A Tuscan View - from Umbria

20 more days

So much to look forward to here when Summer arrives, as it finally did a few weeks ago. We endured a long Winter this year and it was difficult to imagine the heat, as today it is difficult to imagine pulling on a second pair of trousers as a brace against the freezing cold. But a part of this Summer has been put on hold and tempered by the fact that our youngest child, the (not-so-small) small one, fell off her bicycle and broke both bones in her right arm.
She knew, we all knew, just by looking at it.

We took a tearful drive to the hospital and then had to make a longer journey to Perugia, as the nearest orthopaedic specialist was there on duty that afternoon.
The afternoon soon became the evening and we finally emerged, bleary eyed and blinking into the dark carpark, one of us wearing a heavy plastercast all the way up to the shoulder, set for 40 long days. Our little girl had no idea at the time what lay in store as the Summer began to take it's toll, but as we have now arrived at the 40th day, we are all at the end of our proverbial tethers.

I have been fortunate to have been otherwise preoccupied of late. Not surprisingly, things of a building nature are my immediate concern and it's a little like firefighting as I lurch from one emergency deadline to another. The stress of that is, though, tempered by allowing myself time every so often to go out in the car and 'discover' new and interesting places to draw and paint.
I call it research, and it is, but it also gives me a chance to stop for a time and focus on something other than power tools.

I just do quick sketches or small paintings to get a true sense of what it would be like for a group, then move on. So far I have a little 'library' of good places for morning painting, good places for afternoon painting, and loads of good places for lunch.

I've been busy.

For the patient back at home, unfortunately it's not quite as simple as just 'taking it off' today. You see, the bone hasn't quite set correctly and we will have to wait for the results of a final x-ray to confirm that she is now free to swim, ride her bicycle, draw, and do homework with her right hand. Our supportive, collective family-ban on all such activities seemed like a good idea at the time, but 40 days is a long time for anyone, certainly long enough for our wheatfields to turn from vivid green to golden brown.

So today has been a long time coming and, hopefully, the real Summer will start, for one little girl at least, very soon afterwards. We'll see.

The stupidest thing I did today;

I said, rather foolishly, as we went in to see the specialist, "I'm sure it'll be alright, then we can go swimming this afternoon!". Not according to the doctor.

He simply shook his head and said, "...ancora 20 giorni..." Aaaaaagh!

Ochres and Umbers

22nd May 2008

 The problem with finishing the website, offering painting holidays, giving out dates, and gradually getting towards the end of the building project is that I suddenly realised that I’ve not done much painting for quite a while. I’ve done plenty of other things; sandblasting, digging and worrying mostly, but there’s not been much time to paint.

So, the other day I determined to go out and do just that, in case I’d forgotten how.

 

When I took trips to Italy some years ago, we would often stop in the art stores to get materials and I was always intrigued by the difference between the palette of colours available here to those I routinely found in England. They reflect the landscape and the towns of Italy with warmer cadmiums for yellows and reds, and loads of ochres and umbers to make up the box set. I suppose it’s obvious really.
    
 

Anyway they give you a good head start and allow you to concentrate on what you’re looking at. These three paintings were about the different lights that fall on the walls and windows around here. They are small watercolours and perhaps a little fussy but, as with all representational paintings, they make you look that much harder and appreciate that much more of your everyday surroundings.

Problem now is that I really should get back to the digging…

The stupidest thing I did today;

Made two big mistakes at football tonight - firstly suggesting that we play 'old men' versus 'young men'. Whilst I was happy to concede that I would be one of the 'anziani', my Italian teammates were less forthcoming and rather reluctant to admit their ages. A bit embarassing. And we lost.
The second mistake would take too long to explain but, suffice to say, I nutmegged Jesus. I promise to expand in my next post...

Shameless

17th May 2008

Please forgive us for this shameless piece of self-promotion but, finally, after months of blood, sweat and tears, our website is finally on line, www.artistinitaly.com

It’s all about us and what we do, it’s about Italy and Art and about ‘having a go’.  We are hoping to fill our courses for this year with enthusiastic people who will give us some good old constructive criticism, so we are offering a generous discount during our first year to anyone who comes through the blog.
Please go over to the site and check it out and, if you know anyone who might be interested, please send them the link.

This is a bit cheeky, we know, but if any of you fellow bloggers or readers could help us out with a little promo, we would be eternally grateful.

PS. Don't forget to come back here to let us know what you think. Thanks

Guilty as charged

10th May 2008

Around 10 years ago there was a great deal of excitement about the 500th Anniversary of the death of one of the greatest Renaissance painters, Piero Della Francesca. I remember being on holiday in Italy at the time and tearing around with Marito to various churches, museums and small towns to see as much of his work as possible as quickly as we could, The Piero Trail.

There were so many highlights, including my personal favourite, the serene Madonna Del Parto , but the one that perhaps stands out the most in terms of its sheer magnificence is the Legend of the True Cross fresco cycle in Arezzo. As a story it has all the intrigue of The Lord of the Rings, spanning over 5,000 years from the death of Adam to the return of the cross to Jerusalem.

In the middle there is the search for healing oil from the Wood of Mercy, the theatrical angel appearing to Constantine in his beautifully illuminated campaign tent and two tremendous battle scenes. It appears exactly as it would have done, except for the damage caused by earthquakes, lightning, nearby building works and, perhaps the worst of all evils, if you're a fresco, damp.

I took some photographs, although I did get told off for doing so. Flash photography causes terrible damage to a fresco, I was once told that one flash was the equivalent of 10 days subdued sunlight, so I am always careful to not use it. So when I asked (politely) why it was wrong, it seems the reason is now copyright. After 510 years I doubt whether Piero Della Francesca would really care that much.

Anyway, guilty as charged, here they are. The idea is to make other people want to go and pay to see the frescoes, so I guess it all works out ok in the end.

The History of Art really is food for the soul, it's history with pictures, a wonderful subject for anyone with their eyes open to ideas and creativity and, whether or not you love the art, it represents an aspect of human endeavour which shapes the world we live in.

Seems like nature’s doing a pretty good job too, it being so juicy green and blooming beautiful around here these days.

Best thing I ate;

Panino

Sometimes the best thing you eat has less to do with the actual food itself and more to do with the location in which you eat it, or the company you're with. So it was with my Panino con Tonno e Capperi, oily and delicious indeed, but it would hardly have drawn a crowd. 
However, add to it the location, (a bustling outside café under Vasari’s gracious loggia in the stunning town of Arezzo) the company, (two of my favourite Italophiles and fellow bloggers, the olive notes) a little sunshine and the famous Fiera Antiquaria.

Mix it all up and stick that in a Panino – ‘perfetto’!

The garland maker

29th March 2008

During the Easter break we shed our builders’ overalls and travelled by train to Florence for another quick fix of culture.

We chose Santa Maria Novella, not because it’s a stones throw from the station, nor because of it’s ornate green and white marble façade but because it really is a marvel. So jam packed with Renaissance goodies that at two and a half euros for the entrance it’s got to be the best value for money in town.

Green and white marble facade

Despite the lure of an early Masaccio fresco and the tormented beauty of Brunelleschi’s crucifix, what really does it for me is the Tornabuoni chapel, frescos by Domenico Ghirlandaio.  The name Ghirlandaio means garland maker and was a nickname passed down by his father, a goldsmith who made gold garland-like necklaces for the wealthy women of Florence.  From his father’s workshop Ghirlandaio was said to have begun his career making drawings of the passers-by.

His skill for portraiture is displayed at it’s best in these striking frescos commissioned by the banker, Giovanni Tornabuoni. Despite the subject matter being the lives of the Madonna and St John the Baptist there are no fewer than 21 portraits of members of the Tornabuoni family and their circle depicted here.  This might explain why certain illustrious ladies of Florentine society are shown as if present at the births of both St John and the Virgin.  These beauties include the ill-fated Ludovica Tornabuoni, the patron’s only daughter, who never saw her prominent portrait as she was to die in childbirth aged 15 before it was finished, making the scene even more poignant.

Ludovica Tornabuoni, 5th from the left, by Domenico Ghirlandaio

As a snapshot of 15th Century life in Florence, no frescos are more fascinating.  There is a strange, almost Disney-like quality to them and the interior detail is compelling.  Imagine the impact when these gaudy scenes were revealed to the god-fearing Florentine masses in all their technicolour glory.  Here there are no imaginary celestial settings but the real, elaborate halls and bed chambers of contemporary Florence, peopled by the wives and daughters of the rich.  In a world without glossy magazines, TV shows or shopping channels they were like a Florentine soap-opera, the first ever reality show and they caused a sensation. John Ruskin snippily said of them that “if you are  nice person they are not nice enough” and “if you are a vulgar person, not vulgar enough”.
To me they are nice and vulgar!

As you leave you may notice a large carved, wooden pulpit, it was from here that the zealous Dominicans first denounced Galileos daring realisation that the earth revolved around the sun and not the other way round.  And, in a dimly lit corner with no label or sign attached, is a small but exquisite water stoop carved by a young Michelangelo.  All this for two and a half euros!  What more could you ask for, (although marito remarked cynically that it used to be free).

The best thing I ate;
Asparagus.

It’s a little early I know (the true season for Italian asparagus being the end of April to the end of June) but I just can’t wait. Slowly, gradually it is beginning to appear on the market stalls. I’ve been holding back knowing my greed for asparagus knows no bounds, not wanting to waste the first taste of the year on  something lacking and inferior. But then, as luck would have it, I was invited to join some neighbours for supper and there it was, the first course. A large white platter, piled high with beautiful, glistening spears of silky green asparagus, briefly boiled and tender to the bite. The partner to this heavenly vision was a large bowl of lovely, fat, wobbly home-made mayonnaise. And so, I declare the asparagus season (in this house) has begun.

Where to get it;
Anywhere you can, before I do.

Mad Tom

17th January 2008

A hard frost is on the ground and mist is in the valleys, rising up from between the bald scrub oaks in whisps and spectres.
In the distance the milky mountains roll back like time, Umbria morphs into Tuscany and soon we are in Florence, waiting on the cold stone steps of Santa Maria del Carmine to see the Brancacci chapel.  It was on these steps that Michelangelo's nose was broken in a brawl. But that's another story, today we are here for 'Mad Tom', Masaccio.

The Brancacci frescoes were commisioned in 1424 by the Brancaccis, a family of wealthy Florentine silk merchants.  It was while working on these frescoes that the 22 year old Masaccio began to really shine, usurping his teacher (Masolino) and emerging as a compelling talent.  His desolate depiction of Adam and Eve howling in their nakedness as they are cast out into the world is worth the ticket price alone.

In the panel 'St Peter Enthroned', Masaccio has painted himself as one of the figures to the right of the throne.  He stares boldly out as he touches St Peter's hem for luck, a luck that could not save him as he was to die just 3 years later. But it's more than a signature, it is a brazen flourish of humanity. It says "Look at me. I did this wonderful thing. I was here".

Masaccio never completed his paintings in the chapel and, in a shift of politics, the Brancaccis were exiled.  50 years later, after the dust had settled and long after Masaccio's death, the artist Fillipino Lippi finished and 'restored' the frescoes.  It was a different kind of human emotion that prompted Lippi to paint out the arm that dared to touch the saint.  He would have had to look Masaccio in the eye as he worked and, I wonder, did that open, steady gaze trouble him as he applied the tempera? Did it disturb his dreams?   

The best thing I ate today;

Cavolo Nero

At this time of year I always feel the urge to gorge on dark green veg. Maybe it's a kind of detox, an antidote to the excesses of December.  Kale or spinach will do, but best of all is the 'king of cabbages', Cavolo Nero.

Its tightly crinkled, black/green leaves look so enticing when sold in large frosty bundles on the market stall in Chiusi.  I lug them home and use a long sharp knife to separate the leaves from the central stem. The deep, sweetly pungent flavour is full of 'brassic' goodness.  I have been toying with the idea of cooking them with lots of garlic and stiring the resulting puree into wet, creamy polenta (River Cafe Green) as a sort of yin/yang/flavour/colour thing.

But maybe it's best not to mess, as it's hard to beat the joy of cooking it in it's simplest form.  All you need to do is boil until 'al dente', drain well, slug in the olive oil, sea salt, and black pepper, and pile the dark glistening leaves around a couple of plump and spicy sausages or any sticky roast.  Then, open a bottle of good red wine and invite me round for supper.

Savonarola

22nd June 2007

Although little is written about what influence the mutinous monk Savonarola may have had on Renaissance art, his searing presence must have had some impact. The glow of his latent fire seems to dominate the era - flickering torches lit the streets as his sermons gained popularity – his very manner burning with intensity as he raged against the city of Florence for its decadence. His claims that God was speaking through him inflamed the population as he accused the church of commissioning paintings that made the Virgin “look like a whore”. Full of renunciation of worldly pleasures, the God-fearing people of Florence stacked their treasures into a towering and elaborate pyre of vanities in the Piazza Della Signoria and danced as they were engulfed by flames.
There followed a bizarre challenge to prove his faith, the ‘Trial by fire’. Such was the reluctance of both the Dominicans and the Franciscans to perform this fiery walk to righteousness, that there were cries of joy when a freak thunderstorm called the whole thing off. The mob, defrauded of their entertainment, went wild with fury and Savonarola’s time was up.
Accused of heresy, his end is full of unbearable torture and treachery, leading to his blazing execution alongside his two companions in the Piazza. It is said that the scaffold resembled a cross and that Savonarola met his death with dignity.

I imagine the Piazza packed with Florentines, the scaffold stark against the old stone of the Palazzo Vecchio. Flames, a simmering sky full of crouching clouds and fetid smoke, air thick with choking ashes and the stinging smell of burning hair. They would have watched with streaming eyes, and waited for the miracle that didn’t come. Watched until Savonarola’s turbulent soul departed for another place, and left behind a smouldering world ‘lit by fire’.

Portrait of Girolamo Savonarola by Fr Bartolomeo

The best thing I ate today;
Fiori di Zucchini
This strangely sculptural antipasto comes to the table on a huge white platter; pale golden puffs and whirls of tempura-like batter barely coat the fragile saffron flowers of the male zucchini. Also on offer are little succulent stems of fragrant sweet marjoram dipped and petrified in a whisper of crispness. The batter is there and not there, almost the memory of a crunch. This dish can only be made when zucchini are in season and only with the freshest flowers, as they wilt after a day. If you see this on the ‘specials’ menu, I would urge you to order it. Not every restaurant has the knack, but if you strike lucky you’ll never forget your first bite,  the sweet delicate taste is as fleeting as the season.

Where to get it;
Ristorante Il Poderaccio, Moiano.
Willy, the young chef, has the knack.

Bonfire of the Vanities

15th June 2007

Marito didn’t intend to start teaching art courses straight away. I think he meant to have a little break, maybe a spot of light demolition, angle grinding and mixing concrete. Any spare time would be filled with sun-bathing and personal grooming.
But, as word got out that we were here to start running art courses, people began to express an interest and, one day, he was accosted outside the local farmacia by a small group of ladies. They were, they said, a painting class without a teacher and they insisted on being taught. How could he refuse?
And so it is that they are currently about half way through their first 10 week course, devised to include drawing and painting with some juicy art history thrown in to get them going.

One Tuesday the lovely ladies and marito visited the seminal city of Florence, arguably the most beautiful city in Italy, crowned by Brunelleschi’s wondrous Duomo. Its wealth of Renaissance masterpieces makes it far too much to take in in one day, so he decided to skirt around the Duomo and head instead for one of his personal favourites, the cool, serene cloisters of San Marco. It was here that Fra Angelico created perhaps the most luminous and touching Annunciation in Renaissance art, as well as 50 or so other meditative frescoes for the monks who lived and worked there. The lavish patronage of the Medici founded this monastery but, ironically, it became the seat of power in Florence for the dark, melancholic monk Savonarola. His pious fire-brand preaching opposed the Medici in every way culminating in the colossal ‘Bonfire of the Vanities’ in the great Piazza della Signoria and led, ultimately, to his brutal execution on the very same spot. Powerful stuff!
Of course, all ladies like to lunch, so that pretty much finished off the day.

The Best thing I ate today;
Piccola Torta di Riso

I first came across these shy beauties in a bar in Siena – my radar honed in on a plateful, dusted with icing-sugar, as they jostled for attention amongst the flaky cornettos and oily pizzette on offer for breakfast. It was, as they say, a ‘good call’.
Today is no disappointment, the tender buttery pastry of this tiny tart is filled with sticky ambrosial rice; creamy and scented with oranges. It has the same magical melting moment as Latte Portughese (custard tarts) or Proustian Madeleines and is a worthy partner to this morning’s ‘Cappuccio’.
Two bites and they are gone, so although I do agree with mio bello marito that sometimes ‘less is more’, this is an occasion when one is definitely not enough.

Where to get it;
Caffetteria Stefanini, Citta della Pieve

More about Perugino

12th April 2007

There is something real and earthy about Perugino despite him being a ‘minor player’ in the great opera of renaissance art. He has captured my imagination.  Perhaps it’s his contradictory nature that appeals; a thick set, grumpy, thug of a man who could paint with a sweet deft stroke, a man who had no belief in God yet made his living painting religious frescoes of saints and virgins. He retreated to his home town when fame began to fade, a local boy made good who took a beautiful young trophy wife to salve his wounded pride when derided by the young contemporaries of Florence and Rome. He travelled these country roads armed with a staff to beat off robbers, always returning again and again to his beloved lake.

Dawn, Lake Trasimeno

I read that the place that captures the true essence of Perugino is the small chapel at Fontignano where he died, a victim of the plague, still painting at the age of about 80. It is mid-morning when we arrive and the sign on the chapel door directs us to the bar from where you can ring the key holder who will come and open up.  We ring Matteo and a few moments later he arrives. He is gorgeous, a ripening youth who fills his red, slim-fit t-shirt to perfection and in the dim light of Fontignano chapel his easy smile lights up the one remaining fresco.  I am liking Perugino more and more…

The Madonna at Fontignano

The best thing I ate today:

A cornetto (not the ice cream), a rather dry, vanilla flavoured pastry that can be eaten plain or with a little filling of marmellata or crema.  Plain for me, in honour of today’s first cappuccino.
Initially, when breakfasting in Italy, I bemoaned the lack of the ‘fat’ French croissant, indulgently rich and laden with calories.  Now, however, I have seen the light. When eaten with a smooth, strong cup of foamy cappuccino the cornetto provides exactly the right counterpoint.  Its sweet fragrant dryness is the perfect sop, and I wonder if the allure of the rather obvious French croissant isn’t craftily designed to disguise their weak and inferior coffee.

In pursuit of Perugino

10th April 2007

You know how guide books often refer to a church and say that to get in you have to ask the man in the local bar for the key and someone will come down to open it up for you?
And you know how it seems rather unlikely, or at least you wouldn’t think of actually bothering to do it?
Well, we did it the other day, and it worked!

Our most famous local artist is Perugino, and any Art courses that I run in the future will have lots of History of Art as part of the course. So we began looking into his life, and I’m getting a little bit hooked. He’s not the most famous, not the best, and is certainly the least glamorous of all the artists of the Renaissance period, but his life story is full of grit, determination and hard work, resulting in him being recognised in these parts as the greatest painter of his generation. We went to the church because he died there, painting a fresco at the ripe old age of 80, during the Winter, on top of a scaffold. He died alone, in view of the Lake, a victim of the plague, having just painted a portrait on the left side of the chapel dedicated to San Rocco, patron saint of plague victims. His body was unceremoniously dumped into a ditch at the side of the road and was only later discovered and reburied with suitable pomp.

None of those chocolate-boxey, rather obvious landscapes of Provence here. This was a painter who grafted all his life and ended up teaching Raphael, (who soon outshone his master and went to Rome to work for the Pope).

Perugino stayed loyal to his landscape throughout his life, and in the background  of many of his paintings you can see “a rarified ring of low hills that hovers around a misty lake that is and isn’t Lake Trasimeno.” – Brent Gregson, Drive around Tuscany and Umbria, 2005

Anyway, four of the five frescoes were taken in the middle of the 19th Century - the largest to the National Gallery in London – and all that remains is a solitary Madonna and Child. But the chapel is more than about the painting, it’s about Perugino, and it’s fabulous.
The chapel at Fontignano.
NB. You have to go to the local bar to get the number of the guy who will bring down the key and show you round.

The stupidest thing I did today;
I went to ask how long it would be to get rid of the water tank.