Giornale 3: Santa Maria del Popolo

Panorama of the Church

After visiting St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican this morning, it only seemed appropriate to go on a solo excursion to another religious place. Amari, Emily, and I decided to take the Metro around 3pm to Flaminia to visit the Church of Santa Maria del Popolo in the Piazza del Popolo. We had passed the exterior of the Church on the way to dinner a few nights ago and all of us agreed that it was worth another visit to the Piazza. When we arrived, however, the church was closed and we realized that we had an hour to kill before 4 o’ clock. We decided to walk down the Via del Corso and try to find the Casa di Goethe, another site on the list of optional solo excursions. We even asked a few people working in retail stores and got blank looks; I’m guessing either Goethe is pronounced totally differently in Italian or it’s a small museum. After our unsuccessful search for the museum, we headed back to the Church and waited on the steps until the doors opened. I wasn’t expecting so many of the people resting on the steps to get up along with us, but most of them were waiting on the same thing. Walking through the doors of the Church I was surprised by my reaction. I had assumed that after seeing such magnificent basilicas like St. Peter’s and St. John Lateran’s, I would be underwhelmed by a smaller church. The Church of Santa Maria del Popolo, however, was just as ornately decorated. Each of the bordering chapels was filled with paintings, marble sculptures, and intricate moldings. And the Church housed works of some quintessentially Roman artists that we have seen all over Rome like Bernini and Caravaggio. While reading the labels in front of each chapel I considered how prolific these great Renaissance artists must have been to have their work commissioned all over the city. The Church also had many unique features that I had not noticed in any other churches or basilicas. For example, the altar was cheerfully decorated with sunflowers. This bright pop of yellow made the Church feel more accessible; I could easily picture parishioners attending mass here on a weekly basis. Additionally, the chapels along the side walls were very memorable because of their stylistic differences. Some consisted mainly of paintings (such as the one housing the Caravaggio paintings), others were entirely white marble, and some were highly wrought with variations of marble in black, green, and red. I also noticed many more symbols of death than I have seen in other buildings. Near the entrance was an eerie hooded marble skeleton in a niche covered with iron bars. And throughout the church were skulls and crossbones and other motifs of death. After sitting in the pew for a few minutes and reflecting while jotting notes in my journal, I was glad that I had chosen the Church of Santa Maria del Popolo as my third solo excursion; for an unassuming façade and scale, it was rich with valuable works of art and eclectic style.

Voyeur: Piazza Navona

Sitting on a shady bench at the end of the Piazza Navona, I am facing a caffeteria and ristorante called Dolce Vita. The one patron in particular who stands out to me is an elderly man. He is deeply engrossed in his newspaper and must have been sitting here for a while because his coffee cup has long been cleared by the waiter. For a man of his age he must be retired, yet he is more than presentable in his freshly dry-cleaned blue button down shirt and crisply pressed dress pants. His white moustache and large reading glasses round out the ensemble perfectly. It seems that he is performing the first ritual of his day, because he is so at ease at the caffeteria and rarely looks up from what he is reading; he never once makes I contact with me, though I am facing his direction and keep glancing at him. Yet, like many Italians, he is also a natural voyeur. I can tell this because he has deliberately rotated his chair completely away from the table and is facing the sidewalk and Fountain of Neptune. When turning pages of his paper he finally looks up and surveys his surroundings, which have probably shifted slightly since he first sat down. I doubt he can tell he is being watched, because for him this is a daily routine and moment of complete solitude. Sitting in the shade, admiring his long-time city of residence, he can gather his thoughts and start his day on the right foot.  

Giornale 2: Castele Sant'Angelo

Today I decided to take my second solo excursion literally and go by myself to the Castel Sant’Angelo. The enormous castle is situated on the Tiber River alongside the bridge of the same name and is a short walk from our dorms at St. John’s. Although I was feeling a little under the weather, the shining sun and prospect of going to a museum on my own with no restrictions on where I go and how long I can take gave me a small boost. Waiting in line at the ticket office, I heard at least three languages being spoken around me. There were tourists from America, England, and Germany as well as some native Italians. I wasn’t expecting the site to be so popular, but the line was quite long. Once again upon entering the castle, I was amazed by its sheer size. Even though its fortified walls and bastions make the entire structure seem larger, the main building itself is significantly larger than what I perceived the remains of the Mausoleum of Augustus to be. This is in keeping with the ancient emperors attempting to outdo each other and reminded me of Nero outdoing the original palaces on the Palatine with the massive Domus Aurea. After buying my ticket, I examined the walls from the inside. The high arches and underpasses reminded me of the base floor of the Colosseum. Then I walked up the stairs to the first landing, where I could look out over the Tiber and even glimpse the top of St. Peter’s Basilica. Walking through the dimly lit passageways, the atmosphere of the building felt cold and gloomy. I would peer through small doorways and niches in the wall only to find them blocked off with stone. These unexplained architectural mysteries are probably a result of the structure’s many transformations and expansions from the original 2^nd century CE structure. The maze-like organization of the fortress made it sometimes difficult to navigate. If I resided in the fortress during medieval times, I would feel both a sense of security and anxiety from its labyrinthine structure. Some areas were also closed off with locked iron gates, and I could only catch glimpses of smaller rooms that may only be opened for special exhibits. Also in these dark and winding staircases were walls labeled as “muro Romano” and an ancient sepulcher. These parts of the castle were architectural reminders of the layered and built up structure. Despite the architectural evidence of its ancient origins, however, the focus of the museum itself was on its more recent papal uses. The gallery of religious iconography had many paintings and sculptures similar to those in the Galleria Borghese. One of the most memorable pieces was a statue of the Grim Reaper called the ‘Allegory of Death’ by Giuseppe Lazzerini, which provided a stark contrast to the depicted nativity scenes. Another striking feature was the sculpture of the Archangel Michael, which gives the castle its name. According to the Blue Guide, legend has it that St. Gregory saw the angel atop the fortress after praying for the cessation of the plague in 590. After walking through the majority of the museum, I felt that I had grasped the historical evolution of the structure. Like so many other sites in Rome, the Castel Sant’Angelo provides a kind of “two-for-one” experience, connecting Ancient Rome to the Holy Roman Empire.

Giornale 1: Piazza del Popolo

On Friday when we traveled to go to dinner at Il Margutta “RistorArte” with Dan’s friend Alessandra Bava, I caught my first glimpse of the Piazza del Popolo. After a short ride on the Metro from Lepanto to Flaminia, entering the Piazza was more impactful than I expected. As we approached the central obelisk, I could find few visual differences with the Piranesi sketch we had studied for the final exam. It was around 7:30 at night but the sun was still out and it was the perfect temperature, so I had no problem waiting around outside before our 8pm dinner reservation. While standing with the group, Emily and Dan were trying to identify the statues of Roman gods at either end of the piazza. One was definitely Neptune, and we concluded that the other was probably a deceivingly masculine Minerva. We also looked around at different street performers and tourists making their way through the square. Many stopped to take photographs while street vendors tried to seize these opportunities to sell roses and other superfluous items. At the center of the piazza there was a tall obelisk with Egyptian hieroglyphs covering the entire surface. Every time we see an obelisk I think of the original intent of its display. This one, brought to Rome by Augustus, certainly reminds any Roman of the original scope of the massive empire. Unlike a simple column or arch, the mystery and exoticness of obelisks exhibit Rome’s diversity and expansiveness. At the base of the obelisk in the piazza, there are more recent sculptures of lions and steps. Many people were resting on the steps and admiring the sunset, while a few of our Rome Kids mounted the lions for a photo opportunity. As depicted in the head-on perspective of the Piranesi engraving, there are also two churches in the Piazza del Popolo. The Church of Santa Maria in Montesanto and Santa Maria dei Miracoli are so similar that they are nearly indistinguishable from each other. They give a sense of balance and symmetry to the space, just like the fountain sculptures of Neptune and Minerva do in their location adjacent to the churches. For such a public area and center of tourism and commerce, the Piazza del Popolo was surprisingly calm. If I were a citizen or inhabitant of Rome I would not avoid the area like I might avoid tourist-y locations like the Colosseum. I can picture myself going out to dinner or shopping in the area uninhibited and unbothered by crowds. Spending just half an hour standing on the cobblestone in the square, I can remember my observations perfectly. Between the immediate recognition from Piranesi’s drawings to the logical balance and symmetry of the piazza, I know it is a site of Rome I will not soon forget.

Ekphrasis 2: La Bottega Di Un Antiquario by F. Francken Il Giovane

I was astounded at the sheer amount of artwork housed in the Galleria Borghese; each room is lined with paintings and many have murals, relief work, and paintings on the ceilings. Although many of the works were either classical (usually relating to Ancient Roman and Greek deities) or religious in subject matter, one of my favorite pieces was the painting ‘La Bottega Di Un Antiquario’ by the 17^th century painter Frans Francken Il Giovane. Although not large in scale, the painting is extremely detailed. It struck me as unique because of its meta nature. The painting depicts three men in, as the title gives away, an antique story or art gallery. The men, who appear to be the owner and employees or clients of the shop, are not the focus of the painting and are sitting in the bottom left corner of the scene. The walls are lined with at least fifteen paintings and the upper molding shelves smaller statues in different materials ranging from marble to bronze. On the bare, uncluttered floor of the room a monkey and small dog rest. The attention to detail in each painting makes the whole scene very meta, as Francken directs as much attention to each small work as the painting itself.The gallery’s paintings, depicting mostly individuals in social scenes as well as some still lifes and landscapes, are deliberately in the same style as Francken’s own paintings: they are all realistic, vivid in color, and slightly whimsical. This one painting presents the viewer with so many layers to examine and is in a perfect setting at the Galleria Borghese. Francken delights art enthusiasts by offering multiple paintings within one work and the painting appropiately depicts a gallery while being housed in one of the world’s most famed galleries.  

Image source: settemuse.it

Q & A: The Palatine Hill

As I was walking along the paths of the scenic Palatine Hill, it was obvious why the Roman aristocracy has valued it as the most desirable real estate for nearly three thousand years. The area is conveniently a short distance from each of the fora and its height provides panoramic views of the city’s landmarks. As I was exploring the ruins of the imperial palaces, however, I began to wonder why emperors were so hasty to rebuild and effectively change the face of the historical land so many times. Since the Palatine is thought to be the very land on which Romulus and Remus were nursed by the she-wolf and the preferred hill of the ultimate victor Romulus, why would emperors want to manipulate the land and repurpose predecessor’s designs? Palaces like the Domus Aurea were hailed for their splendor; why, then, did later emperors like Domitian and Hadrian cram the land with their own visions of architectural grandeur? Reading about these changing dynamics across different imperial reigns, I have realized that the answer is complex. Emperors like Domitian in fact incorporated parts of the Domus Aurea into his own palace, and their pursuits were influenced by the damnatio memoriae of Nero. The existence of the cryptoporticus of Nero, for example, is a functional part of the Domus Aurea that was not destroyed because it connected the Domus Flavia with the Domus Tiberiana. Although there was certainly an element of megalomania and extravagance in the emperors building palace upon palace on the Palatine Hill, it is useful to understand the historical contexts within which each palace was built. The ruins, even the deceiving substructures and inaccessible excavations in progress, are physical manifestations of political failures and successes of an empire that has come to be defined by its structures.

Ekphrasis 1: The Dying Gaul in the Capitoline Museums

In the Palazzo Nuovo of the Capitoline Museums, the sculpture that struck me most was the ‘Dying Gaul.’ Because most Hellenistic sculptural imitations are of upright gods and goddesses, the more horizontal pose of a clearly mortal man is unique. The anguish on his lowered face and his exasperated limbs are detectable even before getting a closer look at the mortal wound on his abdomen. When seen up close, the features are not classically Roman (especially the peculiar moustache) and one can assume that the depicted warrior is a foreigner and outsider of Rome. The soldier has abandoned his sheild and sword and understands that his fate is grim.  If the sculptor was a Roman himself, perhaps his subject’s defeat is representative of Rome’s military domination and expansion into neighboring regions. Aesthetically, the amount of detail and sense of emotion in features like the furrowed brow and clamped hands captures the tension of the scene. What would have been a fleeting moment in battle, a fleeting instant before death, is instead preserved poignantly in marble.

Space and Place: The Forum Romanum

Today’s tour of the Roman Forum began with the first Adopt-a-site presentation of the Basilica of Maxentius and Constantine. Although we could not get past the gates, the scale of the partially preserved basilica was impressive, even at a distance, and provided a solid first visual reference by which to compare the other buildings. Walking through the forum past ruins of once-massive buildings like the Basilica Aemilia or the Temple of the Divine Julius Caesar, which are little more than rubble today, one can imagine how extraordinary the landscape would have been two thousand years ago. The space feels controlled and even today has a natural course, which the forum’s original architects surely intended. As a modern tourist, I am awestruck by the sheer scale diversity of functions that the buildings possess. And although I’m not Italian, I feel a sense of Roman Pride. From the Arch of Titus’ depiction of the sack of Jerusalem to the remains of the Temple of Castor and Pollux, each structure is as much functional as it is evocative of Rome’s glory. I can picture Ancient Romans passing each building and appreciating not only its economic, political, religious, or social purpose but also its preservation of a specific triumph of their people. By the end of the walk through the forum, this  aura of Rome’s collective memory made the ruins feel animate, not abandoned.

1st Post: 8 days fino a partenza!

It’s hard to believe that after so much anticipation and preparation, we’ve completed CC 265 and are now transitioning into TX 201. The idea of going to Rome this spring was actually planted in my mind over a year ago when I came to Skidmore on an Accepted Candidates Day in April 2010. The Classics department table had brochures and I immediately imagined myself taking the course. Looking back, it was pretty irrational and presumptuous to have my sights set on taking a class in the second semester of my freshman year at a college I hadn’t yet decided on enrolling in. I almost missed the application deadline in October, too--but here I am! And I have no reservations about the trip. I can vividly picture the first days of class when Dan and Jackie showed us the course website with the ticker saying that there were over 100 days fino a partenza. Sitting inside Ladd Hall in snow boots and my winter jacket, this looming number made Rome in May seem ages away. But these past few months have flown by—our focus on course readings, the catastrophic midterm exam, and the final has given me little time to really reflect on the cumulative experience until now. In applying for the seminar I was most excited about seeing ancient monuments and famous works of art in person. Even though we had a lot of assigned readings, I felt like the literary perspectives were secondary to these physical structures in my constructing a mental image of the city. Having the knowledge of the “hard city,” from the Augustan Regions and now-ruined temples to the modern Rioni and recent buildings, I feel as if I am revisiting a place from my childhood. I have the specific angles of Piranesi’s engravings still in my mind, and I’ve spent hours exploring on Google Maps street view (both the ancient 3D and modern layers). At first, I may be disoriented, but one significant visual symbol will trigger an entire cache of memories and I will soon feel at ease.
Because of all of this, I look forward to finally getting to Rome, where I can finally apply this knowledge to tangible things and locations. For the next week when I don’t have any schoolwork to do, I am positive that it will be the only future event that I can think or dream about. I know we’ve discussed the possibility of over-romanticizing the trip, but it would be impossible for me not to enjoy seeing what we have studied all semester come to life. Reading the letters of Florence Nightingale, who traveled to Rome in her 20’s like many women on the Grand Tour, definitely confirms this for me. She was obviously educated in Latin literature, the history of the Roman Empire, religion, and art, yet wrote about how awe-inspiring landmarks like the Coliseum and St. Peter’s Basilica are at first seeing them. It will also be rewarding to visit these great sites with my classmates and professors who have each dedicated a lot of time and effort to fully appreciate them.
Arriving in Rome, my mood is half sluggishly jet-lagged and half energized with excitement. After getting our bags, a process that miraculously does not go awry due to someone’s lost suitcase, I begin to take note of my surroundings. I try to remember the chapters of my Prego textbook from Elementary Italian and pick up on conversational vocabulary. I’m not sure if it’s my paranoia of having an outwardly ‘American’ appearance, but I hope that our large group goes unnoticed and the natives don’t peg us immediately as tourists. On our way to our home for the next two weeks, Dan says one of his legendary quotable lines and Jordy or Alissa desperately try to access Facebook on their adapting cell phones before the moment is forgotten. Once we arrive and unpack, we fight the tempting urge to lie down on our beds and rest for a few hours. Two weeks, though a nice amount of time to spend abroad, does not allow for a lot of down time, especially on the first day when we have so much of the city to see for the first time. But we don’t mind and know that caffeine and eagerness will motivate us to wake up early every morning and see as much of the city as possible. As we get our bearings of the dorm and unload our bags, it finally sets in that we are really here. For the next fourteen days we will do as the Romans do: sip espresso outside cafes, people watch, and attempt to parlare Italiano under Gia’s guidance. Half of us will probably breeze through our stipends in the first week, tempted by Italian boutiques’ offerings and deceived by currency exchange rates. We’ll probably keep running lists of everything we observe, form tracking the plaque’s of different Rione to the number of Paolos we meet. Walking outside in Rome to the first site we are visiting, I look around and consider all these possibilities, feeling content. I’m content with the much sunnier-than-Saratoga weather, the promise of two weeks of sampling different gelato flavors, and the reality that I’ll be learning about and experiencing a new culture with enthusiastic peers. Arrivederci, Skidmore, e Ciao Roma!