Arriving
in France to the sound of svelte vowels greeted warmly greeted me. I had returned.
There is such adventure in language. Although I didn’t know two words of
Italian before, I took comfort in the French while I could. Navigating the
airport sure became easier.
From
Paris to Florence. The plane was small, so we were able to exit onto the runway.
My first breath of pure Tuscan air rushed into my lungs. I wished to breathe in
the sun’s color. My heart was light, though my eyes were like lead. We took a
tram for our luggage. Power and Pathos: Bronze Sculptures of the Hellenistic
World. This was the first ad I saw in Italy. I took it as a sign. Sculpture and
history was on the bus! Imagine: What would be beyond the small airport?
Jacapo Ligozzi, Fortuna, Uffizzi (I think this is a really funny & accurate representation of Fortune)
I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew I had
prepared. To be engrossed with history and art. (This is a shout-out to my
brother, TJ.) To be living where Ezio saved the Lorenzo Medici in Palazzo
Vecchio during the Pazzi Conspiracy. Maybe even catch da Vinci in his workshop
where he would give me some drawings to aid me in my quest. In fact, two days
before we left, I watched him as he went through his index of geographical places,
hoping the history would stick in my excited mind. A common joke between us is
how I would stand where the haystack beside Palazzo Vecchio is in the game and
send a picture to him. “I wouldn’t jump that, if I were you,” he would say. This
disparity between how the city is used today versus in historical days is one
that hung in my head every day. I preferred to think of the cotton shoes with
soft soles that graced the people of the 1400’s rather than those that clamber on the worn stone today.
The wealth in the Palazzo Pitti was nauseating. Incredible.
Sketchbook work: Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, Picasso, in Ferrero Rocher wrappings
This
trip solidified my hunch. I find it rather difficult to connect with people who
are living. Memories of people and their work are much more disposable to my
understanding. In Storrs, there is not much of that; so in Florence, my mind
went adrift into hundreds of past years whenever I walked out of our Gino
Capponi door that closed with a resounding thud. Between staring at the
intricate stone of pavement and the hidden gem family crests that adorned many
more house than one would think(!), history was alive before my eyes. Even today,
I cannot believe my visions. As in, my eyes take in this beauty, but I don’t believe
the optical messages that my optical nerve is receiving!
Walkabout Tours 7 hour Cooking Class; highly recommend!
Best Pizza in my life; Lucca
Ceniamo!
Gelato cheers, Certo!
The veil of reverence and
intense humility still shrouds my vision. However, when I recall, a slight
smile returns to my visage from those places. I'll miss the places the most.
Especially Piazza della Signornia and her statues. Resting on her high benches with
expertly found companions in stone, listening to the echoes of voices and
sounds of the city that resound against the high ceiling, I was always complete
under the shadow of those friends. Often, I would attempt to imprint as much as
a could of those scenes onto my fibers because those times meant so very much
to me. Victor Hugo spoke of Paris awakening with bells; in Florence in the
Loggia dei Lanzi, one can witness the same miracle: “Behold! Rising from each
bell tower, something like a column of sound, a cloud of harmony. First, the
vibration of each bell mounts straight upwards, pure and, so to speak, isolated
from the others, into the splendid morning sky; then, little by little, as they
swell they melt together, mingle, are lost in each other, and amalgamate in a
magnificent concert.”
Il Rato delle Sabine, Giambologna; My favorite sculpture there
A few pictures I sniped at the Alberto Burri museum before they tapped me and said photos were forbidden (yea, it was very embarrassing.. they also made an announcement throughout the whole museum..)
But it was worth it!!! (I swear I didn't know!)
THE TEXTURE THE FLESH OF IT ALL
I
understand I have taken a highly romanticized view of Florence to my memory. I consciously
decided this. As I have said earlier, people are tough for me; why not, then, become ingrained in what humans have left, what time has built for herself? Layer
upon layer of man. Each one thinking he is as just as permanent and important
as the previous. This process has intoxicated me and my artwork. To capture
elusive Time and mirror her whimsical, detrimental, constructive, omnipotent
ways. Of course, I am only at the genesis, but Florence has enlightened me.
Museo Archeologico Nazionale, this was on the end of our street!!!
Adventures with Mother! (She almost had it)
Time
here has provided a setting for intense growth. I have read so many books, and
have become knowledge’s faithful friend. Giving tours at the Basilica of the
Santa Croce enflamed my heart every time under that wooden Tau-shaped cross
roof. Weekly, I would be in the presence of Giotto, Arnolfo di Cambio, Vasari, and
Cimabue just to name a few. Physically seeing the hand that outlined frescoed
bodies that were painted in the 1330’s overwhelmed me. So
humbling.
We made it to Finals! (that meant beating actual Italian teams! ... no, I did not play in those games)
Four
more days, that is all that separates us from our true home. Flashing back to
that original taxi drive to our apartment that hot August 25th is
odd. I am heartbroken to leave, but I am so giddy to apply what I've learned
here to creating in Storrs, and we’ll have an art building so we can go even
bigger with pieces! Wohoo!! (My roommates know this struggle. J)
For Art Clash, I made my own oil paint sticks, thanks to Tiziano Lucchesi.
Then I took the texture of the Duomo pavement (a crowd gathered!). Then I took an imprint of the bottom layer with the white paper (on the right).
Then I cut into thin strips the 2.20 x 1m paper and glued it onto painted black paper. The first layer was the darker, the second builds on it, while revealing the underlayer.
The prompt was: Breaking Walls, Building Bridges This will be shown in a student show in Palazzo Vecchio in Spring 2016.
My artist statement: Layer
upon layer of man. Each one thinking he is as just as permanent and prominent as
the previous. Living in Florence, which is built by this creed, I have become
intoxicated by this layering of work. As this town was made by man’s hand, my
perspective is through the innate sense of touch. Here, Florence is shown through
textural rubbings of her Piazza del Duomo pavement; the element, the pietra
bigia, which physically built the city. By its nature of process, the rubbings
become an abstraction. This abstraction is crucial because concrete operational
thinking does not allow to see the new. Extracted-original views are
manifestations of my curiosity of constructing layers to be covered, similar to
time passing over layers of earth. Hence, breaking walls of concrete viewing
and building bridges of new, purer vision.
