Picture That
We have a painting in our living
room. It’s pretty large, on the order of
5’ x 3’, and full of browns, greens, blotches of white, and touches of beige. This oil painting is also absent a frame, but
I don’t think it matters for it is so captivating the lack of a frame isn’t
noticeable. In fact, its absence promotes
the impression that we’re looking through a large window off into a pastoral
scene viewed from a slightly higher vantage point. It isn’t a reproduction of a famous bucolic country
scene drawn by the hand of some renowned artist either. For all I know, it may be representative of
one of those production pieces where one artist paints the trees, another
specializes in structures, and someone else handles the landscape. And while I’m sure it isn’t old, the wrinkles
that run vertically through the canvas would certainly make me think so. As for the scene washed in floodlight from
the floor, it is reminiscent of a rolling Italian countryside full of classic
conical cypress trees tipped like pointed paintbrushes, leafy olive trees, and
bulbous hardwoods resembling oaks. A
gravel road meanders through the panorama only to disappear into foothills leading
off to an outline of undulating mountains grown small in perspective. There are a few quaint farmhouses here and
there along the roadway, each topped in a signature terracotta hue. If we could somehow get closer, I’m sure we’d
be able to make out their interlocking, half-pipe, clay roof tiles, so emblematic
of Italy.
There is a limit to my rambling eye, however. Sitting there, I can look as far into the
scene as I’d like, limited only when it runs out of depth
and the mountains gradually
soften to blur with the horizon in a series of misty waves. Is it some snippet of the fabulous vista from
that artist perch in Pienza looking out across the Val D'Orcia countryside, or maybe
from lofty Cortona looking off across the Val di
Chiana toward Lake Trasimeno, or does it capture the view from one of
the towers surrounding charming Monteriggioni? Doubtful.
More likely it is a compilation of all they exude to their respective
beholders. Bella Italia is like
that. Italy is the canvas that we get to
paint into memories. Its beauty is
intoxicating. The scenes spread out before
you, wherever that might be, simply spectacular.
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| Charming Monteriggioni |
Downstairs in the basement, close
by my desk where I compose my monthly yarns, there is a similar painting, even
larger, and just as easy for the eye to lose itself in. It is a survivor of our house fire, hard to
believe already past its three-year anniversary, one like Pearl Harbor that we
recall but
never celebrate. Back then,
it hung on a basement wall by our dining table where it was lucky enough to have
avoided the ravages of fire. When I walk
by it nowadays, a muted odor of smoke still lingers as a constant reminder of
what happened that day. The vantage is
again from above, possibly a few hundred feet up like one of those cool,
high-tech, camera drones might capture. Here
again, a road runs through a scene of undulating countryside, but this one is
far clearer in its fictitious details.
Relying on lighter colors, the foreground scene is far brighter as if daybreak
is beginning to thin the darkness.
Again, classic farmhouse roofs emerge among rows of olive trees. It is easy to make out windows, doorways, and
chimneys. In the far distance, a mountain
town, much like the sloping Calitri borgo or nearby conical Sant’Agata di
Puglia, rises from the darkness as the colors in this part of the scene
transition to dawn from black. It’s
funny how on separate occasions we managed to purchase such comparable impressions
of Italy.
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| Our “Smoky” Country Scene |
A far more vivid reminder of Italian life is captured
in a black and white photo taken on a street in Florence that has since become
a classic, gone viral long before the word was coined. It would become one of the more indelible photographs
of a bygone era and remains so to this day. Again, sticking with our penchant for large
scenes, ours fits the bill. It is actually larger than the two previously mentioned. It plays on a common Italian male stereotype,
possibly true, of how males
take pleasure in ogling females, eyeing them
amorously with flirty verbal invitations, and the affectionate pinch, or could
I be confusing the Italian male with a Frenchman? This kind of pastime is sometimes politely excused
by referring to it as “boys being boys.”
This particular photo of Ninalee
Allen Craig is entitled “American Girl in Italy” and was taken in
1951 by her newfound friend, photojournalist
Ruth Orkin.
They had known each other only briefly, maybe only a matter of hours,
before they struck on the idea for a photo spread about the experiences of women traveling abroad alone —
a rare occurrence at the time. Ninalee,
an adventure-seeking college graduate, did it for the novelty and excitement it
might afford, while Ruth sought a worthy subject for a hoped-for magazine
spread. Together,
in the roles of photographer shadowing her model, they roamed Florence for
approximately two hours one morning. The
idea was to have fun and wait for the right shot to materialize. While Ninalee admired statues, asked for
directions, haggled in markets, and flirted in cafes, Ruth Orkin waited for just
the right moment to capture the event. To a degree, Ninalee
was trolling for attention when this photo was snapped on a corner in
Florence’s Piazza della Repubblica. The
opportunity presented itself as she walked past a group of men and Ruth
captured the image for history. The
photo appeared in Cosmopolitan Magazine as part of a 1952 photo essay entitled
“When You Travel Alone.”
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| “American Girl in Italy” |
There is some debate on
whether this iconic photo is a construct. Was it staged or not? The answer is maybe yes, maybe no. In 1995 Ninalee told the NY Times that
Ruth ran ahead and
“took one picture, asked me to back up, and took another. That’s all that was done at that location, two
pictures.” Together it took all of a few
seconds. Ruth spoke only to the two men captured
on the motor scooter pulled up alongside the curb. “I yelled to them to tell the others not to
look at the camera.” So, if truth be
told, this photo was both spontaneous and with its repeat, somewhat staged. Now as I sit at my desk, it hangs on a nearby
wall. It once hung in our carriage house
adjacent to where our destroyed home stood.
More than a carriage house today, this fancy garage has been transformed
into our summer home and the picture moved to a new location to join the
others. When at times, many times, I dawdle
and glance at the photo, I can only wonder whether I’m looking at the first or
second snap. While Ninalee recently
passed away at age 90, the image of her iconic walk, holding tight to her scarf,
remains with us. For many of those years,
she wanted us to know she never sensed fear or felt threatened as she ran
the gauntlet past fifteen men. They all clearly stared, some with cigarettes
prominently displayed were surprised at the unexpected appearance of an
unchaperoned woman. They were of
a variety of ages, most of them dressed in suits, which was typical of the
time. Some were smiling, others
stone-faced, no doubt caught off guard when presented with such a rare sight in
post-war Italy – a young foreign woman walking alone in Florence. One of the two gentlemen on the scooter seems
to be engaging Ninalee, likely with a catcall, certainly in Italian, which it
is doubtful she understood beyond its universal suggestiveness that went along
with the leers and their painting stares.
The subject of the photo has said the
scene shouldn’t
fluster anyone. At that moment she felt
admired and flattered. She went on to
say that she perceived herself as “a symbol of a woman having an absolutely
wonderful time.” As she once put
it, her expression was not one of distress but more of strength. It would be interesting to know, if today,
tour guides bring their charges to this corner in the piazza. I’d sure like to visit the spot and when next
in Florence. I promise myself that I
will.
From imagined paint-stroke depictions of
Italian landscapes hectic with color, on beyond Orkin’s photo statement from a
bygone era of unbridled harassment or feminine confidence, depending on your
viewpoint, I now turn to a collection of personal photo clicks informed by my love
of Italy. They live together as a group
on a wall
where our living room begins the transition to
kitchen. In columns and rows 3 by 3, the
nine of them daily remind Maria Elena and me of past Italian adventures and
friends. As a group, they remind us of former
years of Italian adventures. Those that
made the wall are each 8” by 10” prints that in aggregate fill a commanding space
with memories of friends and places. When they went up some time ago, the idea was
to change them occasionally, something I haven’t gotten around to yet. That has been complicated when the fire took
twelve years of our travel photos. Then
again people say we’re never home anyway, certainly not long enough to do it. As a result, they have become familiar friends
that we greet almost daily as Maria Elena does when she walks in the house and
declares, “Hi House!” Our first row of “familiars”
begins with Vincenzina, the wife of a close friend, Guiseppe. Her name means “conqueror, winner, or she who
wins.” It was taken on a day we were
picking grapes. She is standing in the
doorway of a hut in their vineyard, where when she rings a bell, we drop that
last bunch of grapes just snipped from the vines into a bucket and gather
around tables in the middle of the vineyard for breakfast. Being a conqueror, she seldom smiles, but
here, disarmed, she shares something just a little more than a Mona Lisa smile.
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| Photo Mosaic |
The following three begin with a garden scene at what I call Italy’s Versailles, better known as the
Royal Palace of Caserta. Move three
hours north of Calitri and there sits Rome, two hours east and you arrive in
Alberobello. In the Rome photo, the Spanish
Steps with family members takes center stage.
It’s a picture difficult to reproduce these days, for sitting down on
these steps is now forbidden and past history.
No, it’s not some new EU ruling, but a squad of local police who can
issue significant fines. They start at 250 euros and move upwards of 400 euros if you manage to "soil or damage" the steps in any way. Avoid these fines and instead spend
the money elsewhere.
How about in sunny Puglia? Moving to the third photo recalls our overnights
in pointy stone trulli off in famous Alberobello, deep in Puglia. It reminds me of a morning walk where I investigated
the source of a clacking sound. The
sound led me to a father-son team of masons chipping away at stones and placing
them, one by one, into position on a mortarless trulli roof. There for centuries, they’ve essentially been “rediscovered”
and become very popular as rentals and vacation homesites.
The final series of three photos
are all of additional memorable places. Though
void of familiar faces, they bring to mind the faces of people, not seen but
there, who with a friendly hello are willing to share tales and life events
worthy of Facebook postings. It begins
in Matera, at a favorite restaurant of ours, Il Tarrizzino, where you can overlook the Sassi while
you enjoy a relaxing meal,
for hours if you but afford the time. I took the next snapshot at a street festival inthe little town of Saviano, not far from Naples. The
picture is mindful of “old ways” that the town was celebrating that evening
with entertainment, food, music, dancing, and traditionally set tables like
this one. We return to Rome for the last
of the nine contiguous photos. This is
the famous Pantheon, a Roman temple since approximately 120 A.D. situated in Piazza della Rotonda. It was here, where once-upon-a-time, in front
of this spectacular structure, where there occurred a significant historical
event … the memorable moment where for the first time we enjoyed an Aperol
Spritz!
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| Misty Harbor |
It’s
precisely paintings and photos like these
that provoke thoughts and emotions each time we observe them. They are more than mere accoutrements or alluring aesthetics. Surrounding
ourselves with these warming companions, some of which I’d like to walk into, serves
to remind us that Italy is now a part of Maria Elena and myself. Like a Christmas tree, they can create a mood
but one for all seasons, serving as ornaments of past experiences. Sometimes we take comfort in their precise
beauty. At other times, delving into
them we find solace and comfort in their hazy abstractness, lending to imaginative
flights of fancy. I
guess
there is power in art whether homemade with the click of a camera, museum-quality if you can afford it, or store-bought from your favorite thrift shop or
Home Goods. In an age of consumption, we’ve
chosen to consume bella Italia.
The nice part about that is that it’s sooooo easily renewable.
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Santa Maria della
Salute Watercolor
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From
That Rogue Tourist
Paolo
Paolo
