Rome via Brooklyn

984 words.

If I had to caption the featured image of this post, I think I’d call it:

“Yield to the Light!”

I pointed out the statue to my dear friend Claudia as we walked out for a late night digestivo. I wanted to talk about how odd it felt me to name an industrial steel bridge after Francis of Assisi. He seems the furthest thing from a patron of such a place. But then again maybe we need humility and love of creation even more in spaces so transformed by concrete and commerce. She pointed out that from right vantage point he was framing moon rise. Glorious.

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Friday was Colosseum day. I always find it so overwhelming and much prefer to have someone else be formally in charge of teaching. It is the crowds and the heat and a little bit my absolute disgust at Roman blood sport and its religious justifications, to say nothing of the reckless disregard for the lives of the enslaved forced to build such a beautiful murderous space. I get so mad that it was adopted in an ahistorical way as a monument to Christian Martyrs (yes, they were many executed for their faith; no, this was not a primary site of that martyrdom), when we know that it was Jewish prisoners of war following the destruction of the Temple, who were forced to die building it, so many more could die for entertainment. Sometimes I can communicate these thoughts in intellectual ways. I don’t mind teaching it in the classroom, but on site it is all a bit much.

This year the fantastic team from PI did a fabulous job setting the scene with mock battles to teach about the staging of gladiatorial battles. They emphasized the trained fighter against trained fighter type of spectacle, and the relatively low death rate (3-8%) we estimate among these enslaved participants. That says nothing about trauma, suffering, disabling physical injury. And, it does not reflect the Roman’s own desire to see blood, through staged executions, and other ‘ludi’. Yuck, yuck, yuck.

In the Colosseum itself though I cannot help myself talking about construction techniques, crowd management, and all the myths on display on the special Rome and Troy exhibition on the second floor. The Turkish government loaned so much material! V impressive collection of artifacts and v well displayed.

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My weekend was near perfect. Even the mistakes were perfect. Claudia wanted to see Tivoli. Waterfalls! Ruins! Cute shops and cafes on picturesque pedestrian streets! Who wouldn’t want to go?! I was left in charge of trains. And guess what? I messed up royally. We ended up on an express train to Florence. The conductor was so lovely he looked over the tickets and quickly understood the error was because the two trains departed the same station at exactly the same time. So I went to Florence for the first time since 2012. It really is full exclusively of Americans in way I find depressing. And yet, it is SO beautiful, who could be mad about that.

We visited the campus of Claudia’s daughter’s college. She’s sending her daughter for a whole semester abroad there. I’m so jealous. I want to live in Italy with all y’all and future generations of BC students in a picturesque dedicated palazzo across from a gorgeous garden in a neighborhood full of Italian college students, and stay the whole semester, even the whole year. I feel too old to manifest that reality and with too many books to write, but wouldn’t it be nice?!

Sunday Claudia had booked the Galleria Borghese, exceptionally hard tickets to secure because of the masses of Americans wanting to visit. She booked through a secondary party and wow I’m glad she did. In my mind’s eye I remembered only the Caravaggios and Berninis. They are spectacular; some of my favorites really: Jerome deep in translation across the room from Ann with Mary and Jesus. I’d forgotten the rich selection of antiquities and later works which echoes of antiquity.

I found myself slightly disturbed at my own happy selfie by a masterpiece depicting attempted Rape and the futility of resistance–it only leads to further loss of autonomy, even selfhood. The hair of Cassandra as she clings in futility to the statue of Athena hoping for divine protection as she is seized by Ajax the lesser captures so much of the same hopeless terror in the moment before violation. Reuben’s Arachne is just as disturbing for our knowledge of the futility of her attempt to live up to Athena who will shortly condemn her to a life as spider despised by all women. Ditto Medusa.

I was frustrated with the display of the hermaphrodite. Up against a wall. Thus they have ensured no one can actually see the contrast in sex characteristics. It feels prudish and a great waste of a masterpiece intended to be seen my walking around it.

The rings in the portraiture reminded me of the ancient rings for sale just the day before on the ponte Vecchio in Florence. I cannot tell if the rings in the painting are truly Roman although I suspect it is possible. Likewise, the rings in the shop lack all provenance. No archeological find spot to help us produce a meaningful object history. Perhaps they are not even genuine. I could say some are likely to be but I cannot authenticate them.

After the Galleria, I fulfilled a life long frivolous fantasy of renting a bicycle car in the gardens. We had dinner in the evening with colleagues in from the UK and I got a rather outstanding professional invitation that THRILLS ME. Under wraps for now.

Monday, I took Claudia to Malibu Beach Club and Swam and Ate and Slept and repeated it All, all day long. I feel so restored and eager for this last week ahead.