I entered the spiritual heart of Roman Catholicism and looked around: Vatican City. Christened as a papal state in 1929, the state itself is actually only a piazza long, consisting of just St. Peter's Basilica and the Vatican Museum; a direct contrast to the amount of history there. Statues were piled on sarcophagi, and as Maia and I walked ahead with our tour group, the suns glare jagged the bronze saints before us: leaving me shadowed in a gray pattern of belief.
How do you work the audio tour again...?
La Cappella Sistina, Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel, is by far the most famous stop in the Vatican Museum. The Chapel is the last point in the Museo's tour, and stands right before the Gift Shop--a valid marketing strategy for Italians and Americans alike. The entire ceiling, walls and pulpit of this room are frescoed, with each character conveying its own identity and narratives from the Book of Genesis and Last Judgment. Benches were built into the walls, and as I stared up at the ceiling I saw a Greek-looking God touching fingers with a frail Adam; a stream of Christianity still prominent today. Both characters stretched to find one another, with separation suffering ever contour of their face, and leaving the word "achievement" in my mind. The Sistine Chapel took Michelangelo 15 years to fresco, and strained his back in the process. It was finished in the 15th century, and originally criticized for the amount of nudity displayed. The opposition got Daniele de Volterra to cover the genitals of specific characters which, when discovered by Roma's artistic community, earned Volterra the nickname "trouser-maker," along with no outside commissions. The alteration has since been removed, and Michelangelo's four-sides of biblical thought have been restored, leaving me to wonder at their artistic tour de force.
The four rooms before the Sistine Chapel are the Stanze di Raffaello, the Raphael Rooms. They are allegories on the humanist ideals of theology, philosophy, poetry and justice, and show four great leaders in all these fields: Plato, Aristotle, Da Vinci and Michelangelo. The walls and ceiling are frescoed in gold paint and shadows from the sun, leaving each corner illuminated beautifully. The limbs and expressions in the characters are defined, drawing the main idea of humanism clear: faith with freedom. They are a beautiful build-up to La Sistina.
La Cappella Sistina e Le Stanze di Raffaello are the most notable achievements in the Vatican Museum--but every work in the Museo has earned its place. The Egyptian mummy, with its bandages undone, heightens statues from the Etruscan Years, and the Jesus of the Contemporary Art Wing abstractly extracts emotion from Botticelli's Renaissance frescoes. Belief was a common theme throughout all these works, and as cities and empires crumbled, corners of their culture remained, wrinkling present space with past thought, and showing that human existence is just one pattern of faith overlapping another--the darkness between them just a separation from concrete to cloud.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Eternal City
The church doors were locked and I had no place to go. My roommate Maia and I were on our first solo expedition through Roma and, typical to Italian form, we began the journey late: ugly Americans. After two failed touristy attempts, Maia and I decided to venture farther into Central Roma, where the concrete tidal wave of standing ruins among fallen civilizations stood tall.
So Via della Luce intersects Via del Genovesi where we should turn right but not before passing Santa Cecilia in Trastevere?
We arrived in Campo dei Fiori. A bronze statue of Giordano Bruno stood front and center. In the 1600s, Rome's political environment was not one to be trifled with; political thought centered around the pope's every whim. Bruno, the bronze, had the nerve to suggest the separation between church and state--that was an unpopular idea. Bruno was tried for his opinions, convicted of heresy, and burnt at the stake. Now, a fountain stands where his ashes fell. Today, the Campo seemed like a hectic place where sullen street vendors always accepted the lowest price haggled. But, in less than modern times, this piazza was the center for intellectuals and anti-establishment thinkers. Maia and I stopped to look at small statues of the piazza and, fearing confrontation with the street vendors, we walked on.
Next, we went to Piazza Navona, most notably the most beautiful piazza in all of Rome. The piazza is actually an old stadium, with its elliptical shape honoring its ancient history. Maia and I walked in, and immediately saw street performers dancing with rubber chickens, to vast entertainment of crowds gathered around. The acts were hilarious, but always came to a close: nothing compared to the permanent fontanas of yesteryear. In the center of the piazza is Fontana di Fiumi, a massive statue depicting the four great rivers of the 17th century: the Danube in Europe, the Ganges in Asia, the Nile in Africa and the Rio de la Plata in the New World. Gian Lorenzo Bernini, the man behind the fountain, apparently stole the fontana's commission from the artist Borromini. Borromini built the Church of Sant'Agnese in Agone, the chiesa next to Piazza Navona, and was commissioned to build the Fontana di Fiumi as well: until Bernini "stepped in" with the Pope's sister. After that, the pope's mind was promptly changed. Art vendors began to set up their paintings in the piazza and, as the piazza dimensions were slowly watercolored from three to two, Maia and I left for our last stop of the day: the Pantheon.
I've visited Rome once before with my grandparents, and the Pantheon was my favorite site.
Today, my memory did not disappoint. It was later in the day, but the low light still dissolved the faded columns in my mind. The view was impressive. The ceiling of the Pantheon is a large dome, meant to represent the sky, with a hole cut in the center, to represent the sun. It is a 2,000 year old pagan church, which, in the 17th century made the conversion to Catholicism. This change in ideology is said to have fostered preservative attempts. Pope Boniface IV oversaw this change and transferred over 28 cartloads of bones of martyrs there. Raphael, the painter, is buried in the Pantheon. It is the best-preserved and, in my opinion, most beautiful structure in all of Rome.
We exited the Pantheon, and outside the sky fell purple: the international monopoly sign to head directly home. The bus ride back was uneventful and, as we passed gates shutting, with neon "open" signs burning "closed," the Eternal City glowed on, with 2,000 years of ruinous memory and civilization standing in the careful moonlight.
So Via della Luce intersects Via del Genovesi where we should turn right but not before passing Santa Cecilia in Trastevere?
We arrived in Campo dei Fiori. A bronze statue of Giordano Bruno stood front and center. In the 1600s, Rome's political environment was not one to be trifled with; political thought centered around the pope's every whim. Bruno, the bronze, had the nerve to suggest the separation between church and state--that was an unpopular idea. Bruno was tried for his opinions, convicted of heresy, and burnt at the stake. Now, a fountain stands where his ashes fell. Today, the Campo seemed like a hectic place where sullen street vendors always accepted the lowest price haggled. But, in less than modern times, this piazza was the center for intellectuals and anti-establishment thinkers. Maia and I stopped to look at small statues of the piazza and, fearing confrontation with the street vendors, we walked on.
Next, we went to Piazza Navona, most notably the most beautiful piazza in all of Rome. The piazza is actually an old stadium, with its elliptical shape honoring its ancient history. Maia and I walked in, and immediately saw street performers dancing with rubber chickens, to vast entertainment of crowds gathered around. The acts were hilarious, but always came to a close: nothing compared to the permanent fontanas of yesteryear. In the center of the piazza is Fontana di Fiumi, a massive statue depicting the four great rivers of the 17th century: the Danube in Europe, the Ganges in Asia, the Nile in Africa and the Rio de la Plata in the New World. Gian Lorenzo Bernini, the man behind the fountain, apparently stole the fontana's commission from the artist Borromini. Borromini built the Church of Sant'Agnese in Agone, the chiesa next to Piazza Navona, and was commissioned to build the Fontana di Fiumi as well: until Bernini "stepped in" with the Pope's sister. After that, the pope's mind was promptly changed. Art vendors began to set up their paintings in the piazza and, as the piazza dimensions were slowly watercolored from three to two, Maia and I left for our last stop of the day: the Pantheon.
I've visited Rome once before with my grandparents, and the Pantheon was my favorite site.
Today, my memory did not disappoint. It was later in the day, but the low light still dissolved the faded columns in my mind. The view was impressive. The ceiling of the Pantheon is a large dome, meant to represent the sky, with a hole cut in the center, to represent the sun. It is a 2,000 year old pagan church, which, in the 17th century made the conversion to Catholicism. This change in ideology is said to have fostered preservative attempts. Pope Boniface IV oversaw this change and transferred over 28 cartloads of bones of martyrs there. Raphael, the painter, is buried in the Pantheon. It is the best-preserved and, in my opinion, most beautiful structure in all of Rome.
We exited the Pantheon, and outside the sky fell purple: the international monopoly sign to head directly home. The bus ride back was uneventful and, as we passed gates shutting, with neon "open" signs burning "closed," the Eternal City glowed on, with 2,000 years of ruinous memory and civilization standing in the careful moonlight.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Study hard and work right, then you can play all night
...talk about incentive. I just arrived in Rome and my ISC ("Italian Student Companion") was leading my roommates and I to a bar. Andiamo!: the cafe had two rooms and sold mostly Peroni, a popular Italian beer. All the American students stood outside, and while we sipped our sodas, a man on a vespa weaved through the crowd selling roses; blanco e rosso solo un euro!
I had arrived in Rome 3 hours before. My flight was delayed. By the time I was ready at the meeting location, the person supposed to pick me up left: leaving me stuck. I pulled my suitcases, purse and heavy language barrier through the Fiumicino airport. Italian vendors passed me, and arrival and departure airplanes zoomed ahead, leaving me still as the pillar I stood against. Soon, the situation became clear: I needed to get to my apartment and I needed to get there on my own.
I decided to try the vendors. The first one didn't understand what I was saying and tried to sell me a tour. The second spoke English and recommended the Italian bus system; I didn't even know what that was. Finally, a third vendor understood my situation; I bought five minutes worth of Internet and phone cards from her and called my study-abroad counselor. My options were either the train or a cab; I opted for the cab. One hundred euros, three hours and a disgusting amount of airline sweat later, I walked through the door of my apartment and was ready to turn it into my home.
Non grazie per "los roses" signor?
I stood outside the bar and the man on the vespa drove away, leaving a trail of flower petals flying behind him. The roses glowed, half-illuminated by the moon, and I thought of Shakespeare writing, "But what is in a name? that which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet?" I had known this phrase before, but suddenly it occurred to me that Shakespeare must have wrote the line while abroad, because as the night bloomed before me, I understood these next 4 months were mine to name and to know "Rome" (but what is a name?) however I please.
I had arrived in Rome 3 hours before. My flight was delayed. By the time I was ready at the meeting location, the person supposed to pick me up left: leaving me stuck. I pulled my suitcases, purse and heavy language barrier through the Fiumicino airport. Italian vendors passed me, and arrival and departure airplanes zoomed ahead, leaving me still as the pillar I stood against. Soon, the situation became clear: I needed to get to my apartment and I needed to get there on my own.
I decided to try the vendors. The first one didn't understand what I was saying and tried to sell me a tour. The second spoke English and recommended the Italian bus system; I didn't even know what that was. Finally, a third vendor understood my situation; I bought five minutes worth of Internet and phone cards from her and called my study-abroad counselor. My options were either the train or a cab; I opted for the cab. One hundred euros, three hours and a disgusting amount of airline sweat later, I walked through the door of my apartment and was ready to turn it into my home.
Non grazie per "los roses" signor?
I stood outside the bar and the man on the vespa drove away, leaving a trail of flower petals flying behind him. The roses glowed, half-illuminated by the moon, and I thought of Shakespeare writing, "But what is in a name? that which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet?" I had known this phrase before, but suddenly it occurred to me that Shakespeare must have wrote the line while abroad, because as the night bloomed before me, I understood these next 4 months were mine to name and to know "Rome" (but what is a name?) however I please.
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