil. Dee-lish! I ate my lunch, chatted with the owners and then went to join the rest of the school for our tour of the Uffizi Museum. Once again, home-cooking has struck again, with its simple, nourishing and friendly tastes. Today was a similar experience. Pisa began with a tour of the large Pisan Romanesque church, its famously skewed campanile, and the ornate baptistry, followed by a break. Lunchtime beckoned and once again I wandered back streets, away from the madding crowd. What initially drew me to ‘Trattoria della Faggiola’ was the sign tacked to the door that read ‘NO PIZZA’. What a relief! The menu included carpaccio di salmone so I sat in the nearly empty place and enjoyed a plate of thinly sliced raw salmon on a bed of baby arrugala and a mixed green salad. The simplest food filled the most demanding hunger. A few minutes later I was touring the Camposanto, a structure in a state of almost constant restoration since the bombing of Pisa in the 1940s by the Allies. There has been a great deal of progress on the enormous frescoes even since last year and they look lovely. Thank you Deane Keller…
Today we have classes here at the villa. Lunch will be salads and leftovers from dinner last night. Simple, nourishing food for hungry, working students and their teachers. And tomorrow? On to Venezia! Andiamo!
JDCM
Emerson at the Villa Rospigliosi…
I arrived in Pistoia Friday afternoon after a leisurely train ride through the Apennine Mountains from Faenza. The day began with pouring rain in Ravenna which slowed and ended as I pulled into the Faenza station. The remainder of the journey was shot with bright sun arcing through the kind of blue-grey clouds one only sees in high altitude geographies. As we passed through Ronta, Borgo di San Lorenzo, Vaglia, La Luna and other small towns I was struck how these mountain communities all have something in common. Even Leadville, Colorado has a similar feel. I hypothesize that it is the separateness of these communities from the larger populations. Like islands, they exist on the trade routes of other city’s fortunes, whistle-stops along the way from one place to another.
As the iron rails wound downhill the landscape smoothed from sharp, stony teeth and spiked conifers to a rolling ruggedness covered with magnolias, plane trees and umbrella pines. As I arrived in Firenze Santa Maria di Novella Stazione, I was struck by a memory from the early 1990s, the first time I pulled into this place, after an overnight ride from Luxembourg City. The station hasn’t changed all that much and still ranks as one of my favorite train hubs. I can go anywhere from Florence, anywhere the compass points.
In his essay ‘Fate’, Emerson discusses education, the ability to teach and how at times we seem to be bound in a cycle of superstition. He affirms his cynicism, with which I identify. He writes,
“We are incompetent to solve the times. Our geometry cannot span the huge orbits of the prevailing ideas, behold their return, and reconcile their opposition. We can only obey our own polarity. ‘Tis fine for us to speculate and elect our course, if we must accept an irresistible dictation.”
If Emerson sounds cynical, then perhaps he is. Despite the open-minded nature and the spiritual axioms of the transcendentalists, I have found through my readings that Emerson was a realist and when, let us say, confronted by an unmovable obstacle, he would accept this as fact and walk away. He talks of this reality in the above-quoted text. People can learn only when they are willing to learn and only what they want. If I remain open to all of the sights and sounds around me then I can learn more from the whole of the map than I would if I were to concentrate on one small area. If, for example, I had disembarked at Borgo di San Lorenzo last Friday instead of taking the whole journey to Firenze, then my Weltanschauung would have consisted of less than what I am currently willing to entertain. As beautiful as the scenery is in that small town, it is not the entire world, nor my entire experience. I have to be willing to be taught, to stay on the train if need be. That is not to say that cannot jump off and get on as my heart demands. I just have to remind myself that there is more to see down the line.
And so Emerson arrives at the Villa Rospigliosi, hands behind his back, ruminating in his clear New England voice. I imagine he would have liked this place, with its running fountain, olive groves, and roses. He would have enjoyed meeting the students and faculty of the Aegean Center. Like him we are here on a small island of thought, day-tripping to other stops along the line. I must not forget the larger map, the grander cartography, for even if I cannot see it at times it is there, as big as life.
JDCM
The Villa Rospigliosi, September home of the Aegean Center for the Fine Arts
Tickets, a haircut and ‘addio Ravenna…’
I slept later than usual this morning, having not much to do but revisit some basilica, cross a few historic buildings off my list and take care of some logistical matters before I leave Ravenna tomorrow and head to Pistoia where I will meet up with the rest of the Aegean Center. I had been investigating alternatives to the usual Ravenna/Bologna/Firenze/Pistoia train route and after a couple of friends informed me of a narrow gauge rail that might take me from Point A to B, I asked around. The information desk at the stazione ferroviaria di Ravenna was somewhat helpful although she had only two routes on her schedule. The first was the above-mentioned standard line. The second leaves Ravenna by a bus which takes me to the Faenza station where I board a regional line that winds down to Firenze, where I change trains for Pistoia. There was no listing for the Porrettano Railway, my narrow gauge adventure. Further investigation on my own found online references, but nothing that could help. It seems there is a push to repair and restore this historic line to working order, but for me, tomorrow, the answer was ‘No!’ So I go by way of Faenza. If all goes well I should be at the Villa Rospigliosi by 1600 hours or something close to that. The view on the train from Faenza is still supposed to be lovely.
In the past few years my travels have taken me away from my home base for longer and longer periods of time and as a result I have had to look after myself as I would in more familiar surroundings. One aspect I have been enjoying is getting my hair cut. There is a masculine aspect to going to a barber unlike the experience of going to a salon, typically the domain of women. This is not a sexist comment, just a realistic one. In the USA and Europe there are fewer barbers now and more ‘hair stylists’ or whatever they wish to be called. There is nothing like a traditional barber. Four years ago I had my hair cut in Athens by a Bengali immigrant and I swear it was the best haircut I ever had. While on Paros I go to Niko, the Greek barber on Market Street in Paroikia. I realized the other day that my hair was looking, and feeling, a bit shaggy so I inquired at the front desk of my hotel. I was directed down the street towards the train station. So this morning, after having purchased my tickets for tomorrow’s journey I stopped in to the ‘barbieri’ for a cut. There was no sign on the door save for ‘Barbieri’ and a telephone number. I went in, was seated in front of the mirror and the man went to work. 30 minutes later I looked and felt much better and the bill was 12 Euros. Not bad. Only 2 Euros more than Niko. I like getting my hair cut in a strange town. It makes me feel as if I have engaged with the place on a different level than the rest of the tourists.
Tonight I also ate my last dinner here in Ravenna. I have had a few dinners and not all were great. Some were fantastic and overpriced, and some aspired to greatness and fell short. The best was the first night at ‘Vecchia Ravenna da Mario‘ so I went back for more. Like my experience on Serifos a few months ago I have come to the conclusion that I should have eaten there all the time and in doing so would have saved money and had a better food experience. Tonight I had ‘tagliatelle alla ragu’ and ‘pollo alla cacciotore’. Really great. As I have already reported, noting like home-cooking. The pasta was hand rolled and cut just before it was cooked (perfectly al dente) and the chicken was delicious, served with mushrooms, tomatoes and small black olives. Dee-lish! I finished up with caramel panna cotta and an espresso. It was a big meal so the bill as about 30 Euros, but it was worth it. I had dinner last night at another place and the bill was 37 Euros. The restaurant, how shall I say it, reached for a brass ring to high to grasp. Next time I come to Ravenna, I know where to eat.
So that’s it for Ravenna. I have seen some amazing mosaics, had some OK, good and wonderful food and have had my hair cut as a start to fall semester of the Aegean Center for the Fine Arts, Italian Session 2012. Next post..Pistoia…Ciao!
JDCM
If it’s Monday, this must be Ravenna…
If this is Monday, then I must be in Ravenna…
I have been in three countries since Friday. I left Athens Friday afternoon and it was 40*C. I landed at London Heathrow a couple of hours later and it was 18*C. Last night I flew from London to Bologna and it was still 28*C at 11PM when I arrived at Marconi Airport. This morning I took the train to Ravenna and it is currently a balmy 30*C here on the Adriatic coast of Italy at 9PM. As much as I loved seeing friends in London over the weekend it feels good to be back in the southern half of the continent. Please forgive my jet-setting. It is only my itinerary. I am here for three days and then I take the train to Pistoia, in Tuscany, where I meet up with my fellow artists of the Aegean Center.
Ravenna is a lovely little town and as I sit in a cafe on the street, James Brown and his band emanate from the speakers, enhancing the long, short bricks that are the common foundation. At the risk of sounding pedestrian, the bricks are important. This style of brick-making has been utilized throughout this part of Italy for thousands of years and many of the Byzantine-era basilica are constructed with this material. Ravenna is the home to some of the most lovely Byzantine mosaics dating from the late 2nd century ACE until the end of the 5th century and was the capital of the Byzantine West even after the Council of Nicea had made such thinking heretical in 325. The history of the city pre-dates this time by a couple of millennia and there are reports from the Greek historian Dionysius of Halicarnassus claiming that the city was founded several generations before the Trojan War. This cannot be confirmed but the geographer Strabo professes that the city was founded by Greeks from Thessaly. It makes sense to me. I’ll let everyone discover the rich and varied history for themselves but do not be surprised when you look at the Basilica of San Vitale and notice that it bears a striking resemblance to both the Agia Sofia in Istanbul and the Ekatontapiliani on the Greek island of Paros. The large, broad dome, connected apses, the hexagonal structure and the vibrant interior urge the visitor to consider his or her spiritual position here on Earth rather than a pending afterlife common in the heaven-grasping spires of later, post-Byzantine designs. And did I mention the mosaics? Boffo…good ones. “Colorful” is not the word to describe them. I visited some today and have only two or three to cross off my list. This means I will have time this week to re-visit them all and get some pictures.
My hotel is very nice–clean, convenient and not too expensive. I am staying at the Hotel Centrale Byron just inside the pedestrian/bicycle zone in the old city. I have to investigate Lord Byron’s influence in Ravenna. He lived in Pisa and Genoa before he joined the fight for Greek independence in the 1820s. I am suddenly thinking of Byron’s statue in the city park of Athens…many strong threads for me to hold on to here.
Dinner tonight was at a family-run restaurant off the tourist trail. ‘Vecchia Ravenna da Mario’ was recommended by the hotelier and it did not disappoint. The only unfortunate aspect (minor at best) is that there is some street paving being done by the city on Via Giuseppe Pasolini where the restaurant is located. This did not affect my meal, however, as the workers had quit for the day hours before. As I ate my ‘gnocchi ai quattro formaggio’ and ‘arrosto misto’ the place began to fill up with Italian families. It was a good sign and I was pleased with the meal. Italian home-cooking to be sure-nothing fancy, just home-cookin’–my kind of grub. Regarding food, the hotelier mentioned that one of the local specialties is a plate of fried, whole sardines, i.e. ‘sarde fritte‘. Hmm…it sounds a bit like gavros. Where the heck am I? I swear the signpost said ‘Italia’ when I ambled into town…
JDCM