Almost Home
Much love,
Julia
A little blog of my little travels
I know I’ve painted a rosy picture of my time here, and it has been amazing, but I don’t want to forget that I am living like a queen in the poorest state in
This is also a place where I could send one student to university for a year with a hundred dollars. With fifty I could help a battered woman start her own business. For twenty I could send a dentist to look at the teeth of a whole school. With ten I could pay one small child’s tuition at the government public schools. With twenty-five cents, I would make sure one person was safe from malaria for one year. If I were to stop buying frivolous things, I could probably buy one family a house with a real roof, so that they could better survive the monsoon disease-free. If I decided I didn’t need trinkets and souvenirs, I could get every village kid I know a new cycle or a school uniform or all their textbooks. If I decided that I could go without lunch every day, I could plant a hundred fruit trees to help clean the air and feed people who go hungry.
I won’t go without lunch, and I will bring people presents, but I’m just saying. I’m just saying. I just need to remember who I am, and who is around me, and be grateful for the people and the institutions in Auroville that are trying to help these situations that I see and care about. Our program has a surplus, and we are donating money to some places, and that makes me feel good. A lot of money actually. But we can also help in our daily lives, all the way over there in the great
I have to leave this place soon, and I don’t want to. I can’t wait to be home, but I don’t wish to leave.
I am a teacher at a school in India and it is crazy. School is loud. There is always shouting in a mix of English and Tamil and Tamglish and a general confusion. But so much life. So little boredom. This week we went on a field trip to
Dearest everyone. From the 16th to the 26th I will be in Hampi. I will live outside on some rocks. Sometimes I will live in a cave. I will go on a 40 hour water fast called a sacred solo where I won’t talk to anyone or see anyone or hear anyone. I will not have any internet or telephone whilst I am there. Please do not be disturbed when you don’t hear from me during this time.
Pier Paolo Pasolini, an Italian director, screen writer, essayist, poet, critic and novelist, lamented: “What is
Ah, Roma. A city of romance, majestic buildings, high fashion. A perfect brochure description of a beautiful modern city blended in with its own rich history. Once you get here though, you begin to notice that some things don’t quite line up with the brochures.
On the building next to a beautiful Medieval church some Italian youth has scrawled a rather frank message regarding a blunt word coupled with the name of a certain political leader. A woman in Gucci snakeskin stilettos clomps resolutely past a woman with one leg who holds out an empty cup and a sign that says “grazie.” Smartly dressed policemen stand about with a sort of sharp, useless air about them, but then when there is a riot in the Campo de Fiori, they are nowhere to be found. One must walk past at least one beggar dressed in rags to get into each church, all of which are covered in enough rich gilding to get thirty beggars off the streets. On a Sunday, it is possible to find both a one euro leather jacket at Porta Portese and a tiny five thousand euro clutch purse at Prada. There are large concentrations of nuns and monks wandering around near the Pantheon, all very pious looking in their humble robes, but one only need turn a corner to realize that they are all there to shop on the street that sells glitzy, designer nun-and-monk-wear. Turn on the TV and there are American movies, soap operas, TV series and sitcoms dubbed in Italian, commercials involving American products, American music videos playing nonstop, and yet walk around the city in typical American attire (i.e. white tennis shoes and a Columbia jacket) and get hissed at by an Italian who is more into American TV than you are. Everyone who lives in Roma takes the bus or drives a tiny, economical car or motorbike, and yet there is nowhere in existence to recycle paper or bottles or cans. All Italians care very much about their bodies and you will rarely see an overweight or unhealthy looking one, but absolutely everyone smokes cigarette after cigarette. Chaos indeed.
To separate the divergent bits of Roma from each other would be like trying to separate dirt and the dust of crushed lapis lazuli. Impossible, and in the end, pointless. The filth is made all the more beautiful for the addition of the precious stone and the contrast of the blue against the dark brown makes the lapis all the more stunning. I would say the “real
I remember that my arms ached for days, even after the painting was finished. It felt like such an awkward posture, my elbows splayed out to either side like that, my shoulders hunched. I pictured myself looking like some sort of discomfited bird posed like that, my puffy sleeves of blue taking on the look of over-bright plumage. But of course one should never question the artist, even an artist so new in the art world as Caravaggio. He was overly forceful, even rude, to those in his employ, but they all obeyed his wishes without question. Why should you question the decisions of a man whose painted figures always came out looking just how he wished them to? He chose his models, seemingly at random, off the streets of
When I was allowed to see the painting some weeks later, I was first made to giggle by the foolish look of adoration that was seen as if in double vision on Narcissus’ face and that of his reflection. My mirth stopped abruptly, though, when I noticed the closeness of the action to come. Caravaggio had painted the small moment right before Narcissus drowns in the pool bearing his beloved reflection, and though the expression of the boy in the painting was foolish, I could see that the thing about to happen was not something to cause laughter. The black background forced the boy, an eerie vision of myself, into the room with me, and at the same time obliterated any hope of salvation from his obvious fate. I still felt the laughter of the moment within me, but also the fear of the moment to come. Such was my first experience with the master of captured emotions and captured moments.
Although Caravaggio often used the same models over and over again, it was many years before he chose to use me in another painting. Actually, it was unusual that I should have seen him again because of his banishment from
A few years later when I was back again in
Flaubert wrote, “The melancholy of the antique world seems to me more profound than that of the moderns, all of whom more or less imply that beyond the dark void lies immortality. But for the ancients that ‘black hole’ is infinity itself; their dreams loom and vanish against a background of immutable ebony. No crying out, no convulsions—nothing but the fixity of the pensive gaze…”
The Roman Forum looks like a ghost town. Only the foundations of what were once grand buildings remain for us to ponder. We can read the stories of the ancient Romans through their iconography, see their lives in their carvings and architecture. We see the crumbling memories of the people from so long ago and feel melancholic about the loss of their civilization, of their history. This feeling of loss is even more profound in the abandoned city of
It is true that the ancients did not have the hope we have now of a life after death. There was no loving and forgiving God Almighty, no heaven or hell to look forward to (or fear.) There was no afterlife at all to work toward, at least not in the sense that we live by today. They did indeed see a universe of “immutable ebony.”
And yet on their monuments and arches we see no messages of despair. They are triumphal arches, in their very name testaments to the hope and the resilience of the ancient Romans. To be remembered by posterity was their idea of afterlife. Perhaps there were no divine rules about sin to inspire people to refrain from doing evil in ancient times, but to be remembered in a negative light was as good as Hell for moral motivation. We look upon the relics of the ancient past, crumbling and decaying, and we see only structures without life, of no use to those who built them. These monuments, these arches, these temples, these baths and theatres and mosaics have a certain power over us. They exude a sadness that we cannot quite place. And yet, it is us, the people of today, who are feeling the melancholy, and it is them, the people of the past, who are being remembered. And so the ancients get exactly what they so desired when they wrote their histories in stone and statue and mosaic; we give them an afterlife in our thoughts, their dreams still looming against that dark background of ebony that we moderns so fear. Yes, there is melancholy in the antique world, but it is wholly ours.
Dear Signore Bernini,
I went back to the Cornaro Chapel this morning to study your Ecstasy of St. Teresa in more detail. I have to admit to you that I was extremely worried about this particular project. Certainly there was no better man for the job, however, the complexities of the situation surrounding this commission make it a dangerous task for any architect. I must say, though, that I am quite pleased with the finished product. In combining the death of St. Teresa with her most famous contact with our Lord, you have made this a very intimate statue. It is both startling and impressive, and again, as when I first saw it, I felt as though I was watching something private, and felt fortunate and honored to be privy to such a holy scene. Putting St. Teresa up above the churchgoers who will gaze upon her and setting the scene in the clouds helps to facilitate this feeling. There are many ways in which the Reformers who are trying so urgently to topple our way of worship could use the sainthood of Teresa against us. I thought it impossible, but you have shown the feasibility of use cold stone to convey the message of the Church in such a way as to encourage our children of God and at the same time avoid giving more ammunition to the Reformers. The way St. Teresa lays upon her back as though she had just been thrown there is ingenious. The ceaseless motion of her cloak shows her to be in the middle of the action of seeing her vision. She is defeated by the glory of God, unable to participate physically in her experience, able only to feel the love of God through the spear of the angel standing above her. The angel himself is a masterpiece. On his face worshipers will easily see his benevolent pity for Teresa. He holds his weapon with a grace that shows him to be divine, a messenger of God. Their union is obviously holy, in another realm out of the reach of the viewer.
You will of course have heard that your depiction of Teresa has already been criticized for her facial expression. I write to tell you that this does not worry me. Though some overeager reformers may find Teresa’s face and posture alarming and perhaps inappropriate, all I see is the most devotional of scenes. You have facilitated our arguments for the support of this controversial saint by making the lines of her body lost and invisible beneath her clothing, and her face lovely and pristine, but not feminine. She is hardly a woman at all, but rather a child of God experiencing a miracle. Those who gaze upon the statue will have no doubts as to its meaning. The depictions of learned men who look down upon the viewer from the sides of the chapel are also an ingenious touch. They peer through the walls, the interior of St. Peter’s behind them, showing their approval of the statue and therefore the support of the papacy. I assure you this assumed support is indeed there. The side figures will also show the pious who visit the chapel how they should react to the statue. The men are deep in discussion, obviously removed from the realm of St. Teresa and her angel. Those who see this example will know that they are to look upon and ponder the life of Teresa, but not emulate it. They are to witness the miracle and discuss it, but not expect the experience for themselves. The reformers can have no grievances with this piece.
Again congratulations and I hope your current projects are going well. May the peace of God be with you always,
Pope Innocent X
Dear Signore Bernini,
I thank you for finishing my great aunt Ludovica’s chapel in such a timely manner. I realize I did not offer you the grandest space in which to work, however the finished product has turned out beautifully. The statue itself is wonderfully intimate. It is a holy moment to depict, yet one can tell that it is an earthly situation. Ludovica is down on the level of the viewer, and a marble cloth at the front of the niche invites the onlooker into the scene. The way you took such a tall yet shallow area and placed the statue in the very bottom at first looked to me like a waste of precious space, not allowing enough emphasis to be placed on the main subject. But now I see the value of placing the experience of Ludovica in the realm of the witness. The extra space above serves a further function, making room for the wonderful painting of the Virgin, Child and
Sincerely,
Cardinal Albertoni
You walk in, and there is sound. A constant stream of water cascades into a pool below, and the slow rhythm of footfalls crunch on white gravel. It’s perhaps the most silent sort of sound you’ve heard in a long time. Slowly you are put in mind of all the other sounds of
San Carlino alle Quattro Fontane
You walk in, and there is light. You can see a square of luminous clouds, shining bright off of the upper walls, but the light dims as it reaches you, as if passing through a sieve. You sit in the shade and marvel at the light of the sky right above you. And again there are the memories, this time of other moments you considered the light of
You walk in, and there is space. A wide square of grass and straight sandy paths between rows of orange trees lead you toward an overlook of the city. Your vision suddenly soars up and out over the city of
You walk in, and there is peace. You walk in, and there is suddenly time to think. With time to think you remember all the times you found peace in your everyday wanderings. The sound, light and space of these religious spaces reinvent your perceptions. You walk in, and the walls welcome you. You walk out and the city speaks to you. You walk out, and you see the rhythm, the illumination, the gaps and bits of breathing room of the city. You walk out, and perhaps you start to notice the peace of
Aqueducts, Piazza Navona and Bernini’s Fountain of the Four Rivers
Fountains, Aqueducts: Water as a tool of propaganda: Bernini’s Four Rivers Fountain in Piazza Navona
Water, to the ancient Romans, was more than just an ingredient for survival. It was an essential part of social life, an element of political sway, and a symbol of the great power of the city. Water shows its significance in
Because of this perceived necessity of great amounts of water, Romans were very proud of their ability to bring water to their city, sometimes from over sixty miles away. They considered it a right to make lavish use of their laboriously obtained water. At the height of the Roman Empire, the people of
Great means (Roman style) consist of sophisticated structures called aqueducts. The Romans have used aqueducts since the 4th century B.C. to bring water into the city to augment the supply from the Tiber and
Unfortunately this time of luxury did not last for
This lamentable water situation lasted until the fifteenth century when, finally,
Thus began a new age of papal rule in the
This fountain was commissioned by Pope Innocent X, another pope who wanted to create a display of water to benefit the people of
Such a project would require a skilled architect to complete. Gianlorenzo Bernini, the most prominent sculptor at the time, would normally have been the obvious choice for such a project. However, Bernini had fallen from favor with the death of his principal patron, Pope Urban VIII. Pope Urban had been quite unpopular toward the end of his reign because of some questionable habits concerning overspending, and the new pope wanted nothing to do with him or his favorite architect. Thus when Pope Innocent began looking at designs by various architects for his fountain, Bernini was conspicuously left out of the running. Obviously the wily architect did manage to become the sole designer for the fountain. There are several distinct stories regarding Bernini’s eventual success at getting the commission, but all accounts agree on the basics. It seems Bernini made a beautiful design for the fountain, perhaps of solid silver, which was spirited into the palazzo by a member of the Pamphili family and placed somewhere where the pope would see it. The pope is reputed to have said upon seeing the statue; “If one does not wish to carry out Bernini’s designs, one must not see them.”
The design which so amazed the Pope is said to be one of Bernini’s finest works for several reasons. The fountain is adorned with statues depicting four reclining river gods set up at equal intervals around the circumference of the structure, forcing the viewer to walk all the way around the fountain to see all the figures. The four rivers represented signify the four continents known to geographers of the time. Around the base below the gods are carved animals and plants to help the viewer identify the continents represented.
Europe is represented by the
Asia is associated with the
The Nile, the main river of
The Rio De la Plata is the river that represents the
Another reason the fountain has been hailed as Bernini’s best work is the striking feature in the center of the four statues. The fountain is surmounted by a 54 foot Egyptian obelisk of red granite, taken from Circus Maximus. Pope Innocent X had the obelisk brought to be a part of the fountain because obelisks were a popular symbol of the triumph of Christianity over Paganism. Obelisks also were used in monuments as symbols of the sun or holy light, because of their tendency to look as though they reached infinitely into the sky. This highly meaningful piece sits upon a chunk of local travertine rock cut to look like raw stone from which all of the figures on the fountain are carved. Bernini was such a talented architect, though, that he added a twist to this travertine base. The middle of the rock underneath the obelisk is carved out in two intersecting arches, leaving the obelisk looking as though it is suspended almost unsupported in the air. Bernini’s technique caused quite a sensation when the fountain was unveiled. Being the jokester that he was, Bernini’s response to the criticism that the fountain was unstable was to tie four strings to the top of the obelisk and attach them to the surrounding buildings for “added support.” Publicity stunts of this nature helped rocket Bernini back into the position of popularity as papal architect that he had enjoyed under the last pope.
On top of being a means of regaining favor for Bernini, the fountain was also a powerful tool of propaganda for the Pamphili Pope. The Pamphili family was the clear patron of the project because atop the obelisk, in the place of the most prestige, Bernini placed a single dove. This was the symbol of Pope Innocent’s family, as well as the symbol of the Holy Spirit and the symbol of peace. This extra tool, taken with all of the other aspects of the fountain, would have been a very potent symbol to the Roman people. The four continents of the world were united in one monument beneath a symbol of triumphant Christianity surmounted by the Holy Spirit and the family of the leader of Christendom. The overall effect of the fountain would have been one of triumph for
Today the fountain still has a strong impact on those who see it, even without the context of the politics of the 1600’s. It is heralded as one of the must-see monuments of
Chessen, Kaia. Piazza Navona: Palaza of Rome. http://depts.washington.edu/hrome/
Authors/kaiac/PiazzaNavonaMallofRoma/pub_zbarticle_view_printable.html
Evans, Harry B. Water Distribution in Ancient
Flood, Sara. Aqueducts and the Trevi Fountain. http://depts.washington.edu/hrome/
Authors/floods/TheTreviFountain/pub_zbarticle_view_printable.html
Hibbard, Howard. Bernini. Penguin, 1965.
Mac Veigh, Mrs. Charles. The Fountains of Papal
Morton, H.V. The Fountains of
Taylor, Rabun. Public Needs and Private Pleasures: Water Distribution, the
Wittkower, Rudolf. Bernini: the sculptor of the Roman Baroque.
Michelangelo’s statues of Moses and of Christ with the Cross are strikingly similar in posture. Assuming that they are both supposed to be placed in niches and viewed from the only angle available to someone in front of them, the two are in almost the same pose. They both have their heads turned to the left, so that the viewer sees only their profile. Each figure uses its right arm to hold the main object of their story, the tables and the cross respectively. The index finger of the right hand is the most prominent finger in each statue; Moses uses it to hold his impressive beard and Christ points his upward, toward heaven. Their left arms are bent and held across their bodies, showing muscle definition and veins. In both statues the left leg is back behind the figure, while the right leg, which is extended forward from the body, implies action. Viewed side by side the two figures are posed in a way that draws attention to the articles they are holding, and that also implies an action that is about to happen, (or in the case of Moses, may have just happened.)
Despite these similarities, though, the two figures exude a very different sort of tone to the viewer. Moses, who is meant to be looking at his people dancing around the golden calf, is obviously angry, with a scowling countenance and very tense looking limbs. The veins on his arms pop out noticeably and he looks as though he is about to spring up or is in the middle of sitting down. He holds the tables, which he smashes in the bible story, precariously under his arm, and he looks as though he is using his own left arm to restrain himself. Moses is monumental and daunting. He even has horns on his head, meant to represent rays of light, which are quite imposing. Christ’s figure, on the other hand, if viewed from the correct angle, seems rather slight and very graceful, (if viewed from the wrong angle he is kind of chunky and has a big bum.) He holds out the objects of His Passion to the viewer, but in a sort of reflective manner, as though He simply wishes us to consider them and contemplate their meaning. The cross is not nearly big enough to be anything more than a symbol, and Christ is not monumental, merely life size. He looks not at the viewer or at heaven, but toward the main alter of the church, suggesting that the attention of the viewer should be there as well. On the whole, the figure of Christ is much less imposing than that of Moses.
These differences speak of the different characters of Moses and Christ. Where Moses is supposed to have smashed the words of God in anger at seeing the people he led doing the opposite of what he told them, Christ is supposed to have looked upon his people in love although they weren’t doing things at all correctly. Obviously Michelangelo wanted these different personalities to come through in his work, and so each clue to the figures’ characters was a conscious choice. Overall, both statues are excellent at getting their respective points across.
I remember when Mother had her sculpture done. She spent hours making sure her hair looked just as though she hadn’t spent hours on it, choosing a simple style with no fancy curls or wire reinforcements. She spent quite a bit of time in front of the polished metal mirror simply gazing at her reflection. When I asked why she did this she told me she was making faces. There didn’t seem to be much variation in her expression from one moment to the next, but I didn’t wish to mention my observation. She said she was trying to convey a sense of gravity and sternness, and that this would come across in the lines upon her forehead and in her furrowed brow. She paid extra attention to her mouth, making sure her smile was just right. She wished to show dignity and mercy at the same time, and eventually worked her face into a curious half-smile that brought out the heavy lines in her cheeks. The overall effect was one of confusion, the upper half of Mother’s face conveying one message, the lower half another.
I have the habit of being much too curious and forward for my own good, and this usually gets me into trouble. Nevertheless, I ventured to ask Mother if she would have the sculptor make her portrait with the ears more even than her own. She has always been rather conscious of the fact that her ears are not level with each other. However, she replied forcefully that she wished to be portrayed exactly as she looked, right down to her sagging skin and the lines in her neck. She wanted no alterations or fanciful “stylistic choices.” It was a new fashion, she said, to look like a normal person in your portrait, to look as though you had lived a bit. Since Father was the most successful man in the area at the time, Mother wished to look as though she was worthy of him. The lines of her face would tell all who visited the front room, whether just to take a rest from the heat of the summer or to meet with the head of the household, that she had greeted many guests and entertained many important people in her day. The knowing half-smile would show that she was a welcoming and understanding hostess, able to balance her children and her demanding social obligations with skill.
The experience made me contemplate the preservation of my own memory someday through a funerary sculpture. Mother had thought so hard about how future generations of people would think of her, about how much they might be able to read from her portrait. We survive forever only through memory, and she wished to be remembered for her best features. But only features that she could truly claim as hers. It is difficult to imagine the people of the future looking at her carefully constructed marble face to see the person that was so dear to me. Perhaps in the future the people will look at her lined face and her sunken eyes and think her ugly or old. Perhaps they will look and think of her style of hair as odd or completely out of fashion. Perhaps they will think her overly masculine looking. Perhaps they will see her simply as a sculpture and not a person at all. But it is certain that her countenance will be contemplated, and her memory will therefore live on. And as long as there is memory, there is life.
Cue ridiculously dramatic opener music.
Enter Mrs. Slade.
She is a vibrant woman, dark, tall and beautiful.
Enter Mrs. Ansley.
She is paler, shorter, less vibrant than her opponent.
Outwardly the two may seem unevenly matched, yet they will duke it out like gladiators without ever leaving their chairs, and they will go for several rounds. How fitting that their chairs look out over the Colosseum from a rooftop restaurant above the
Cue majestic, sweeping footage of the Roman Forum. Cue majestic, sweeping music.
The Forum is an ideal setting for this particular story to take place.
Undoubtedly both women can see the triumphal arches of Titus, Septimius Severus, and Constantine from their vantage point. This is the site where generals of old paraded their victories to the populous of ancient
Cue footage from a gladiatorial match.
Mrs. Slade lands the first blow, seeming to cripple her opponent. Things look very bad for Mrs. Ansley as her false memories crash around her. She is a broken woman, and all seems lost for her. Then suddenly, with three words, Mrs. Ansley, still injured, lands the ultimate blow, and the battle is over, leaving Mrs. Slade devastated in the heart of
Cue musical crescendo and clashing of cymbals.
Credits roll.
Cut.
For those of you who haven't read this story, you should do it.
http://classiclit.about.com/library/bl-etexts/ewharton/bl-ewhar-roman.htm