Celebrating Peter and Paul

Happy Saint Peter and Paul's Day!

As the patron saints of the city of Rome, their day is a special occasion (as well as a public holiday) here in the Eternal City. The day begins with a spectacular mass at St. Peter's Basilica which ends with the Pope kissing the feet of the medieval statue of St. Peter.

On tour in the basilica yesterday, as they were setting up for the big event, I was delighted to see the marvelous bronze all decked out in papal vestments and the famous three-tier papal tiara. Despite my many years in Rome, this is the first time that I have seen it all dressed up. The statue itself was almost certainly created by Arnolfo di Cambio, making it a late 13th-century work. The right foot of the sculpture protrudes slightly and for hundreds of years, faithful (and superstitious) visitors have touched, rubbed or even kissed that foot so many millions of times, that its toes have almost completely worn away.

Across town, Peter's co-honoree is celebrated at his mighty church, St. Paul's Outside the Walls with a street fair that lasts most of the day. The second largest church in Rome, and the 3rd most important (after St. John's in Lateran), deserves a post of its own, so I won't go into detail just now. Just one tiny note: even though most of what we see today is no more than 150 years old, due to the heartbreaking damage the great basilica suffered in 1823, nevertheless its external aspect, the courtyard, the columned portico, the gold mosaic facade, the dramatic pediment, is the closest Rome has to offer to what Constantine's St. Peter's Basilica must have looked like in its day.

Photo sources: 1, 2, 3

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San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane, or When the inspired outshines the inspiration

No answers? No guesses? No comments whatsoever??

This either means my question was too hard, or no one reads this blog. (I suspect it's a combination of both.)

Ok, I won't keep you in suspense any longer. I'm sure some of you couldn't sleep last night, going through a mental catalogue of every work of art, church, building and monument in the city, desperately trying to discover the work that was inspired by the brilliant mosaic ceiling of Constantia's gorgeous mausoleum. I'm heartless, I know. So here it is.

The dome of Borromini's masterpiece, San Carlo alle Quattro Fonatane. Let's take a look at both side by side.

The same interlocking crosses, hexagons and octogons grace this oblong dome designed by the greatest Baroque architect who ever lived, and the similarity cannot be a coincidence. I like to imagine the tortured and solitary Borromini visiting the Mausoleum of Constantia and being inspired by such a small and for most probably unnoticeable detail to create the dome of arguably one of the most beautiful churches in Rome (and at over 800 that's saying quite a lot).

But Borromini took this motif and made it his own, coffered instead of mosaic, stark white instead of multi-colored, and a shallow dome instead of barrel-vaulting. A rare example of Baroque art being inspired by early Medieval art. Not surprisingly, the design of Borromini's dome is famous, and the inspiration sadly obscure.

Borromini's San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane ("at the four fountains", named for the fountains adorning each corner of the intersection right outside) has been nicknamed San Carlino for its tiny size. With convex and concave surfaces at every turn, columns placed at oblique angles to the altars and not a straight line in sight, the entire church seems to undulate. This sense of movement is one of the characteristics that came to define Baroque architecture, at which Borromini was head and shoulders above his contemporaries including his rival and nemesis, the ever-popular Gianlorenzo Bernini, who should have stuck to sculpting. For proof of this, visit Bernini's painfully inferior Sant'Andrea al Quirinale just down the street. (In my humble opionion, of course.)

Now, not to go on and on about my wedding (I'll do that later...), the thought of this church crossed my mind as well during the early days of planning. Tiny and intimate, just what I wanted. Achingly beautiful, a true jewel of a church, dare I say it, perfection? Only two tiny problems: my dress was a rich ivory and the chruch is blindingly white. The bride mustn't clash with the church, no? (Okay, I'm joking. I didn't actually think about this at the time.) But more importantly, the church, as glorious and serene as it is on the inside, opens up right onto a busy intersection which would hamper rice throwing quite drastically.

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Mysterious Mausoleum

The Mausoleum of Constantia, one of the eeriest and most evocative spots in the city, is what inspires me to write today. Constantia (sometimes called Constantina) was the daughter of Emperor Constantine and his second wife Fausta. Despite a medieval legend that would have her devoutly praying at the tomb of St. Agnes (now the site of the magnificent basilica, Sant’Agnese Fuori le Mura), miraculously curing her of leprosy (curiously, a legend nearly identical to one associated with her father Constantine), she was by most accounts a vicious, greedy and not particularly religious person. However, due to her miraculous cure, she was venerated (but it seems never canonized) as a saint, although she is not recognized as one by the church. Nevertheless, her 4th-century mausoleum was later consecrated as the Santa Costanza church, and is attached to the same basilica of Sant’Agnese associated with the legend. Both are located northeast of the historic center, off of Via Nomentana.

The mausoleum is cylindrical, like the Pantheon, with exposed brick walls and intricate mosaic ceilings around the outer ring, or ambulatory. A double row of columns separates the ambulatory from the heart of the mausoleum where the altar sits, and the streaming light from the high windows above contributes to the spooky atmosphere. Perhaps the dark, gloominess of the ambulatory in direct contrast with the light, airy space beneath the dome is what makes this space so mysterious.

A rather shabby copy of Constantia’s imposing porphyry sarcophagus sits where the original (now housed in the Vatican Museums, pictured here) once stood. Much more painful is what has become of the domed ceiling. The original mosaics that once filled the dome were sadly destroyed in 1620, to be replaced with mediocre Baroque frescoes.

The 4th-century mosaics are without a doubt the most interesting detail of the mausoleum. While the 5th-7th century mosaics in the apses depict Christian scenes, the barrel vaulted ambulatory mosaics are much more pagan in style, depicting mostly flora and fauna or geometrical shapes in deep colors (mostly reds and greens) on an off-white background. My favorite section of mosaic is a puzzle of interlocking crosses, hexagons and octagons. For any other lovers of Roman art and architecture out there, does it look familiar? Is there another spot in Rome (hint: much more recent) where this same pattern is repeated? I am curious to see if anyone recognizes it. Please comment if you do!!

This mausoleum-turned-church was one of the few contenders when I was first considering where to get married, a very long 18 months ago. I loved the idea of getting married in a circular space, with the guests seated all around us. The way the light streams in from the upper windows is breathtaking, not to mention the rich detail of the mosaics I love so much. What eventually deterred me were the morbid connotations of getting married in what was once a mausoleum, and the fact that I was determined to wed in the historic center. The church we eventually chose was perfect for our wedding, and before long I will write a post on that loveliest of all churches.


Photo sources: 1, 2, 3

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Trick of the Eye

After nearly a year’s absence, I am happily returning to my much-neglected blog. Following what has been quite surely the busiest, craziest and most overwhelming 12 months of my life (which culminated in my own unforgettable nozze), I have at last the time to devote myself once again to the simple pleasures all around me here in my often maddening and always delightful adopted city.

To ease myself back into this blogging thing, today I’ll post an article I wrote for WHERE Rome magazine, published in January. It’s brief over-view of the Eternal City’s many optical illusions. Each one thrills and fascinates me and deserves much more than a paragraph, but alas, with a limited word-count of a tourist magazine, one is forced to be succinct. I intend to expand upon this theme and write more thorough and in-depth descriptions of each one of these glorious sites in the weeks to come. In the mean time…

Just when you think you’ve seen everything in Rome, something right around the corner surprises you. Hidden alleyways, forgotten works of art, unexpected vistas waiting to amaze you at every turn. But nothing is more confounding than the Eternal City’s many optical illusions. Mischievously tricking your eye, these beguiling phenomena have mystified and delighted viewers for centuries. Go in search of them, and you won’t be the first –or the last– to be deceived.

Perhaps the largest –and most famous– optical illusion can be found in St. Peter’s Square. Gianlorenzo Bernini’s ingenious elliptical design is bordered on both sides by four rows of daunting travertine columns, 284 in all. But stand in a particular spot in the square and the outer three rows disappear from view and only the first row can be seen.

To view St. Peter’s from a different angle, hop in a cab on Via Piccolomini, high on Vatican hill, where the dome can be seen in all its glory. The trees that line the street create a kind of frame for the basilica, and as you drive toward it, the frame widens, and the dome appears to shrink on the horizon.

Illusions involving Michelangelo’s masterpiece don’t end there. Across town, on the Aventine Hill, at the villa of the infamous Knights of Malta, take a peek through the keyhole and the magnificent cupola can be viewed. Although it is miles away, it appears to be just on the other side of the door, nestled amongst the greenery in the villa’s garden.

Inside the basilica, surely the most prized work of art is Michelangelo’s first masterpiece, the moving and graceful Pietà, carved when he was only 23. The master’s grasp of human anatomy was fiercely accurate; nevertheless, if the figures of Mary and Christ were to stand side by side, she would tower over him, at least two feet taller. This can be explained both by Michelangelo’s decision to use a triangular shape for the composition, thereby necessitating Mary’s overly large lower body, as well as his choice to accent Christ’s weakened and vulnerable state in death, appearing small in his mother’s arms.

Illusions continue to abound inside the Vatican Museums, most particularly in the Gallery of Tapestries. The Resurrection of Christ, an early 16th-century Flemish tapestry based on designs of the school of Raphael, was woven using the technique of shifting perspective. View it from the left, and you will see Christ’s head turned toward you and his eyes making contact with yours. Slowly walk toward the right and not only will his eyes follow you, but his head and body turn as well, as does the rectangular stone he is stepping on. The illusion was achieved by double stitching: miniscule overlapping stitches that disappear behind one another depending on where you stand. Entranced by this effect, you might not notice yet another illusion on the vaulted ceiling of the same gallery. Using the tromp l’œuil technique of painting shadows, what appears to be an intricately carved ceiling of bas-reliefs and moldings is in reality entirely two-dimensional.

Haven’t had enough? The nave of Sant’Ignazio di Loyola near the Pantheon possesses a dramatically frescoed vault with what seem to be dizzyingly tall columns and hundreds of figures ascending straight into the heavens. More stunning still is the make-believe dome, in fact just a round canvas stretching across the church’s crossing, which –from a vantage spot marked by a marble star on the floor– appears to be a lofty, ribbed and coffered dome. Both were frescoed by master illusionist Andrea Pozzo.

Perhaps most mystifying of all is Baroque architect Francesco Borromini’s baffling perspective at the Galleria Spada near Campo de’ Fiori. Stand in the courtyard and you will see a long portico of columns that leads to a small garden and a whimsical statue. As you walk down the portico, the floor inclines upward, the columns shorten, the path narrows and the vaulted ceiling declines. The garden is just a few square feet and what seemed like a life-sized sculpture is not even as tall as your hip. You have been tricked again!

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The Villa of Dreams

In keeping with my ebullient mood, I feel the need to show off a little.

How lucky am I  to take my regular exercise in the grounds of a glorious Renaissance villa? Complete with manicured gardens, meadows, fountains, lakes, and hundreds and hundreds of my beloved Roman pines? I write of the Villa Pamphilj, a summer haven sprawling over Gianicolo hill and into the valley behind it, created in the 17th century by the rascal Camillo Pamphilj, (son of the infamous Donna Olimpia Maidalchini--more on her later) and originally called Bel Respiro. It has been a public park since the 1960s, at which time it was sadly cut in two by a busy new street. Only in the year 2000 was a sky bridge built to connect the two sides.

At 185 hectacres (455 acres) the villa feels like bit of countryside within the steaming city, and this lush retreat, high above the bustle of Rome, offers surprising tranquility.  A few nights ago I took a twilight bike ride through my enchanted forest, bringing along a camera to capture what I knew I would fail to express in words.

The Villa's lovely lake. What are all those little dots in the water?

Oh my goodness, turtles!

Lots of turtles!!

Turtles and ducks and swans, oh my!

The one spot in the villa where you can see the very tip of Saint Peter's dome.

I've been looking for a new place to live... I think I've found it!

Acqua Paola. This aqueduct is not ancient, although it follows the path of the ancient aqueduct, the Acqua Traiana. A few underground sections of the original aqueduct are still intact, and were incorporated into this Renaissance one when it was built  in 1612 by Pope Paul V Borghese. It brings water to Rome from the volcanic lake north of the city, Lago Bracciano, and feeds many of Rome's most important fountains, such as those in Piazza Navona, Piazza Farnese, St. Peter's, Trastevere, and of course the Fontanone.

The view on my ride home. Ahhhhh......


All photos by author

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"Siamo Romane... Trasteverine..."

When does buying olives and cheese nearly make you cry?

When you are buying them at the loveliest, sweetest, most delectably delicious salumeria in the most perfect and adorable neighborhood in the greatest, most beautiful city in the world... and when you know you are soon to be leaving that magical neighborhood with that wonderful shop.... (perhaps forever?)
No, I'm not leaving Rome. As much as she frustrates me, I don't think I could bear to part with her. But--at least for now--I'm leaving Trastevere.

People always ask me, "What is so great about Trastevere? It's so crowded/chaotic/loud at night/touristy/overpriced/cliché/covered in graffiti... Why do you insist on living there?"

Oh, only for a million and one reasons. But the one I'm thinking of right now is the one and only Antica Caciara. Baskets of the freshest ricotta cheese on the planet sit temptingly in the windows, along with dried meat hanging from the doorway with the worrying tag "Coglioni di Mulo" (mule's testicles). Inside the smell of the cheeses and cured meats could tempt even a vegan. Row upon row of olives, tubs of freshly made pesto and other sauces, barrels filled with bottles of local wine, narrow wedges of parmigiano lined up on the shelves. But all of this isn't the best part.

The best part are the people who work there. If you've ever lived in Rome, you know that the shopkeepers here are not always the friendliest bunch, especially if you are a dreaded foreigner. But the owner and his two charming assistants are the loveliest and most helpful people imaginable. Not even in my home town of Seattle--where customer service is an art form--have I been treated so well. Roberto, the owner, is soft-spoken and patient, carefully explaining how each cheese should be served and stored. At first I thought he was just unusually kind (which he is) but his assistants (one of which I assume to be his wife) are as courteous and friendly as he is. Samples are obligatory and leaving without a chat is unthought of.

As I bought my gaeta olives, I realized that this might be the last time (for a while) that I visit this delightful bottega, the reality of my departure from Trastevere--and all that I will miss about it--came crashing down on me. The winding streets, the cobblestones, the local shops on every corner: the fishmonger who keeps laughably short hours, the green grocer with his overpriced but glorious wild asparagus, the old man who beautifully frames my cheap prints, the two ladies at the laundrette who distinctly disapprove of me, the guy at the wine shop who's always ready with a smile and a "ciao bella!"...this is what I will miss most. Enveloped in the warmth of my adopted community, the graffiti fades into the background and all I see are ivy-covered buildings. My ears tune out the incessant car-alarms and revving of motors and I hear only churchbells. Even the stench of urine is covered by the scent of wisteria and freshly baked bread.

Trastevere means, "across the Tiber" and it is a neighborhood distinctly separate from the rest of the center of Rome. When you are there you feel it: time slows down a touch, the buildings get shorter and the streets get narrower. Sidewalks don't exist. A knife sharpener pushes a file attached to a bicycle through the streets, shouting up to the windows so the casalinghe can run down with their knives. They say some of the oldest Trasteverini pride themselves on never venturing to the other side of the river. And sometimes I think, well, why would they?
When I told Roberto and his wife that I was leaving Trastevere, they were sad, because they could see I was sad. "Trastevere è un piccolo villaggio dentro una città," said she, my thoughts exactly. "Trastevere brilla..." said he, and it does. On a sunny afternoon, approaching the Ponte Sisto, the bridge's sanpietrini shine as if lit on fire, like a golden brick road leading to the neighborhood I love best in all the world. From the battered fountain to the crooked rooftops, the medieval towers, the umbrella pines, and at last the Fontanone.

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Roma in Bianco: Snow in Rome!

It's finally June, and despite the 4 minutes of heavy rain earlier this afternoon, it feels as if spring is here at last. It may have taken longer than usual to arrive here in Rome this year, but now that it is well and truly here, it makes it all that much more enjoyable. And it is delicious to have a truly pleasant spring, instead of jumping straight into scorching summer as we usually do here.

In spite of the season, today I have decided to share some photos I took this past February, when it snowed (in Rome!!). It was an extremely rare storm, the likes of which hadn't been seen in the eternal city for nearly a quarter of a century. I had always promised myself that if it ever snowed in Rome I would head straight to the Pantheon to see the snow come down through the occulus. And that is precisely what I did. Here are a few of my favorite photos from that day, February 12th 2010.

All photos by author

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Divino Amore

Thursday I took a little pilgrimage of sorts to a sacred site just outside of Rome. The church of Divino Amore was built on the site where a miracle occurred in 1740.

On the site once stood the medieval Castel di Leva. 1n 1740, a man passing by the gatehouse of the castle was set upon by a pack of wild ferocious dogs. Seeing no one around him to come to his aid, he looked up to the gate and saw a fresco of the Madonna. He called out to her to save him, and miraculously the dogs calmed and did him no harm.

Since then it has become a site of pilgrimage for Catholics who built a Sanctuary to the Madonna of Divine Love on the spot in 1745. The fresco was removed from the gatehouse and placed above the altar of the church, but a replacement in mosaic now adorns the former.

The most moving thing, for me, about this site are the notes and plaques of gratitude that thousands of faithful have left on the walls in and around the sactuary, thanking the Madonna for her diving intercession on their behalf in the wake of illnesses, horrific accidents, childlessness and other miraculous situations.

Here are two of the most moving notices that I read:

"To you, Holy Lady, who interceded for us so that we would be able to take part in the miracle that is our baby daughter, Giulia.

To you, Holy Lady, because only you were able to understand how much we needed your love.

To you, Holy Lady, who has allowed us to go on living, and to enjoy this life in three.

Valeria, Antonio and Giulia."

"Thank you, Madonna of Divine Love, for helping me to escape alive from this accident, and for this I will pray to you and I will thank you for the rest of my life. I pray that you will always stay near me and give me the strength to go forward and surpass all the obstacles that life will put in my path. Above all, protect these two angels, Andrea and Chiara. You are their heavenly mother. Stay near them, and help them grow in the love of God. Always keep a protective hand over them and all of my family."

All photos by author

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Rome is in the Details

Apologies for the week-long silence. Finding a new apartment in the eternal city is a full-time job. I will try to get back on track even though the apartment-hunt is far from over. Woe is me.

Yesterday, as I was biking through town running various errands in the sun, I was struck yet again by the sheer beauty and uniqueness of this city. I'm working on a project for a friend that involves photographing building numbers, so as I whizzed up and down narrow cobbled back streets, I scanned the sides of the buildings. It's amazing the details that you notice when doing this that otherwise perhaps would be missed.

Someone once said, "Rome is in the details" and although Rome is certainly also in the monuments, "Um, Pantheon, anyone?" the former is also overwhelmingly true.

Here are a few of my humble photos from a walk around my favorite piazza.

All photos by author

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Pasquino and the Talking Statues

On Wednesday I introduced the topic of Talking Statues, some of my favorite curiosities of Rome.

Six in all, these ancient marble social commentators gave average citizens the opportunity to criticize the government and the pope in a time when freedom of press was a distant dream.

Legend has it that a tailor named Pasquino was the first to post a witty comment on the pedestal of an ancient marble statue near Piazza Navona. The battered remnants of the sculpture of Menelaus with the body of Patroclus--or so it is believed to be--was moved to its present position from the site of Domitian's Stadium (now Piazza Navona) in 1501. Shortly thereafter, it became a magnet for any well-worded jab at the powers that be, and whether or not this tailor was indeed the one to start the trend, the statue eventually took the name Pasquino, as did the triangular piazza where it still sits today. Five other talking statues are dotted around the city, including my favorite, Il Babuino.

 

In addition, Abate Luigi, a late Roman statue of a man in a toga, was discovered near the ruins of the Theatre of Pompey, and now resides in Piazza Vidoni. Besides serving as a posting board for political satires, the unfortunate senator has had his head removed several times by pranksters.

Madama Lucrezia, in actuality a fragmant from an ancient colossal statue of Isis that can be found today in Piazza San Marco, not only "talked" but went so far as to converse with fellow talking statue, the hunky Marforio. Given her options, I don't blame her for chosing him. Easily recognizable as a river god by his position, he was found in the Forum of Augustus, also called the Forum of Mars, hence the name Marforio. Today he can be found in the courtyard of the Capitoline museums.

The final talking statue, Il Facchino, is not an ancient sculpture, but rather part of a 16th century fountain representing a water porter. It is hidden away on the little Via Lata, and very easy to miss.

Only Pasquino has maintained his purpose as a bulletin board for social and political criticism. Posts come and go frequently, and the names Berlusconi and Ratzinger are among the most commonly seen, although it is difficult for me, as a foreigner, to grasp the meaning of many of the satires as they are often written in dialect. Some do seem senseless however, for example several years ago I saw the lyrics to Micheal Jackson's Billy Jean posted in block letters for no apparent reason. The most famous of all pasquinades was written in Latin on the occation of Pope Urban VIII Barberini's decision to remove and melt down the bronze of the Pantheon in order to complete his Baldacchino for St. Peter's:

Quod non fecerunt barbari, fecerunt Barberini!

What the barbarians didn't do, the Barberini did!

Photo sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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