Padua is a small city south of Venice, famous for crappy weather and The Scrovegni Chapel. We took a 45 minute train ride to spend the day getting raped and pillaged by museum fees... their gift shops are solely responsible for keeping Italy's economy afloat. Starting in the Musei Civici Palazzo Zuckermann, killing time before our chapel appointment, we checked out ancient pottery that was shattered and pieced back together by a Type-A museum docent that enjoys ultimate frustration and long walks on the beach. There was a Caravagio exhibit teasing us for another 6 euros- decided to save our enthusiasm for Giotti's masterpiece...
This chapel is considered one of the most important fresco cycles in the world (the "cycle" details the life of the Virgin Mary in panels covering the walls and ceiling). Upon entering, you are required to spend 15 minutes in a compression chamber from Star Trek... it's a climate-controlled, air-locked vault, that stabilizes the temperature between outside and in (to improve preservation). Let me preface this by saying, if Giotti were an athlete, he'd be right up there with Kerri Strug’s one footed vault in the '96 Olympics- by far, one of the most impressive things I have ever seen. He was commissioned by some rich, bored bastard to paint Biblical events... in TWO years! When you walk in, it looks like each frame is carved out of stone with marble slats separating each masterpiece... but it is ALL painted. The detail and discipline and TIME that went into this place is unbelievable. No corner was ignored, he even painted where a stone ledge may have broken off- I was more impressed by his illusions than the scenes themselves. Blue and gold were very expensive colors to use in 1305, and the whole ceiling is a bright lapis sky with shiny gold stars. His character's expressions have tremendous emotion- mother's tears streaming down their cheeks, guards making eye contact, looking puzzled, "Should we let this guy in?" You are only allowed to stay 15 minutes, and no cameras are allowed, but it is something I'll hold in my memory bank forever.
A quick jaunt into a church around the corner and then the food mission I look forward to everyday, NOT. Not only is it impossible to fit 15 people into a tiny cafe, it is impossible to move in one direction briskly vs. standing around, waiting for someone to make an executive decision. This is where Kate and I put our blinders on and just go... and the rest will follow. Found a little cafeteria style place with "kitchen and vegetables"... "Gloria" meant chicken. Cheap, full and back on the train to Venice. Quick stop at a grocery for the usual dinner ingredients: cheese, salami and apples... AMAZING gelato found us on the way to the hotel... Coconut and pistachio? Ah, yeah, color me pink and call me Joy. Carnivale has reared it's ugly head and the band in the courtyard outside our hotel summoned us... wine, prosecco, whiskey, beer and... you get the picture. Lots of dancing and fantastic decisions later, we all made it home. Can't say we were all in one piece, but we're still alive.
Art+Italy+Whit=F-U-N... You should try it sometime.... ciao ciao!
O my God Whit! I have missed so much. Just sped through your last week laughing, crying and in general glad to be back in Europe with you. I've been skulking raound in the freezng and muddy river bend area wondering where in the flippen tabernacle my week and the sun went, only to find out that the likes of you have it. We could use a little more of that damn foot printing global warming around here by God! I shall just take my refuge with you and the fucking pigeons. By the way, I completely lost my cookies on that part of the story. When I lived in Europe, I took care of a little boy who whacked them. He was obsessed. He had a whip made out of willow brances he had aquired on easter in Prague which he hid just outside his front door so his mom couldn't sieze. His mom asked me to try to cure him, but in the end, I almost paid him to walk in front of us on our walks through heavily statued areas of Amsterdam. As it was there was no need for payment, the sounds of flustered pigeons was payment enough for him! Now that young boy is a man of 22. he doesn't whack pigeons anymore, but I hear he makes plenty of gestures on approaching the bastards!
ReplyDeleteWell whitty, I do so love you and your eyes. I share your love for art and crave your descriptions. I never saw that chapel and look forward now to a trip.