How I moved to Italy and married the love of my life, part 1

As you may have already guessed from the name of this blog, I love Roman pine trees. I adore them actually. I could sit and look at them for ages. Today I have come to the pines for some inspiration.

I am writing this from a bench in my favorite spot in Villa Pamphilj, what I call the pine grove, where the trees all grow in straight parallel lines. No, I didn't bring my computer to the park. I would never commit that sacrilege! I am writing this out longhand. It almost feels like I'm writing in a diary, perfect for the post I have in mind.

As you well know by now, it was my not so brilliant idea to post about my wedding every 29th of the month (because I got married on the 29th), but I quickly got overwhelmed by the back story I wanted to tell.

It started out fantastically. I had a great time writing about my ancestors, and how I feel that they have, in some strange way, guided me here. But when it came time to write about myself, I clammed up. In January I skipped the post, in February I admitted my reluctance to get too personal, but my lovely bloglings encouraged me to bag my inhibitions and open up. So here goes. (I have a feeling this is going to be long. I'll have to do it in multiple parts. Oh, how I love to draw things out. I apologize in advance!)

To tell this story properly I must begin, if not in 1861, then at least in the early 80s when I discovered that I have Italian blood. I can't remember the exact day but I remember the feeling... I felt Italian. Of course I had no idea what being Italian ought to feel like, but I knew I felt it. Never mind that I was only one quarter Italian, never mind that I spoke not a word and had never set foot in the country. Never mind the German, Irish, English, Portuguese and who knows what other blood I had--that didn't matter. What mattered was that I was Italian.

No, this isn't me, although I wouldn't be surprised if a photo of me like this exists.

Not by citizenship of course. The Italianess came to me from my mother's mother, and a ridiculous and sexist law makes it impossible for me to claim Italian citizenship through my ancestors. But that didn't stop me, especially as an exuberant 7 year old, from feeling Italian.

I'll never forget my first trip to Italy, with my mother and sister when I was 14. At that time I was blindly obsessed with the film A Room with a View. I ate, slept and breathed this film. I literally (literally!) had the entire script memorized. Being kissed on a hillside with Florence in the distance was just about the most romantic thing in the world as far as I could tell, and I wanted it to happen to me. So going to Florence was almost a pilgrimage.

I'm embarrassed to admit that at that age I didn't care much about the David or the Botticellis or even the Duomo. I cried when I stood in the Piazza della Signoria, not because of the amazing art surrounding me, or the hundreds of years of history, but because I was standing where George caught Lucy when she fainted.

A Room with a View, Merchant Ivory Film

Ah, the romance! How this scene thrilled my adolescent heart!

A Room with a View, Julian Sands and Helena Bonham Carter

What can I say, sometimes fiction is more moving than history. Blame it on my youth.

We took an overnight train from Paris, and in the morning as the train barrelled through Tuscany, I stumbled down the corridor and bumped into someone. "Scusi!" I said, automatically. Then I stopped, realizing, "I can say 'scusi' now... I'm in Italy!" Bliss.

What would I have thought then to know I would one day live here? Maybe I knew all along it was inevitable. As life sometimes works like dominoes, my obsession with A Room with a View introduced me to the music of Puccini, which began a whole new (and much more time consuming) obsession, this time with opera.

By 16, Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro filled every available corner of my brain. Just as much as I longed to perform the role of Susanna, I equally longed to be able to speak Italian. I would memorize the endless recitativi from Figaro, and rattle them off, imagining I was having a conversation with an Italian (preferably a dark, handsome, male one).

Ten years and many trips to Italy later, I was plotting to find a way to move here permanently. I no longer yearned for anything so specific as a kiss in a barley field. I just wanted to live this magical place, to soak up the beauty that Italy emanates from its very core. At first it was more of a day dream, something that almost didn't seem possible. But I wanted that dolce vita so bad I could taste it. Eventually it became a mission, until finally one day, I said to myself, "What's stopping me?" and three months later I was here.

[Cue record scratch as blissful Amelie type music screeches to a halt]

Those of you who live here know, life in Italy is not only about romance, cobblestones, and picturesque alleyways. It can be a frustrating, exhausting and extremely harsh place to live, despite what the films make you believe. I found that out not long after arrival.

I'd love to be able to say I met the man of my dreams the day I got off the plane, and that my life fell instantly into place. Instead followed four mostly wonderful, sometimes miserable and always challenging years on my own in this crazy country. Still, I wouldn't trade those years, what they taught me and how they shaped me, for anything. You'll have to tune back in this time next month to hear the rest of the story.

If you are wondering what all of this rambling has to do with my wedding, well, I'm getting to it. I have never been capable of telling a short story. The point is, just like Mr. Beebe, I am naturally drawn to all things Italian. If it were not so, I would never have met my dashing Maritino.

Photo sources: 1, by author; 2, 3, 4

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The benefits of letter writing

About a month ago, I was inspired to write three long-hand, stamped, mailed letters and I wrote about it here. Well, bloglings, for all of you out there who thought I was crazy, old-fashioned, living in the past, behind the times, technologically challenged, or unable to accept the reality of this changing world we live in, well, all I have to say is, look what was waiting for me when I got home today:

Oh, yes. Pay off. I spent a lovely chunk of time this afternoon like this:

I think I may just have to grab some stationery supplies and head to Villa Pamphilj.

Photos by author

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The story of Cupid and Psyche continues in Villa Farnesina

Yesterday I posted about the new exhibit at Castel Sant’Angelo that brings together dozens of works of art illustrating the fable of Cupid and Psyche. This show, as I wrote yesterday, particularly interested me because I love the idea of an exhibit that tells a story. And what a story, with jealousy, diversity, courage, trust, abandonment, forgiveness and true love conquering all odds, well, Disney couldn’t have topped it.

Cupid and Psyche, Antonio Canova, 1786-93, Musée du Louvre, Paris

In fact I have so much to write about it that I am continuing the subject today. If you are not familiar with the story of Cupid and Psyche, you can read it here. What I find especially inspiring about it is that Psyche, the female character, is clearly the hero of the story. Cupid may be her “prince Charming” but it is her story, and it is she who succeeds at Venus’ impossible tasks, risking her life to be with the man she loves. 

This 2^nd-century story became popular in during the Renaissance and it was often the subject of artwork in bedrooms because if its romantic theme, and because it ends with a wedding banquet. The perfect subject for the art decorating the bedroom of a newlywed couple.

Loggia of Cupid and Psyche, Villa Farnesina, Rome

One of the most famous sites to utilize this subject is Villa Farnesina, the exquisite and rarely visited Renaissance palace in Trastevere. The villa was designed by Baldassare Perluzzi and built between 1508 and 1512 for the rich Sienese banker, Agostino Chigi. One of the richest men of his day, Chigi financed the caprices of many popes and their greedy relations. He was genuinely in love with his long-time mistress Francesca Ordeaschi, but because of his high social status, it wasn’t suitable for them to marry. Not being able to find a highborn woman whom he could bear to spend the rest of his life with, he moved Francesca into the villa and lived openly with her there. In an unprecedented and bold social step, they finally married in 1519, a veritable fairy tale not at all unlike the story of our Cupid and Psyche. Even more unheard of is the fact that the pope, Leo X De' Medici officiated the ceremony.

Portrait of Francesca Ordeaschi as Dorotea, Sebastiano del Piombo

No surprise then that on occasion of his long-awaited nuptials he had the ceiling of the villa’s loggia frescoed with scenes from the popular story. Like the mere mortal Psyche, Francesca was being welcomed into the social stratosphere of the super-elite, despite being not much more than a courtesan. Apparently Chigi’s ego didn’t have a problem with him representing himself as a god in this scenario. 

The walls the loggia are frescoed by several noted artists, most importantly Raphael, but it’s the ceiling that illustrates our story. Although Raphel may have been involved in the ceiling’s design, it is almost entirely the work of his greatest pupils, Giulio Romano, Giovan Francesco Penni, Raffaellino del Colle and Giovanni da Udine. The ceiling is gorgeous enough to be satisfying on its own, but when you know the story it makes it that much more rewarding.

Each spandrel illustrates a different scene from the fable, each one lovelier than the last, and the story in this case begins with Venus pointing out Psyche to Cupid. The frescoes are glorious, a celebration of the high Renaissance style that Raphael inspired. This is one of those places I could spend hours in, just feeding my eyes with the lush details and graceful figures.

Venus shows Cupid Psiche, Raffaellino del Colle

Cupid and the three graces, Giulio Romano

Venus, Ceres and Juno, Giulio Romano

The spandrel above is one of my favorites. I love mythological art because you can always find the symbols of each character somewhere. Juno's symbol is the peacock which you can easily to the right of Venus' legs. Ceres, in the center, is the goddess of grain and harvest and she wears blades of wheat in her hair.

Venus in her carriage, Giulio Romano

Venus and Jupiter, Giovan Francesco Penni

Psyche carried by amorini, Giulio Romano

Psyche and Venus, Giulio Romano

Venus clearly was not expecting Psyche to be able to pull this one off.

Cupid and Jupiter, Giulio Romano

Mercury, Giulio Romano

Mercury and Psiche, Giovan Francesco Penni

It's hard to tear your eyes away from the beautiful figures, but the festoons are every bit as worthy of praise, and were the work of Giovanni da Udine. It's not unusual for subtle sexual messages to be hidden in festoons bursting with fruit and vegetation like these ones. Sometimes it is obvious, even explicit, such as in the fresco of Mercury, right above his hand.

If you think I have an over-active imagination, take a look at the fruit just to the left of the oddly shaped cucumber (?). It is difficult to see here, but it is clearly a fig. If you speak a bit of Italian, you will know I'm not seeing things.

Council of the Gods

 In the center of the ceiling, these two large magnificent frescoes crown one of the most splendid, and least-known, wonders of Rome.

Nuptial banquet

This marvelous loggia, along with the other beautifully decorated rooms of the Villa Farnesina, can be visited Monday through Saturday, from 9am to 1pm for only €5. More information here.

Photo sources: 1, 3, all others

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The fable of Cupid and Psyche at Castel Sant'Angelo

The fable of Cupid and Psyche is the subject of a new exhibit at the Castel Sant'Angelo that opened this past Friday. I was particularly looking forward to this exhibit because I love anything that has a theme. Don't get me wrong, retrospective exhibitions on some of the world's greatest artists, like Tintoretto, Guercino and Dalì are enthralling, but it's nice to change things up and see a show like this that illustrates a story through works of art that span the centuries.

Cupid and Psyche kiss, 2nd half of 2nd century AD, Capitoline Museums, Rome

The fable of Cupid and Psyche (Amore e Psiche in Italian) first appears in L'asino d'oro (The Golden Ass) written by Lucius Apuleius in the 2nd century AD, although the tale existed in oral tradition much earlier, as some of the works in this exhibit prove.

Psyche discovers Cupid, Jacopo Zucchi, Galleria Borghese, Rome

The story begins as an old woman recounts the tale of Cupid and Psyche to a young woman. This introductory scene is depicted in the tapestry below.

An old woman narrates the tale of Cupid and Psyche, French school, 1750 ca, Palazzo del Quirinale, Roma

 Psyche (whose name means either 'soul' or 'butterfly') is the youngest of three daughters of a king. (Although Psyche is sometimes depicted with butterfly wings, she is a mortal.) Although all three sisters are lovely, Psyche is the most beautiful by far, and people come from distant lands just for the pleasure of admiring her beauty. As you can imagine, this causes Venus, the goddess of beauty, to become enraged with jealousy.

Porcelain jasper medal depicting Psyche, Josiah Wedgwood, late 18th century. Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

Venus cannot bear the thought that a mere mortal should be more admired than her, so she convinces her son Cupid to visit the girl while she is sleeping and pierce her with his arrow, planning to arrange for a hideous monster to be the first thing Psyche sees (and therefore falls in love with) upon awakening.

Cupid and Psyche, Limoges, mid-16th century, National Renaissance Museum, Ecouen

Cupid makes himself invisible as he sets about his task, but just as he is about to pierce Psyche with his arrow, she wakes up and even though he is invisible, she looks straight into his eyes. Distracted by her beauty, he accidentally pierces himself instead and falls deeply in love with her. Unable to complete his mission, he returns to Venus and tells her what happened. Venus is furious and curses Psyche so that no man will ever propose to her.

Cupid is so distraught that he neglects his duty of causing mortals to fall in love. No one is marrying or mating, not even the animals! In order to get the world back to rights again, Venus gives in and allows Cupid to marry Psyche.

Meanwhile, because of Venus' curse, poor beautiful Psyche has had no offers of marriage, and after consulting an oracle, her father the king reluctantly abandons her on a mountaintop where is to be married to a mysterious being. Once there, the Zephyrs, spirits of the west wind, carry her off to a sumptuous palace in a paradise-like setting.

Psyche transported by Zephyrs, John Gibson, mid-19th century, Palazzo Corsini, Roma

After being waited on by invisible servants, Psyche retires for the night. Cupid at last arrives, but he does not want Psyche to know who he is, not yet, so he only visits her at night, under the cover of darkness. As the weeks pass, Psyche longs to know what her husband looks like, but Cupid forbids it. Despite her luxurious surroundings, Psyche soon becomes lonely and Cupid allows her sisters to come visit her. Envious of her magnificent palace, they try to convince her that her husband is a vicious snake who will devour her before long. Overcome by curiosity and dread, one night she brings a lamp (and a knife, just in case) into their bedroom while her mysterious husband sleeps.

Psyche discovers Cupid, Simon Vouet, Musée des Beaux Arts, Lyon

Just as she sees him for the first time, she just happens to scratch herself on one of his arrows and is overcome with desire for him. As she covers him with kisses, a bit of oil from her lamp falls on him and awakens him (as if all the kisses wouldn't have). Furious at her for disobeying him, he flees into the night.

Cupid abandons Psyche, Joseph Heinz, National German Museum, Nuremberg

Psyche is now left alone and very much in love. She decides to go in search of her husband, visiting the temples of both Ceres and Juno. Both tell her there is only one goddess who can help her: Venus. The naive girl takes their advice and begs Venus to tell her where she can find Cupid. Venus has still not gotten over her jealousy of Psyche, so she gives her a series of impossible (and dangerous) tasks.

Psyche abandoned, Giovanni Cappelli, Galleria Museo e Medagliere Estens, Modena

After Psyche has successfully (and safely) completed all three tasks, aided every time by helpful animals and gods along the way, the furious Venus sets her on a quest that she could not possibly complete. She sends her to the Underworld to bring back a portion of Proserpina's beauty (apparently Venus had lost some of her own by stressing over the lovelorn Cupid).

Psyche alata, 2nd century AD, Capitoline Museums, Rome

Just as Psyche is about to commit suicide (the only way she can think of to reach the Underworld), the very tower she is about to throw herself off of speaks to her, telling her not only the route to reach the Underworld alive and how to get back, but also how to get past the three-headed dog, Cerberus (not to be confused with Fluffy: he likes music; Cerberus is appeased with a piece of cake) as well as other tricks of surviving the fire swamp, I mean, the Underworld (oops, wrong fairy tale).

Psyche tormented in the Underworld, 300 AD, National Archeological Museum, Napoli

Psyche has a hard time in the Underworld, as the reliefs on this ancient sarcophagus show, but she eventually survives, with a bottle full of beauty to show for her efforts. On her way to bring her trophy to Venus, she figures it can't hurt to pilfer a little beauty for herself, but when she opens it up, she finds that the bottle actually contains overpowering slumber. She collapses.

Cupid revives the fainted Psyche, Bertel Thorvaldsen, Thorvaldsen Museum, Copenhagan

Cupid, who in the mean time has forgiven her and realized he cannot live without her, rushes to her side to revive her, but quickly flies off again before she sees him. He hurries to Mount Olympus where he entreats Jupiter to allow thme to be together eternally. Jupiter agrees to Cupid's plea and Psyche is brought to Mount Olympus where the two lovers' wedding is celebrated with a banquet, and the bride is granted immortality.

Cupid and Psyche embrace, beginning of 1st century BC, Archeological Museum, Pella

So like all good fairy tales, it ends happily, except for one thing: how would you like to have Venus as a mother-in-law?

All of these gorgeous works, spanning 21 centuries and in such varied mediums as marble, terracotta, ceramic, tapestry, jewelry and oil, are all on display (along with numerous others) at this marvelous new exhibit. For practical information about the exhibit, check out my Exhibits on Now page.

While this exhibit may be temporary, you can see glorious works of art depicting these two young lovers at Villa Farnesina any time! 

All images are provided courtesy of Studio Begnini Press Office and may not be reproduced.

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Lux in Arcana: The Vatican Secret Archives reveal 100 priceless documents

Those of you who know me well, know that I like to post about a new exhibit if not the day it opens, then at least that same week. As Lux in Arcana: The Vatican Secret Archives revealed at the Capitoline Museums was the most highly anticipated exhibition of the year (century?) for me, it might be surprising that I have waited so long to write about it.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

I have been preparing an article on the exhibit for the Traveller, the Sunday travel magazine of both the Sydney Morning Herald and the Melbourne Age and it has been published this weekend! Here's an excerpt:

Michelangelo's smudged signature, a secret papal messaging code, a 1200-year-old book and myriad blood-red papal seals, excommunication bulls, death warrants of heretics and letters written in desperation by condemned queens - these are some of the most precious documents in the world, kept for the past four centuries in impenetrable vaults in the Vatican. For the first - and perhaps only - time in history, 100 original documents have left the Vatican Secret Archives and been shifted across town for an exhibition that opened a fortnight ago in the Capitoline Museums in central Rome...
read the full article.

I hope you enjoy it! The online version of the article unfortunately has only one photo, so below are some of the best images of the exhibit.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

These red penant seals (tied with red ribbon or "red tape", the origin of that expression) belonged to 81 separate members of the House of Lords. They are attached to a letter from King Henry VIII requesting Pope Clement VII to grant him an annulment of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon to enable him to marry his mistress Anne Boleyn.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

Galileo's signature! These are the court proceedings of his trial for heresy following his vocal support for Copernicus' heliocentric theory.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

 A letter from Michelangelo begs the Bishop of Cesena to resume payment of the workers of St. Peter's after the death of Pope Paul III. The builders had remained on site to protect the precious building materials from theivery despite the fact that they were not being paid to do so.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

A letter to the future Pope Celestine V informing him that he had been elected pope after 27 months of conclave at which he wasn't even present. The hermit priest reluctantly accepted, only to abdicate five years later. (During his papacy, he declared it the right of any pope to abdicate.) The letter is dated 11 July 1294.

Photo by Daniele Fregonese

This was one of the most exciting and bone-chilling exhibits: a 60 meter scroll of parchment with the depositions of 231 French Templar knights. During the Council of Vienne in 1311 they were forced to betray the order or face execution.

Photo by Giovanni Ciarlo

What I found so thrilling about this exhibit was that many of the documents on display pertain to events that we have all learned about, events that changed history and changed the world. Seeing the documents up close and personal brings history alive in a whole new way. In my eternal quest to travel in time, this was pretty close.


Visit my Exhibits on Now page for all pertinent information and enjoy! This is truly a once-in-a-lifetime event!

All images are provided courtesy of Zètema Press Office and may not be reproduced.

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Michelangelo's Last Judgment and Marcello Venusti's copy

As if you didn't need another excuse to visit the just-about-to-end Renaissance in Rome exhibit at Palazzo Venezia, here is one more and then I promise never to write about this mostra ever again!

Marcello Venusti created a copy of Michelangelo's epic Last Judgement in the Sistine Chapel before the latter was brutally censored under Pope Pius IV in 1565. It was Daniele da Volterra who was forced to do the dirty work, against his will. He was one of Michelangelo's most devout and adoring followers and he agreed to censor the work only because he was told it would otherwise be destroyed.

Copy of Michelangelo's Last Judgement, Marcello Vanusti, 1549, Museo di Capodimonte, Napoli

The censoring included mostly the addition of cleverly arranged scarves in just the right places to sheild our eyes from the scandalous male frontal nudity that was not tollerated (at least not right over the high altar of the pope's private chapel) during the morally strict counter-reformation. 

One of the most dramatic changes that was made to Michelangelo's original was the position of Saint Blaise in relation to St. Catherine. Here is the censored version in Michelangelo's original:

Detial from The Last Judgement, Michelangelo Buonarroti, 1536-1541, Cappella Sistina, Musei Vaticani, Città del Vaticano

Notice that in Venusti's copy above (which we can assume was true to Michelangelo's original before it was censored), not only is a very burly St. Catherine completely nude, but St. Blaise is turned toward her menacingly in an not so decorous position. (These figures are on the right of the fresco, about halfway down.)

Venusti probably had no idea when he was painting his copy (the differs from the original at the top with the addition of God the Father and the Holy Spirit in the form of the dove) that it would become a useful historical record to document what Michelangelo's work looked like before the censoring.

The Last Judgement, Michelangelo Buonarroti, 1536-1541, Cappella Sistina, Musei Vaticani, Città del Vaticano

Seeing Venusti's copy up close at the Renaissance in Rome exhibit was for me one of the most interesting parts of the exhibit, and yet another reason to visit it if you haven't already. Below are links to a few more posts I wrote about the exhibit, and you'll find information on visiting at my Exhibits on Now page.

The Renaissance in Rome: in the footsteps of Michelangelo and Raphael

Running into some old friends at an exhibit

Long-lost paintings by Michelangelo and Caravaggio: are they or aren't they?

Photo sources: 1: courtesy of Arthemisia Group Press Office; 2, 3

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Long-lost paintings by Michelangelo and Caravaggio, are they or aren't they?

Two of Rome’s most beautiful exhibits of the moment, The Renaissance in Rome: in the footsteps of Michelangelo and Raphael and Rome in the time of Caravaggio are ending this coming weekend, so if you haven’t had a chance to see them yet, I highly recommend you high-tail it to Via del Corso and Piazza Venezia respectively before all these amazing works get shipped back home. 

Both exhibitions are more in celebration of the works inspired by these three big kahunas of the art world, as opposed to displaying much of their own works. As I’ve talked about before, dropping big names seems to have become the norm in the quest to attract as many visitors to an exhibition as possible. Even so, the exhibits are still wonderful and well worth a visit.

One thing these two shows have in common is that each has a work of art on display that has been recently attributed to one of the two passionately adored Michelangelos. At The Renaissance in Rome, the so-called Pietà of Ragusa, literally discovered behind a couch in a middle-class home in Buffalo, New York, recently restored and on display publicly for the first time, is allegedly a long-lost work by Michelangelo Buonarroti himself. My good friend, Theresa Potenza, a Buffalo-native and art historian, writes about it in the New York Post here and more in-depth in the Buffalo News here.

Pietà di Ragusa, School of Michelangelo (with attribution to Michelangelo himself by some scholars), 1545. Private collection

According to some of the most respected Michelangelo scholars, at least the base sketch of the painting was the work of the master’s hand, if not the entire piece. The painting seems to have passed from Michelangelo's close friend Vittoria Colonna to (centuries later) a German baroness, and was eventually given to the great-great-grandfather of the American owner, whose children affectionately call it the “Mike.” It was relegated to behind the couch when it was hit by a tennis ball. If in time the work proves to be a genuine Michelangelo, it could be worth as much as $300 million dollars.

Saint Augustine in his study, attributed to Caravaggio by some (clueless) scholars

Much less convincing is the painting of Saint Augustine which some are now claiming to be the work of a young Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio. It is on display at the Rome in the time of Caravaggio exhibit at Palazzo Venezia. It was originally part of the art collection of Vincenzo Giustiniani, a well-known collector of Caravaggio's paintings, and a couple of "experts" out there are convinced it is the Lombard master's work. There’s only one problem with it: it doesn’t look like anything Caravaggio ever did. In my very humble opinion, if this were the work of the world’s greatest master of chiaroscuro, my beloved bad-boy Caravaggio, the background would be much darker and sparser. There wouldn't be anything back there besides maybe a window, a curtain or a shaft of light.

The only thing that even comes close to Caravaggio's style is the book that is edging slightly over the end of the table. But everything else, I mean, really? The mitre? The pathetic two-dimensional bookshelf? Please! Even the facial features and hands are way off.

But who am I to judge? I may be an impassioned lover of Caravaggio's work and I may cross borders on occasion in my quest to see his every last painting, but I can hardly be considered an expert. So here's what Maurizio Marini, a real Caravaggio expert, has to say about it: "If that's a Caravaggio, then I'm baby Jesus."

Ouch.

What do you think? I'd love to hear your opinions so feel free to comment! For information on visiting these exhibits (and to decide for yourself if these two works are authentic or not) check out my Exhibits on Now page. And hurry, they both end 18 March!

Photo sources:

1, 3: Courtesy of Arthemisia Press Office

2, 4: Courtesy of Civita Press Office

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