Momentary Blindness: Aventine Hill

I hear the drips of water as they leave the trees above and fall onto the gravel and the puddles. I feel some of the cold drops land on my skin and my head. The wind comes in waves, every so often bringing in a breeze that causes the trees to shake and whisper and drop more water. A loud crow caws and song birds reply in many different tunes up above me. I hear footsteps on the gravel, starting on my right, passing in front of me, and leaving on my left. More footsteps come and go. Behind all of the noises, the distant blur of traffic hits my ears and blends in to the background. Some voices are nearby. Some children laugh and talk. A man with a raspy voice lectures in an indistinct language. Two people with British accents talk near me and then pass by. The serenity is broken by a drop of rain that hits my neck and slides down my back. An American woman passes by and warns her child, “when we get back to the street you have to get back in the stroller.” The sounds of wheels and feet (and smaller feet) pass by in the direction of the exit. The woman, now farther away insists, “see Emily, Evan likes to get in the stroller.” I hear more wheels on the gravel, this time heavier and louder. The sound grows as they are dragged along in front of me and then finally, I recognize the distinct sound of suitcases rolling on hard ground. I breath in the sweet summer morning air and feel relaxed. The wind sweeps by again and with it the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke. I cough it away and admire how the wind breaths lightly on my face.

(Orange Gardens, 5/28/19)

Ekphrasis: Capitoline Museum

The woman sits upright in her chair with her feet outstretched before her on a footstool. She does not have lights to shine on her. On top of her flowing folded dress, she wraps a veil over her head and across her shoulders and arms. Her left hand holds the opposite side of her waist, clutching herself. With her right hand, she brings the veil up to her face in modesty.

Many pass by her without a second glance. They stand in line to see her beautiful neighbor, the one who is so beautiful that she must have mirrors so that she can admire herself. But no one looks at her, no one even knows her name. She does not get the attention of her naked neighbor, but she also does not want to sacrifice her modesty for fame. She sits there, knowing she will never be as beautiful as the goddess. Her face shows that she has a mind, one with deep thoughts. But when pretty women are admired and your mind cannot be heard, what else is there to do but hide. She now does not worry about not being seen but worries that someone will notice her. How can she compare to her beautiful neighbor?

Perhaps if she could cover herself, no one would see her. All that is exposed beyond the cloth are her feet and her face, showing the beginnings of her hair. She is a bland color of tan, almost blending into the wall behind, falling into the shadow she creates. Her anxiety is written on her face. She raises her eyebrows with a slight frown. With her covered hand to her chin, she sits in worry. She holds herself tight and hopes that her veil is long enough and that the walls will take her in.

(Capitoline Museum, 5/26/19, Seated Female Statue, Imperial age)

Giornale: Church of Gesu

“Wait, I think we passed it,” I looked back down at my Google Maps app and then at the street name. “Yeah, it was that large building that we thought was the French church we saw the other day, but that was near the Pantheon.”

            Emily and I dashed back the way we came and looked at the large, flat and intricate marble front of the church that, although grand, did in fact look very similar to the Church of St. Louis of French that we saw just a few days before. I realized that in Rome, even grandiosity can become repetitive, although no less beautiful. It had started drizzling, so we were glad to get inside of the building. Like many famous cathedrals, this one instantly took my breath away. The overflowing of gold across the ceilings and walls was astounding. The vast intricate paintings on the ceilings were absolutely gorgeous. The white marble statues hanging above were magnificent. The ornateness and intricate designs revealed the care and money that was put into this church. A priest dressed all in black spoke into a microphone in front of the altar. Around 60 individuals listened to his echoing Italian sermon and sat on wooden benches on the front half of the church. Whenever he paused, a wave of silence would fill the large space. A man stood at the center of the church, manning the red velvet rope that separated the church-goers from the rest. Not wanting to intrude, we quietly walked to wooden benches in the back of the church and sat with the other tourists who just wanted to look at the beauty of the church.

            On the bench I scanned the room, trying to capture all of the art. I looked up at the ceiling first. It was darker on the ceiling so the statues and paintings were harder to make out, but I could see many cherubs, young women, and a young man playing a violin-like instrument. Above the altar, there was a statue of a woman surrounded by gold with flowing cloth covering her, carrying what appears to be a hand-mirror. She glared down at me and I wondered who she was and why she was so central to the church. The ceiling was fully painted. Directly above me, there was a painting of figures looking at the heavens opening up. The altar was flanked by columns of orange marble. In the center, there was a portrait of Jesus, surrounded by followers, with a cross behind him. Above the altar was a large gold sun with long rays of gold stretching out. In the center of the sun were the letters IHS. I did not know what it stood for, but it appeared many times around the church so I knew it must be a holy symbol.

            “Let’s look over there,” I gestured to the chapel that was to the right of the entrance. We silently made our way to the apse and looked at the three large paintings. The chapel drew me to it not only because it was farther away from the other people, but also because of the gruesome yet intoxicating painting in the center of a bloodied man, presumably Jesus, covered in ropes and being carried and surrounded by a few men and women with his thorned crown on the ground. To my left another painting showed the scene leading up to it, Jesus, carrying his cross, surrounded by people, both foes and followers. To my right, a painting of Jesus on the cross which lay on the ground. It was unclear whether he was being put on the cross or being taken off of it. Above my head, there was a mural of winged angels clutching to a cross in heaven. I then noticed a doorway under the left painting which looked through all the dark chapels adjacent to the one I was in. At the end, there was a portrait of Jesus, lit up and surrounded by gold. After looking around once more, we decided to head out. As we were leaving, we noticed a small black and brown dog, tied by his leash to the bannister next to the sign of rules. We quietly squealed about his cuteness before exiting the church. We had visited many churches since our arrival at Rome but being able to see one while a sermon was going on really accentuated the holiness of the space. It also made me realize how much beauty is tied to religiosity, using intricate and gorgeous artwork to justify the holiness, power, and importance of the church.

(Church of Gesu, 5/23/19)