writingaboutpaintings

One question people frequently ask me out of genuine curiosity is why I love going to Italy. It is a fair question since I can have the pick of any country to go to in the world, yet I keep going back. For instance, Greece was pretty breathtaking. I never forgot Santorini and neither did ever I forget standing at the newly constructed modern Acropolis Museum overlooking the Parthenon. Greek sunsets burnt deeply and furiously in the deepest shade of crimson and yellow. The rice fields of Bali, the architecture of Gaudi in Barcelona, walking down a street in London, all these places have been immensely gorgeous, but I shall not digress too much writing about them because the article today is really about Italy. My point is that I have been blessed to have seen some pretty amazing things in my life, and yet Italy always beckons me.

They say that the grass is always greener on the other side. I believe that grass on Italian soil glint in the most glorious shade of green, and that’s the best side to be on for anybody. These two years of ‘captivity’ back home has made me miss ‘the other side’ so much. From the glorious sun that burns in the morning that inspired the ‘O Sole Mio’, to the nutty intoxicating smell of freshly made espresso, even waking up in the mornings is a sweet start. Unsurprisingly, Italians traditionally prefer sweet offerings for breakfast. Entering a coffee bar is a whole experience by itself, where you will find a wide variety of pastries lined up, inviting you to take a whiff and dig in.

Apart from the visual feast one is confronted with, and the wonderful aroma sifting in and out of coffee bars, I also miss the concerto of the sound of multiple conversations on a bustling Italian street. My friend Jane once made me laugh when she said that she has never seen a quiet Italian. On some level, she is correct. Friendships are forged and conversations are born easily even in the most unimaginable circumstances. I once had a grandmother who was behind me in the queue at the ATM, and she was having what I believe to be an epic conversation that went on for twenty minutes.If I ever saw la nonna again, I would tell her I am sorry, I understood not a word of what she uttered then. Since I like to be prepared, I resolved to learn their beautiful language, ready for anyone who comes up to me out of the blue to engage in conversation. I have to make it clear that I am not exactly fluent yet, but at least when someone comes up to me for that odd conversation, I am ready.

The famous Italian enthusiasm doesn’t end at friendship. Passion runs in every other aspect of their lives. I once even offended a fruit seller in Verona because i was disrespectfully feeling up his produce. My friend Elena who brought me there told me that Rocco, the fruit vendor is exceptionally jealous of his fruits and was fuming that I had touched them. This comes as no surprise because I heard that Sicilian men are very jealous anyway! Fortunately for me, the fury of Rocco dissipated as soon as the onset of his anger.One can see that our dear Rocco’s zest for his occupation were as promising as the famed giant lemons where he hails from. Lemons in Sicily sometimes grew to such ridiculous proportions , standing in front of one feels like you are painting of Magritte, where proportions barely apply. The ancient Roman saying of Carpe Diem or to seize the day is very much alive in contemporary Italian society. One just lives bigger, feels deeper and speaks louder.

It was all these things that I reminisced about in the past two years. Every trip to Italy was a way to find my way back to myself, recharging the batteries of a battered soul and drained spirit. It was in consideration of all these that I took a giant leap of faith and travelled to Italy despite the uncertainty in the air last month. I was extremely indecisive and this trip to Italy saw me ironically at my most reckless. After ruminating for two weeks, I finally decided I would with a lot of trepidation. With a single black luggage and zero plans, I turned up in a foreign land ten thousand kilometres away, the only comfort was that my regret would far outweigh my fear if I decided to stay. I finally ended up reconnecting with friends I had not seen for ten years, and travelled down South to Salerno to meet them. I can only sum up the hospitality in how I was greeted by them. Uncle Vincenzo who was hosting me told me that me turning up was the best present anyone could have given him, blowing my mind. Anyone back home, based on our own cultural standards and norms would have thought I was putting them out.

After spending a few days in Salerno, I left for Siena. I saw the Tuscan city many years back before I started studying at Bristol University and did a module titled Fourteen Century Sienese Paintings as a consequence. This means that I never had the opportunity to look at Medieval Sienese paintings with the knowledge I later had. I was then eager to return especially to see the works of prominent Sienese artists such as the works of Ambrogio Lorenzetti, Simone Martini and above all, the great Maesta by Duccio di Buoninsegna. I recall the first day I stepped onto the medieval cobblestone grounds of Siena’s city centre, I found a ghost town.There was absolutely nobody. I went on walking for what seemed like an hour before I realised where all the townspeople were- in the Piazza. The very same spot where the famed Palio, a traditional form of horse racing was held twice annually since the dark ages and in its place instead was a gigantic night market selling all kinds of produce. On day two, I went around the Duomo and did a little art tour. I must say that Duccio’s Maesta truly lived up to its name and fame. It was awe-inspiring and utterly impressive. One could only imagine it in its original medieval church setting glimmering under thousands of flickering candlelights. My modern mind cannot help but think about what a fire hazard that must have been, especially because the work was executed on wooden panels.

Eager to see more, I went on to my favourite Italian city, Florence to visit The Uffizi. The famous Florentine museum has always been my favourite, not least because I find the museum less daunting as the Louvre, the Kunsthistoriches or even the Prado where one would realistically need a few days to take in all the art.

I also stopped by Massa-Carrara, the land of the famous Carrara marbles. As it was going to be dangerous to enter the quarries for the climate in November, I had to contend with a faraway view. After all, this place is the stuff of legends. The great Michelangelo himself was said to come here to obtain his marbles and we all know what he created with the material with only his chisel and imagination. From there , I also went to the iconic Cinque Terre and Byron’s Cave in Porto Venere. Not bad for a trip that started out with zero plans!

I finally ended up back in Salerno and had a great lunch with my friends. To send me off, they prepared lunch with a gorgeous menu of lasagna, broccoli and sausages and Italian donuts. They gave me extra love South Italian style, by heaping triple portions on my plate, and I reciprocated that love by cleaning off my plate. Going home was hard, it was almost as if I was leaving one to go back to another. Sometimes I reflect on this and wonder if I am too greedy to have two homes in far ends of this world. Then again, this impromptu vacation has taught me that one should take calculated risks and dream big. Not least because Italy closed the borders to my country on the day of my return! What are the odds? The sky can then be my blanket, the ground my mattress. I shall continue to tuck myself in and continue to dream of many more beautiful trips to Italy. Trips so beautiful, they will be stuff dreams are made of.

Arrivederci Italia.