Giornale III - Roma

For our second time, Bucky, Reshma, and I entered Castel Sant’Angelo to buy the tickets to walk around and see the fortress. Bucky and my first attempt was when we were told entrance alone would be fourteen euro each, however, we were advised that between 9-11 am the price is reduced to only five euro in which we, of course, jumped on. From the outside, it resembled a medieval, fortified castle much like what I have seen in America. Nonetheless, this monument had much more to offer due to its layering of utilitarian use that correlated with the time period.

The majority of our time spent here was walking up and down stairs and getting cut-off by random blockades placed by the staff. We utilized our traditional and most basic method of viewing, wondering, to decide where we went. Poor directional cues and misleading signs made for a choppy and incohesive experience while the walking room to room. There was also very poor signage in that we never really knew what we were looking at if it wasn’t pertinent to the structure itself such as what a specific room was used for. The massive, bulky grandeur of the building’s exterior is consistent with the majority of its interior, yet, there is a handful of hand-crafted, beautifully designed rooms deep within the castle that conflict.

Approximately our first twenty minutes of walking consisted of the outermost layer of the castle that seemed to spiral around the perimeter. Everything was dark and dusty as if we were going through stone tunnels. There were holes cut out of the walls along the left-hand side that allowed natural light to pour through. When peering out we noticed they lead to outdoor patio-type spaces that were typically filled with cannons and stacks of cannonballs for firing away from the castle. Walking up and around the outer shell it was obvious that its main purpose was protection. Loads of artillery and cut-outs for shooting at incoming enemies. This all makes sense as the most recent model was used as a fortress.

To this day I cannot comprehend the lay-out or mapping of this castle. I can tell you what it looked like from the outside and what individual rooms looked like, but how to get from point A to point B inside of it, not a chance. All I know is that no matter which direction you are going, you are walking up stairs or turning left or right. Despite this, you are able to walk through the repurposing and layering of the monument and take note of how its function changed and how it visually changed. Deep in the center, we discovered Hadrian’s mausoleum which was the building’s original intent. His tomb was large and bulky and rested inside an open room that required an indoor bridge to reach. There wasn’t much to see beyond that until you venture further out into the papal additions. The rooms created by the papacy were extravagant and at the time seemingly unfit with the remainder of the castle. The ceilings and floors were decadent and the walls were highly decorated with art and gold. Despite Hadrian’s history, they seemed to have completely taken over the mausoleum and made it their own. The pope’s name was tagged on every single doorway so that no one could forget to give him credit for the fortress and its usefulness. Despite the diversity and play among differing years (and ultimately societal ideals), my favorite part of the fortress was the views of the cityscape you get to experience once reaching the top. It is not simply a straight shot up, nor could I tell you how I did it, but it was worth all of the directionless walking.

(Castel Sant’Angelo, 6/4/19)

Ekphrasis II - Roma

Minuscule multicolored pieces

Insignificant on their own, but jointly extraordinary

The simple placement of inanimate objects brings life to the scene

Blues and greens are laid in a blended divide

Tones of earth dance around a pop of spirited red

Beautiful sounds of vibrating strings,

Send orchestrated signals across the land

For where is the origin of the musical cry

To whom may seduce those wandering ears

Movement by land, water, and sky

Yet all paths merge into a central locus

Many have completed the trek,

Sitting in sweet serenity with attention focused on the art

Personal identities masked by wonder,

All indifferent to the other, yet connected by one

Others are quick to approach in the distance

Swiftly gliding through the air with intent

Mother earth shows her delight through layers of molten rock

The musician sits comfortably in the midst of the chaos

Open and warm to the audience,

Their bow completes its final note and is raised to the sky

Eyes travel across the tool and up towards the heavens

Performance for those greater,

A show in devotion to a home above

Liaison between both walks of life

Meeting grounds of power,

Both divine and those who claim to be

Using temporal power and physical proximity,

They are perhaps in solidarity with the mythical

Secondary connections are made through the power of music

The living and the dead have the luxury of sound like no other

Never before have they heard a thing so grand

Never before have you seen a story so exquisite

Encapsulated by a framing meander

Borders lead to truncated views

Where the repeated motifs end, imagination begins

(Galeria Borghese 6/5/19, Marcello Provenzale, Orfeo, 1608)

Giornale II - Roma

Today, Claire, Peter and I spent our free morning adventuring what we like to call a “densely layered” sight which included a small church, a museum, and a crypt. Our first stop was the Museum of Capuchin Friars Minor of the Providence of Rome, where we learned the history and mystic ways of the religious order. Besides two other women, the three of us practically had the whole museum to ourselves. This allowed us the freedom to view, read, quietly discuss, and move about at our own pace with little distraction. Since being in Rome, I have come to learn that this empty viewing opportunity is rare, thus we did not take it for granted and truly appreciated some room to reflect. The museum was small but held a substantial collection of Capuchin imagery, iconography, models, and lots of relics. Bouncing from showcase-to-showcase filled with miscellaneous objects both small and large, we are quick to point out all of the relics housed within the glass. Although very interesting, our main purpose for visiting here was to see the crypt. Thus, we saw every object/piece of art they had to offer, and swiftly made our way through the museum and to the entrance of the Capuchin Crypt.

We approached an employee sitting by the doorway playing the role of security, flashed a friendly smile, and made our descent into the crypt. In my direct line of vision was a semi-long corridor about thirty meters long, broken up by little archways indicating different viewing rooms that were to the right. It was clear that what we were about to see was not extensive in length, as I was able to see the gift shop with another employee at the opposite end. By the last step down, I knew this would be an experience like no other, as I saw the row of “light fixtures” hanging along the aisleway made of pure bones. The corridor was flanked by six different rooms named after the main bones used in the designs; although all different bones were used in every room. The first room was shocking. The bones of hundreds of the exhumed Capuchin monks were used as decorations and displays from floor to ceiling. Pile of bones stacked on top of one another lined the walls and created a bed for two full-bodied skeletons. The walls of the rooms and hallway were full of art and other interior decors that were strictly constructed of different bones. All around you, no matter where you turned or looked (including above your head) you were faced with the bones of actual people that once walked the same earth. Some were put back together to form a full skeleton in which they were laid down to rest, or some even standing up as if still moving. They were each clothed in their traditional monk dress of a long brown robe and held a rope with the cross hanging from it. Those that were reassembled, seemed to have been labeled/identified by name and crosses were placed in the ground in front in honor of them.

Although eerie and a bit uncomforting at first, the art created by the skeletal remains was fascinating and in a strange way beautiful. Spending nearly twenty minutes walking through the crypt, I was taken back not only by the mere shock factor of human remains but by the intricacy and devotion dedicated to the space. Being able to walk from room to room without interruption allowed me to really articulate my perceptions of the space. It is safe to say that within the first ten minutes or so I was able to experience the holiness of the area and understood better why and how it was a place of worship. The creators were able to memorialize the monks through stunning art in a way that some are able to walk out ready for the world when/if they are brought back to life. The last room of the crypt was titled “Crypt of resurrection” where a painting depicting resurrection was the centerpiece. This further proves the idea that the bones being held in the crypt are available and ready upon the monks' potential resurrection.

(Il Convento dei Cappuccini, 5/28/19)

Voyeur II - Roma

In an open cement slab in front of the supreme court building, I sat on a bench overlooking a handful of people enjoying the nice weather. Upon scanning my surroundings, I was quick to notice a small family of three. The family consisted of a heteronormative couple and their child of about two years old. Both mom and dad were young and looked to be around their early thirties. My attention towards the family was triggered by the fact that they were all gathered around the stroller while the mother -like many other Europeans- was casually smoking. She continues to ignore the medical alerts and articles about their health risks as it is a cultural norm and she has been doing it since at least 19. She tried quitting for the baby, but extra financial stress has her more on edge than usual. This would explain why the father was responsible for supervising the child as he played with anything in his sight and chased after pigeons.

As it was Republic Day, they were spending their time off as a family for some quality time and utilizing the beautiful weather. Mom works a full-time job and takes advantage when she has the opportunity to concentrate on her family. However, long days at work leave her exhausted for when times like this arise. Dad has a slightly stronger bond with the little boy at this point, due to his additional time spent with him. He is able to work remotely from home and thus watches over the kid whenever necessary while attending to work on his own time.

As the sun beamed down at its peak, leaving little shade around, a bit of rest was due for the family. They had already been at the piazza for at least an hour chasing the little boy around in the grass and it just so happened to be approaching 12:30 pm. The mom rummages around the stroller to simultaneously reorganize and check to make sure everything is present. After a few minutes, she gave the go-ahead and the family of three left to sit down and enjoy a nice lunch at home.

(Piazza Cavour, 6/2/19)

Momentary Blindness II - Roma

The saturated wood beneath seeps through and dampens my pants while muggy air coats my exposed skin leaving goosebumps in its trail. Water heightens the aroma of fresh plants, wood, and life. Every inhale is treated with a hint of citrus that leaks from blossoms of orange and escalates with each gust of wind. Quiet and serene as if you have escaped the urban world, hearing nothing but nature’s gifts. Birds of all kinds gather around the park conversing and singing their unique songs. A mass abundance of shade is provided by large broccoli shaped trees that create a canopy overhead. Moments come and go where the sun is finally able to break through. It lights my page in asymmetrical shapes and stripes and caresses my skin as if stepping into a warm shower. The droplets that continue to fall off my leafy roof drip sporadically onto my skin, contradicting my warm shower fantasy. My breathing softens and is rhythmed by the plopping of water into small puddles. In time these puddles grow, and the droplets change character. I am able to detect what the water is falling on through its plummet and ultimate splattered demise. Everything near is a target; trash cans, the ground, the benches, the people, and most frustratingly, my notebook. No pattern of spillage can be detected to prevent such incidents but luckily each drop is few and far between. One hits the top left corner nearly missing my hand. Creating such an insignificant splatter, it spreads across my symbols of ink and absorbs into nothing.

(Aventine Hill, 5/27/19)

Ekphrasis I - Roma

Fabric taut within a firm grasp,

Her arm raises to the heavens

Draping the garment along her limb

A wing similar to her lover

Melting with lust

Both her and her clothes

She stares in the direction of her fist,

As if looking for something beyond

Yet more than content with the situation at hand

Thin silky cloth lays gently upon her left breast

Flowing down her body like a waterfall

Stemming from a knot sitting atop her shoulder

Continuously streaming down her legs

Modesty out the window

Comfortable in her skin

Open and amenable to exposure

Passion in the absence of human connection

Attraction through the form of a swan

Nestled between her legs, neck elongates towards her chest

She holds his body with a soft embrace   

Supporting his weight and securing his position on her lap

A slight bend in her knee lifts in opposition

Clothing builds upon it in folded layers,

One on top of the other in continuous unity

A tide is created between the act of underdressing,

And the contracting of bodies

As if caught off guard

Unintentional seduction

Her passion develops by the minute,

Provoking the seduced to tear off the garb

The swan gawks at her beauty,

Awaiting reactions and gauging emotions

She fails to notice his visually attentive behavior,

But succumbs to other senses

Atop her head, her hair remains proper

Her wavy locks secured in the back without a strand astray

Untouched by the scandal below

Holy eroticism filling the foundational pages,

A story engraved in marble and time


(Palazzo Nuovo 5/26/19, Timotheos, Statue of Leda and the Swan, 2nd c. CE)

Giornale I - Roma

After a long afternoon filled with thought-provoking spectacles and peer-led presentations, Hannah, Lauren and I decided to break away from the larger group to partake in an adventure of our own. The time was roughly 5:30 pm and we knew our time was running short as church’s close early. With this in mind, we set off immediately with the pursuit to undergo the quickest route possible to Santa Maria in Trastevere. Due to our fairly close proximity in Piazza del Campidoglio, we decided to take the journey by foot. Within around 20 minutes of casual walking, we made our way into the opening of the Piazza di Santa Maria. The quant public space had a singular fountain at its center that was raised and wrapped with stairs. It seemed to have made for the perfect resting place for locals and tourists alike. We were quick to pinpoint the basilica as it was directly across from where we entered and had large arched openings with ionic columns in between. Statues of popes were equally spaced out along the top railing with a larger golden edifice attached in the background. We entered through an archway and were welcomed by two grand walls containing signs and inscriptions taken from other churches and buildings that no longer remain but such objects preserved. Unfortunately, I am unable to translate Latin and thus can only appreciate the inscriptions for their workmanship and craft rather than linguistic content. After a quick glance of these broad scrapbook-like walls, I decide to enter through the large wooden doors. The door led you directly into the church’s right aisle, allowing all of the light to be shadowed by a large row of columns. Before getting too caught up in the detail, I decided to head to the back of the building and stand in the center so that I can equally see both sides. By taking a step back, I was able to perceive many things at once, rather than honing in on fine details (something that can be overwhelming when you first enter). I noticed that the columns lining both sides of the aisles were not consistent and displayed great diversity. It was understood that much like in S. Francesca Romana (in which we toured earlier that day), these columns were evidence of spoliation as they were taken from many buildings and monuments and repurposed for additional use. Lining the walls directly above them were patterns of alternating mosaics and windows, both in which were the same size and shape as the uniformity is more aesthetically pleasing. Beautifully detailed mosaics were also found across the whole front half of the building covered in lots of gold and much more elaborate as they served as the backdrop to the main altar. The octagonal ceiling was a breathtaking mix of gold and paint with a painting of the assumption of the Virgin at its center. After taking this moment to scan the general space, I set off to walk the perimeter. The decorations and symbols used were ornamental and esthetic following the same basic model for traditional basilicas as this is one of the oldest in Rome. This highly garnished basilica was dazzling with its abundance of gold and mosaics. The three of us separated and spent a good chunk of time simply wandering around and observing/appreciating the beautiful artwork, architecture, and holiness of the space. But alas, we mutually decided it was time to leave it behind and continue onto our next journey - finding some dinner!


(Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere, 5/24/19)

Voyeur I - Roma

From the moment I sat down, my view of the grand Piazza San Pietro was hindered by a larger adult man. His face was glued to his phone, oblivious to all surroundings-especially the uncomfortably close distance he maintained to me. He appeared to be alone and not apart of any tourist group, merely him and his phone. From the clean-cut and styled hair, leather jacket, tight jeans, and Puma shoes, I concluded that if not a local, he was European. I never heard him speak, but simply watched from my seat his confusion and even slight frustration with his mobile device. For the first time in what seemed like ten minutes, he came up for air and headed away from the basilica and toward the porticos. It was too sunny to see his screen and thus continued his habit under the shady marble. The man is trying to contact someone; perhaps a relative or maybe a girlfriend. Victory! He figures out how to set-up a facetime call with his girlfriend and heads back into the piazza to show her the sights. Perhaps he is on a work-related trip and enjoying his downtime in Rome by visiting the sights. Their relationship is recent and with that, it didn’t logically make sense for her to tag along. Or, as it could be a work trip, they didn’t have a lot of free-time to site see and also had work back at home. Either way, he is finally adventuring around the piazza, yet still only perceiving the visual stimuli through his darkened phone screen. The virtual tour was brief and he disappeared away into the bustling stream of people.



(Piazza San Pietro, 5/23/19)

Momentary Blindness I - Roma

I sit, nearly squatting, on a curb of a cobblestone walkway that lines the perimeter of the piazza. Comfortable in temperature, the sun hides behind layers of clouds while a soft, cool breeze puts my clothes at flight and flutters the corner of my page. Although I stay quiet and simply pause all interactions, my surroundings stay vibrant with bustling life. The Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi is settled a mere few feet behind me. The gushing of water across the monument permeates and drowns out the faint sounds of the city. The sound of the fountain and the delicate aroma of the nearby restaurants are the only elements that remain consistent in my current sustained position. Fighting the urge to visually direct my attention to every noise is one of the greatest challenges while engulfed in a stimulating atmosphere. Thousands of murmured conversations fill my ears with moments of comprehension and others with clarity, but a linguistic barricade prevents full awareness. A man standing on the corner across the street begins to wail in an attempt to lure in  Americans, but after a few minutes of trying, he accepted failure and ceased. Coming from behind, at least two men begin a conversation in Italian. Close enough in proximity to hear, yet lacking the education to eavesdrop. Moments later, one begins singing “I Love You Baby” which I easily pick up as it is in English and of course, the one and only Frank Sinatra. Now honed in on these men, my mind blurs the peripheral noise and I listen intently to the fun duet unfolding behind me. Following the terse entertainment, everything becomes clear again and I feel as though I can hear a vast range of tones from miles away. When maneuvering through the congested city, it may be hard to appreciate your neighboring environs due to constantly keeping your head on a swivel to avoid people, cars, bikes, etc. But once you take a moment to sit and truly perceive your other senses, you immerse yourself in a new realm.




(Piazza Navona, 5/21/19, 2:50pm)

Giornale

  Days have passed since our first group excursion and the imagery remains as clear as day. When the clock struck one pm we gathered outside Case Center by the parking lot. The air was warm and soft to the skin; a new feeling for us Skidmore students. Anxious to depart on our mini adventure, I scan my neighboring peers and count along with the professor to discover we are still missing a few students. As if they had a ringing in their ears, they all appeared within five minutes of each other. We made a gameplan for when to meet and how to get there, and just like that we were cramming inside our assigned cars. Sandwiched between two of my classmates in the backseat, we carried on conversations about school, friends, politics, and life. The driver and shotgun rider had their own discussions with muffled music playing in the background as if there was an invisible partition. Light banter quickened the drive and in no time we arrived at a church parking lot in Albany.

We all funneled out of the cars and gathered around our professors where they distributed our headsets and assignment papers. While testing out the listening devices, we began our excursion by venturing off the path to what we thought would be a secret waypoint to some form of spectacle. To our demise, it was the blind leading the blind into a small off-road wooded area that led to nowhere. We quickly reassessed and found ourselves at a hidden opening with a fountain at the center. Walking around the monument we learned it was a war memorial enclosed by a tall wall of brush and growth. Informational engravings lined the circumference of the fountain in which followed a historical timeline of World War II. My fingers grazed the deep curves and lines as I walked the perimeter listening to Curley’s commentary while simultaneously reading the inscriptions. Like a group of little ducklings following their mother, we made our way to the street where our Empire State plaza journey truly began.

Excitement heightened as we read the plaza title, “Governor Nelson A. Rockefeller Empire State Plaza” in large letters displayed above a lineup of doors. Hidden under a bridge, I wondered why the big heading and entrance would truly be so tucked away from the public. To add to the confusion, we passed the doors and found that the first few modes of entree were blocked. We progressed along the street until we came across a little path that seemed to have wrapped around and led to the left of the plaza. A vast uncluttered, symmetrically planned out area had opened up before our eyes. Looking to my right up towards the horizon, stood the large New York State Museum. A giant fixture of concrete cut-outs and vertical bars with layers increasing in size the closer it got to the clouds. We swiftly advanced up the ascending stairway of wide steps requiring at least two steps a piece. The closer I got to the museum, the more it resembled a dull columned concrete slab. But once I found myself at the top, I turned around to see the full plaza from a high-up northeast perspective. With the large rectangular reflecting pool at the center, a perimeter was created by abstract geometric buildings of more concrete lining the sides and tunneling the eye towards the capitol building that sat at the end. As a class, we analyzed the functionality and presentation of this centrally raised space while overlooking the life that was happening within it. It was at that moment where I was really able to see everything for what it was and use my newfound knowledge to interpret the plaza’s use and aims for the future of its community whilst paying tribute to the past.

Our journey continued throughout the plaza as we walked to different locations and looked at it from different angles and viewpoints. We were able to venture off on our own while also having worthwhile discussions as a group about its civic values, orientation, aims, etc. The excursion as a whole was educational and interesting on an academic and personal level. If only I had the time to share all of the sites I observed and the experiences I had on this trip!

Empire State Plaza, Albany, NY, 4/7/19

Ekphrasis

From the stratified unknown
the earthly stem sprouts.
Flushed with shades of nutritious greens,
the flowers give birth to beauty.
The blooms bring life
to all that's mighty.
Sitting atop his floral thrown
with legs curled in like the petals below.
Soft and delicate like a cloud in the sky.
But layers of silk hang heavy,
encasing his limbs from neck to feet.
Comfortable upon his plush bud
as delicate winds whistle.
Loose attire find themselves
lost in the stream.
Subdued blends of warm and cool
mingle in his presence.
An artifact of nature
high above, but at peace with those below.
He watches from beyond
with the purest of lens.
A golden bowl grasped in palm
coats his elegance in power.
What is within remains unknown.
His nectar of choice undisclosed.
Lackluster to the eye
muted effects of gold spread to every ornament.
Large golden hoops suspend from his earlobes.
Substantially weighty,
they stretch the ears to full extension
bridging the gap between head and shoulders.
He raises his right arm
while grasping a token
with multi-colored ribbons fluttering in its trail.
Showering those beneath
with his judicious influence.
His scalp is wrapped in knots of white
tucked behind both ears
and flooding down the front of his chest.
Upon the bandage he wears a crown of prestigious power
that blends into a holy backdrop.
Surrounding his head
the halo of heavenly being.
As petals flowing in the breeze
he is one with the earth.
Not emerging from the sky,
but flourishing from human terrain.




(Tang 3/23/19, Unknown Artist (Tibet), Padmasambhava as Loden Choksé, 17th Century)

Voyeur

As soon as I immerse myself into the wide open, uncovered plot of land within Congress Park, my primed ears hear the sound of thin metal clicking together. A sound I am conditioned to perk-up to; I turn my head with excitement to happily find a dog running after a hollowed rubber frisbee. It is as if I can hear those tagged collars from a mile away. I find a bench nearby to sit and observe the lively movements and actions of my new four-legged friend. The moderately sized black and grey speckled dog had a soft tint of blue that was enhanced when holding the bright blue frisbee within its mouth. I followed its path of retrieval with my eyes until my attention shifted to the man responsible for the powerful toss. He’s wearing an oversized heathered grey sweatshirt, with the hood up over both his head and baseball cap. The sweatpants had a logo down the pant leg that vaguely looked like the word university - though hard to truly say from my distance. Perhaps he is currently in college or a recent graduate. His face and actions tell me perhaps mid-20’s, in that he is still young and fit, but mature and somewhat experienced. The dog knows him very well and is tuned into his every move. He has full trust in his owner and is more obedient than anyone can hope for. The man performs little jumps and spurts of running to hype-up his companion. The interactions between the two of them are wholesome and pure. I continue to scan the surrounding area but it seems he came alone. Perhaps this dog is his first major sense of responsibility now that he is on his own. Or simply the first addition to his near future family. Nonetheless, the dog looks beautiful and healthy, and so does he. To loved and be loved no matter the species; that is a wonderful experience.



(Congress Park, 2/23/19)

Momentary Blindness

Flakes of dust begin to layer atop my keyboard as I type. The penetrative aroma is untraceable to a single element, yet distinguishable and common. My attention wavers between the hollow clunking of hooves on pavement, and the crunching of tires along intermittent patches of solid ice. As the door opens, what feels like a gust of wind sweeps the baby hairs that frame my face that tickle my forehead and cheekbones. In that same motion, cold air creeps its way against the current and kisses every patch of bare skin on my body. Finally after what felt like minutes, the door is closed. What took them so long? Someone begins to sweep the aisle way outside the door. The sound is muffled, but I can still hear the slight scraping of straw across the concrete slab that seems to clear in rhythm. My mouth becomes dry, and I notice a very subtle grit in the notches of my teeth like sand at a beach. But this is definitely not sand. I assume a lesson has started as the repetitive sounds of hooves have muted and transitioned into people talking. I can faintly hear the instructions and critiques of my coach, yet can feel the power and depth of her words in my chest. The volume sharply rises on her dampened commentary. Uh oh, that doesn’t seem good. Before I become absorbed in this newfound situation, my teammate knocks rapidly, though softly, on the window to the right of where I am sitting. My head jolts towards her direction to find her purely waving goodbye as she heads towards her car. After a swift wave back, I recenter myself. The volume had returned to a normal decibel within the arena as I filled my lungs with the crisp, dust ridden air. No matter where my attention wanders, I am continually distracted by the elements of climate; perhaps I need another coat.

(Van Lennep Riding Center, 2/1/19)