Chianti- My Favorite Pictures

Enjoy some of my favorite images from the grape picking trip!

Philosophical Thoughts

I was astounded when the end of last month was suddenly upon me. Since coming to Italy I have experienced a time warp unparalleled to anything I have experienced before; time seems to pass very quickly when I think about the fact that I have lived in Florence for an entire month, and at the same time seems to pass very slowly each day because I have devoted myself to being fully conscious of my experiences so as to take away as much as I can from my time here. I am sure the fact that Italians do not regard time in the same time-efficient frenzy as Americans also has something to do with my temporal confusion. . . Now that I actually sit down to think about my current views on time, I realize that the list of contributing reasons is much longer.

1) Since I do not have a cell phone out here and clocks are scare in the studio classrooms, I am rarely aware of the actual time

2) October out here is not the same as it is in Colorado; apparently it is snowing in Colorado, while Florence still has to contend with 80 degree afternoons

3) I have a set class schedule, but the traveling I have been doing on the weekends has messed me up enough so as to keep me from really realizing what day of the week it is

While thinking about, and writing about lofty sorts of things, I figured I would take a moment to share with you some of the thoughts that have been piling up in my mind about the International Florence.

We all know that major cities like Florence, are tourist hubs, particularly when the comment is made in reference to the historical downtown area. Translated into different lingo, this also means that Florence is a hub for internationalism. In fact, I often find myself wondering when I am going to encounter true Italian culture. With the exception of my trip to the Post Office, and a few other choice encounters, I feel like I spend most of my day dodging people (of all nationalities) who have just arrived in Florence.

After a talk with my Batik professor, I am now aware of just how much he tourism of Florence has made it an international city; just three years ago, there was only one Chinese restaurant in Florence, while you can currently encounter at least two in the stretch of four blocks. Just three years ago, there was ONE McDonalds in Florence, and now there are multiple McDonalds. Just three years ago, most of Florence was not used to the idea of eating corn as a side dish; more often they grew it just for oil purposes. Now, due to the Spanish influence, corn can be bought as a canned food! (I am not sure if frozen corn is a possibility; Italians do no seem too keen on frozen veggies.)

Therefore, I ask you what it means to be a Florentine? What has become of culture if it is so quick to absorb other cultures? Are we one large melting pot of habits that used to be specific to particular cultures? If an American eats Indian food in Italy, is she/he eating Italian food with a twist. . . or true Indian food?

Thanks for joining Brandi’s Philosophical Musings (The Light and Airy Variety). Tune in next time for more exiting thoughts. . .

Love you all and miss you,

Brandi

End of the Month Musings

As the month comes to a close and I muse on things I have not yet mentioned to you, I felt it appropriate that I leave you with a few thoughts.

1) Always be aware of what you are saying to someone when speaking in another language. Remember my Italian lessons with Marco? Well. . . Marco and I were discussing the Florence versus Liverpool soccer match and drinking doing games. Marco subsequently asked if I ever get drunk while going out for a beer with my friends. Assured that I knew what I was saying in Italian, I vehemently stated that I never get drunk. The very next day, while talking with my fresco professor, I found out that the word I assumed was NEVER is actually the word for always.

Great, my doorman thinks I am a lush.

2) I think it is an absolute crime that, in Europe, Nutella is significantly less expensive than peanut butter. For those of you who know me well, you know that peanut butter made up a hardy portion of my diet back home. I am devastated by this price shift, and believe that the Europeans need to be enlightened about the atrocity they foster: you can buy a 700 gram jar of Nutella for 2 euros, but can only get 150 grams of peanut butter for the same price! To whom would I write a disgruntled letter?

3) The bathroom situation out here is incredibly different! People warned me that I might have an issue finding public restrooms. . . but I never imagined that I would have to search as long and hard as I already have. Often times, bars (local cafes) won’t let you use the bathroom without purchasing something. While this is not terribly unusual, there are usually no large grocery stores to rescue a person in need.

In fact, the situation is so intense that the art history professor at SACI, Helen, has a notorious issue with bathroom usage! In fact, one of my friends, on the return trip from Lucca, asked Helen how long the trip would take. Helen casually responded, “oh, about an hour.” Then, suddenly, a look of horror crossed her face and she asked my friend in return, “why? Do you have to use the bathroom?!”

So, dear friends and family back home, make sure you really KNOW a language before you speak it, complain to anyone and everyone about the atrocious price of peanut butter in Europe, and be grateful that public restrooms are plentiful in the United States!

I love you all, and please stay tuned for next month’s installments!

Brandi

Nintendo and the Secret Service

1) This first image is the best finished exercise for my jewelry class.

2) This is a stunning Brandi posing next to her Herculean god fresco. Don't you just want to stroke the cheek of the sinopia?

3) Getting ready for a herd day in the conservation lab!

I am currently sitting down enjoying a bowl of pasta. Huge surprise, right: Brandi is eating pasta while she is living in Italy. What’s next?! As suggested by an earlier post, I have already fully adopted the notion that waking up before 8 o’clock in the morning is unimaginable. Before you know it, I’ll be speaking fluent Italian. While it is not unimaginable that I could learn a good deal of Italian, I owe a large amount of my education to Marco, my apartment doorman.

Marco is a muscular, silver-haired, gruff-looking man of about sixty who, I don’t doubt, would not hesitate to beat up pesky youngsters. I first saw Marco when I was leaving my apartment building one day; he was just sitting on a bench in the foyer. When I came back to the apartment later that afternoon, Marco was still there. I said, “ciao,” and that was the beginning of our friendship. Now, Marco daily greets me with an exuberant, “ciao, bella” and asks me how I am doing.

Now, I am not sure whether Marco does not know English, or he just refuses to speaks it with me. Regardless, Marco recently told me (in Italian) that I am going to speak GOOD Italian by the time I leave because he is going to teach me. What a relief!

However, if that avenue fails, I could always look to Nintendo to learn Italian; my fresco professors, Mario and Luigi, are also teaching me Italian.

Yes, I did say Mario and Luigi! Oddly enough, Mario actually looks like the videogame superstar; rumor has it that Nintendo actually modeled their characters after these two fresco masters. While I don’t doubt it, I don’t particularly want to ask Mario and Luigi the truth; I prefer the fairytale if the rumor is false.

On that note, seeing as how I have not yet written about the classes I am taking in Italy, I will give you a brief synopsis of what my academic life looks like.

I am taking a batik class; a class dealing with the art of fabric dying. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the process, this class is teaching me to use hot wax as a resist on silk. Once the wax is applied in my desired design, I can dip my silk in different dues, or apply the dye with a paintbrush. My current design is more-or-less a trial run on a regular square of silk. I am enjoying learning the process, so far, and am discovering the beauty of imprecise hot wax application. I will post pictures of my current assignment as soon as I am finished!

I am also taking a class in jewelry making. The first few weeks featured a series of simple exercises to familiarize us with the different tools in the studio, and different finishing processes. Of the techniques we were required to master, I have posted a picture of the best product of my exercise labors. Who knew brass could look so shiny, eh?

I already mentioned that I am taking a fresco class. . . with Mario and Luigi. I just recently finished my first fresco! The assignment was to recreate the bust portrait of a character from Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel. My character, I think, looks rather like a brooding Herculean god. I posted a picture of the sinopia layer above. The sinopia of a fresco is like the rough draft of a paper. Over the top of the sinopia layer lays the finished fresco. I will post a picture of the “finished” product soon!

My final class is a series of lectures and lab sessions about painting restoration. The class is fascinating, and has stirred within me a debate about the value of restoration: now knowing what restoration does to a work of art, I wonder whether we ought to be changing what time naturally does to a work of art. Are we not deteriorating the work further if we cover up what original artist did for the sake of “restoring” the work of art? The other half of my debate is this: because there are such careful processes behind the restoring of a work, and as long as the art works are merely enhanced to almost mimic what they once looked like (after consultation with art historians and scientists), why would we deprive future generations of the privilege of looking at masterpieces? What do YOU think?

The lab section of my conservation class is, by far, my favorite portion of the class; I am bound to secrecy about the specifics of the work completed there! The Studio Art Centers International, where I am attending school, does not have rights to the works we help restore in the lab. Every Friday, therefore, I quietly slip into the lab through the back door. . . under the cover of morning dusk and a black trench coat. I hold my breath and keep my collar turned up and the brow of my fedora pulled down low until I turn on the lights, check to see that everything is as I left it, and ensure that no one has dared to contaminate my ox bone glue with acid.

Feel free to laugh. It’s not actually that serious, but it is fun to image oneself as a top-secret artistic employee. It’s like being a member of the Central Intelligence Agency for art world: we work under the radar of the general public against the forces of. . . parasitic insects and deterioration.

Until next post, I love you all! Still feel free to email me!

Brandi

The MONDAY

Staying in an apartment in the heart of Florence has the tendency to make you feel like you are on a permanent vacation: there are tourist everywhere, people are always in the street snapping pictures (I shamelessly follow suit so that I can document my time here), and on your way to school in the morning, you see at least five temporary stalls filled with plastic David replicas.

Monday the 14^th of September, however, was a MONDAY and, with that, I would like to say that I stopped seeing Florence as a long-term vacation.

Just the day before, I had been Skype chatting with my best friend who informed me that the weather in Colorado had been utterly dreary all weekend. I told her that Florence had still been rather warm, and that I was jealous of the cooler weather.

Monday in Florence featured the first real day of rain since my arrival. The heavens must certainly been enjoying themselves since the streets were a sea of umbrellas all day long.

The rain didn’t actually bother me, but I ought to have taken it as a foreshadowing of events to pass! After class that morning, I trekked out to the main post office to purchase stamps. I selected from the ticket dispenser what I thought was the proper ticket. I waited my turn very patiently, and walked up to the proper window armed with my Italian phrases when my number appeared on the screen.

Everything seemed to be going along smoothly until the postal worker spoke back to me in Italian that I did not understand. My confidence withered and I quickly asked the lady to repeat the phrase in English. She pointed to another window and said, “stamps.”

I walked quickly away from the original window, not really understanding what just happened, but too afraid to ask the lady to explain AGAIN to me what she had said. Plan B was to ask another customer what was going on. An Italian girl my age, thankfully, spoke English, and was able to tell me where to wait.

I waited for about five minutes, all the time being ignored by the postal teller at the proper window, when the Italian girl told me that it might be easier to go to Tabacchi to purchase stamps. Wonderful, I thought. That option might be less intimidating and more fruitful!

I trekked out into the rain once more and spotted a Tabacchi across the street. I walked up to the service man and said in perfect Italian, “I would like ten stamps.” Much to my chagrin, the man pointed out the door of the Tabacchi and said, “post.”

I internally sighed and walked out the door. Now, I would just like to add that, in retrospect, the excursion was not particularly eventful that that there are much worse things that would more officially constitute as MONDAY experiences. However, when you are in a foreign country, know very little of the language, want to accomplish a simple task, and are met with reprimands and directions in words you do not know, what I have described above can be rather hair-raising. Therefore, I decided after the Tabacchi trip, I would save my stamp errand for another day. I had experienced enough of a Monday in a foreign country.

So, the moral of the story is that if you are ever in doubt of that fact that you are LIVING somewhere where people typically vacation, just go in search of a MONDAY. MONDAYS do not discriminate between countries and will provide you with the grounding experience you are looking for.

I would like to add, as a post-script to my story, that I successfully got stamps from another Tabacchi the following day!

Mosaics and Chocolate

1) This is a picture of the famous mosaic starred ceiling in the mausoleum right next to San Vitale. This mosaic you see at the edge of the ceiling is one of the first Christian illustrations of Christ as an actual Shepard. This image becomes very prominent in early Christian art after the birth of this mosaic.

2) This is a picture taken from the entry way of San Vitale. The back wall of the altar is what you see through the large arch in the foreground. If I recall correctly, the Christ figure seated in the center of the apex is 24 feet tall!

Prior to coming to Italy, I would not have flinched about having to wake up at 5 in the morning. I used to wake up nearly that early for Mass on a typical Sunday, woke up that early every day for half a year while I completed my student teaching, and, for a time, endeavored to wake up that early to get an extra workout in at the gym. My time in Italy, which has only been about 14 days, seems to be rubbing off on me, however. When my alarm screamed its wake up call on Saturday, I vaguely thought about the fact that the shops around the city would all be dark for at least four more hours.

In fact, it was so early here in Italy that I was able to make a quick good morning phone call to my mom back in Colorado. Actually, I ended the call with sweet dreams since she was just heading to bed. A minor technicality.

Why was I up so early, you might ask? Well, Saturday was the SACI field trip to Ravenna. I was excited about this trip for multiple reasons. First, and foremost, Ravenna is the site of several historic mausoleums and churches constructed during the reign of Byzantine Empire. The city, therefore, features gobs of beautiful mosaics from early Christianity, and, more-or-less, marks the birth of important symbology in Christian art. I totally geek out about art like this. Besides, what art lover wouldn’t just kill to see San Vitale, a church noted in EVERY art history survey book.

Secondly, while cities are wonderful and exciting, I grew up in the suburbs. This may not mean that I roughed it in the wilderness all my life, but it does mean that I am used to seeing trees and growing things. Florence is concrete, marble, alabaster, and rails. I have found myself longing for greenery the way a fish longs for water. Granted there are city parks 20 minutes from my apartment, but there is something about waking up to the sound of street cleaning machines that makes you miss the birds and cicadas from Aurora, Colorado. Therefore, I was stoked because traveling to Ravenna meant leaving the CITY of Florence.

The trip was certainly everything I hoped it would be! I got my fill of old churches, a wealth of information from the SACI art history teacher about the nuances of every building, and a fair taste of fresh air and grass. The pictures featured above are some of my favorite from the trip. I wish they did justice to the manner in which the mosaics sparkled. The gilding was unlike anything I have ever encountered, particularly because many of the churches we went to had recently undergone architectural restoration. Hooray for having baths! Even buildings benefit from good personal hygiene.

It was 8 o’clock that night when Megan and I staggered into the apartment. As I crossed the threshold of the apartment, thankful to be done with the day’s journey, a queer feeling struck me: I felt a dull pain at the top of my head. The ache magnified in intensity over the next few minutes, and I soon retired to my bedroom to lie down. Seeing as how I felt indisposed to do anything but press my hands to my forehead in the dark of the bedroom, I was happy to hear to soothing tunes of a very talented instrumental trio playing on the street below my window.

Where could I have gotten such a headache? I would like to end this entry with the following words of wisdom that will not only enlighten you, but will bring to a close the mystery of my severe headache: (cough, cough) if you are allergic to chocolate, I would NOT suggest purchasing a bar of dark Italian chocolate a lunch time and proceeding to consume the entire bar in the course of four hours. The wrapper may not so explicitly advise, but heed these words as advice from someone who KNOWS.

Happy chocolate consuming!

Virgin Mother's Birthday!

1) This is a picture of the side of the Cathedral leading up to the infamous dome

2) This is a picture out onto the city from the fancy railing on the Cathedral patios

Several of the girls I live with are required to journal about their study abroad experience in order to receive adequate credit from their American Universities. I am finding that, despite the fact that DU does not require this, it is rather nice to have a place to dump my feeling every few days. The experiences are so new and. . . intense, that being able to more-or-less remove them from my consciousness is a welcome experience.

So, here’s to the next installment!

The entire city of Florence celebrates the Virgin Mary’s birthday on September 8^th! Therefore, in honor of the occasion, there was a lantern parade on the evening of the 7^th. Since Survival Italian was conveniently cancelled, my friends and I rushed over the join in the festivities. We saw gobs of children ridding on their parents’ shoulders, and others toddling alongside grandparents. Most were carrying paper lanterns in the shape of farm animals. Those that weren’t, as tradition dictates, were carrying the supplies to spit small pellets of clay at the paper lanterns. It was a little boy’s paradise! They were all visibly delighted about being able to engage in small-scale war without reprimands from their parents.

When I was getting ready for bed that night, as I took my hair down from it’s up-do, a small pellet of clay dropped to the floor of the bathroom. I had to smile to myself.

The following day, Mary’s birthday, is the only day that Florence opens the rooftop patios of the very large Cathedral here. Therefore, after class, Megan and I ventured over to the Cathedral, which also happens to be right around the corner from our apartment, to scale the church stairs and look out on the views that might be the fruits of a once-in-a-lifetime event. What we were able to glimpse was breathtaking. In a less cliché manner of speaking, my fear of heights introduced me to another variety of breathtaking feelings.

There is so much more to tell, but to keep it short, I will leave you with a few tidbits to chew on:

1) Florence, too, has 99 cent stores! These stores, for the poor college students that frequent the city, might seem like lifesavers when a lunchtime sandwich (merely meat and cheese slapped between two slices of thick bread) can cost up to 10 euros. But, I have heard that their pens offered there lack ink, and the sponges disintegrate in water. What does this mean for the Tupperware I purchased there?

2) I get the impression that Europeans see little need to engage in hard physical exercise!! I came to Florence with the intention of training for dance and competing in European competitions out here. . . I have recently been faced with the fact that the only Irish dance school out here is three hours from where I live, the dance studio nearest me wants to charge me 30 euros for an hour of practice time, and a gym membership could cost a minimum of 200 euros. Where does all the olive oil and carbs go if all the people here are skinny? I fear I might have to kiss my dancing aspirations away for the next few months.

3) My roommate convinced me to tag along for some gelato last night. Let me just say that the creamy richness we experienced from GROM is unparalleled to anything in this world. Their gelato envelopes you without bothering to ask for your consent, and with crazy flavors like fig, I think everyone is prone to develop a sweet tooth. . . until you can’t fall asleep for the next five hours because of all the sugar it contains.

Much love to you all, and please don’t hesitate to write to me! A little slice of home to go with my gelato is more than welcome!

Brandi