Giornale Part 2: ~en Roma~

Waking up quite early, a necessity in order to make it back in time for the morning activity, Claire, Emily and myself began out adventure departing on the train from Lepanto. Upon arriving we were guided on a short walk to the entrance of the Church and old Cappuccini monastery. It was situated on a side street, with tall shady trees looming over it, disguising much of the church from view. These trees prevented the full majesty of the church to be appreciated but the staircase up showed it to still be quite the monumental structure. I began to immediately and eagerly climb the stairs to the highest entrance before Claire quickly called me back pointing to a rather inconspicuous side door. Upon entering I was surprised by the highly modern room that presented itself more as a hotel lobby then as a museum entrance. We quickly payed and proceeded inside and were greeted by the museum before the crypt itself. The beginning of the museum was the most interesting with the origins of the monastery on display with early artifacts. These artifacts ranged from the monk’s daily goods such as their shoes, books and dining goods to their beautiful works of art and above all their reliquaries.

               These were seen as either crosses or books, each with tiny glass fronts which contained splinters and fragments of various relics. Pieces of the cross, toenails of saints, bits of hair, in other words, almost anything that had come in contact with those who are seen as most holy by the church. The museum continued onward in the history of the monastery and their history within the more modern age. This became substantially less interesting to me without any real reasoning but more so due to the lack of material goods and the growing number of photographs, letters, and descriptions of the successes of the modern catholic church.

               We began to speed through the last part of the museum equally due to our growing disinterest in the content and excitement about the approaching crypt. As we entered the crypt, I was initially a little disappointed at the size, I could see the end of it from the entrance and took that as a bad sign. However, my initial reaction was quickly put to bed as I turned and examined the first exhibit. It is at first almost hard to notice the bone, with the exception of the skulls, as they are so expertly intertwined and joined into pieces of art and wall. As I gazed around the room becoming more and more amazed, I looked up for the first time and received a heart attack noticing the bone chandelier mere inches from my head. After this room we were then greeted by the first of the mummified monks. For me their size was the most apparent thing, greatly reduced in stature by the decay of death these men were perhaps five feet tall. After that I was enthralled by their state of preservation. They had noses, nails and teeth and all seemed to be smiling at me as I passed. Through this entire process I was in awe at the pure amount of death around me. In one room I made the mistake of counting the skulls and received a number of roughly 500 on one wall. 500 people on one wall of one of the six rooms. This terrified me thinking about the thousands of people I must be walking past through this museum.  

Ekphrasis Part 2: ~en Rome~

The light of the image centers upon the boy’s face, his black hair with playful curls matching the shadows just outside the limits of the beam of light. His curls are tight with only little holes to let the light through and continue down to stretch around the gentle curve of his ear. His face is calm and engrossed with his eyes seeming to stare at a point in the center of my chest. The shadows playing on his face turn one of his eyes slightly morose. The slight tilt of his head still provides a clear path down his strong neck with a jutting Adam's apple. From its base, his breast bones expand out towards a highly muscles shoulder with its skin stretched tight by the labor of the shoulder. His physical beauty is only emphasized by the white linen shirt he wears that has fallen loosely halfway down his arm. This shirt is wrinkly and folded all the way down to his wrist where his skin emerges once again in the form of a strong hand grasping a basket of fruit. The basket is full of glistening ripe fruit that looks simultaneously fake and refreshing. These fruits are piled so high they seem to be precariously balanced against the boy’s chest. They vary in size and shape but to seem to all fit together perfectly comprising a mass in which you can see every fruit but that also seems to be one object. The leaves from these fruits extend outward providing splashes of light and color in the otherwise dark shadows that fill the painting.

Caravaggio: Boy With a Basket of Fruit

Vouyer Part Two: ~en Roma~

               Republic Day, a lovely and welcome respite from the vigor of work. The perfect day for a family outing. The man was tall and dressed as a dad head to toe: clad in a plaid short-sleeve shirt, loose slacks, and a fedora. As he walked across the Piazza his face lit up to the sight of a little girl in a yellow dress scootering towards him. He quickly jumped in her way and lifted her in the air as she giggled and hugged him all while quickly chattering in Italian. Clearly, this man had not seen his daughter in some time, the reason for this became all the more apparent as the girl, on her feet once more, grabbed his hand and pulled him towards a bench. On the bench sat a woman engrossed in her phone, paying little attention to her surroundings until the voice of the man reached her. She quickly sat up and styled her hair much as she styled her smile, in an attempt to hide her nervousness and exhaustion. As he approached the man began to beam at her. They had recently spent some time apart, perhaps a break in their relationship which would explain the tangible awkwardness of the encounter or just an innocent trip. However, whatever the case was it was clear that they wanted to be around one another again. As the daughter continued to scooter around them their awkward small talk gave way to laughter and slowly but surely the few feet of room they had given each other on the bench began to close.

Piazza Cavour: 6/2/19