Momentary Blindness 2

        A single raindrop fell onto my right hand. I felt the cold droplet hit my tan skin. It surprised me. Another raindrop followed, hitting my forehead this time. Since it had just rained that morning, these raindrops were the ones that lingered on the tree above me. They refused to fall until that very moment.    
      The raindrops kept falling until my page felt wet when I ran my hand over the grainy pages of my journal. Every time one would fall, I heard the crisp paper being attacked by the small but powerful water. The impact of the raindrops made a sound as if to warn me of its presence. 
     With my pages now wet, I turned my attention to the birds, which could be heard loud and clear as if an orchestra of birds had assembled that morning. Chirps coming from all different directions. The birds moving above me, flying through the air, their song fading in and out. At times the noise grew hectic, it seemed to me as if there was no order to their chirps. I couldn’t see the birds, but I imagined them hoping on branches and gliding easily through the humid air. 
     The air was thick but warmer than it had been when we left Prati. I prefer it when the air is warmer even if that means that I’ll be too warm with all my layers of clothing. I also noticed that this space smelled like nothing. Usually, the streets of Rome smell like something whether it be the aroma of flowers, cigarettes being smoked by Europeans, food from the restaurants or from garbage piling on the street but this space smelled like nothing. It was the lack of flower, cigarette, and food smells that truly amazed me.

Giornale 2

My second excursion was very different than my first because in no way was it planned beforehand. After leaving the Roman Forum, Hannah and I wandered around Rome. I have learned through this travel seminar that I have a terrible sense of direction, and that without Hannah, I would be lost in the city most of the time. As we passed the gelato shops and vendors on the street, I looked up and thought I saw the Spanish Steps. As we approached the steps, I was extremely confused because we were approaching steps but my eyes had deceived me from afar. We were actually walking up the steps of the Piazza del Quirinale. While it was an accident to walk up the hill, we both decided to do our second giornale since we had the afternoon free to enjoy the exhibit at the Scuderie del Quirinale.

Hannah and I purchased our ticket, checked our bags and proceeded to walk upstairs to the Leonardo da Vinci exhibit that the museum has at the moment. I learned about Leonardo da Vinci as a child in history and art classes, so I was expecting to see his artwork however I was surprised not to find any of his paintings on the walls. Walking through the exhibit, I was guided through the drawings, models, and manuscripts that da Vinci either invented or inspired others to invent. The exhibit explores major topics that persisted during the renaissance like war innovations and what the design of an ideal city should look like.      

Two of my favorite pieces in the museum were on the second floor. Stored on the second floor is Leonardo da Vinci’s personal book collection. Each book is displayed in a glass case but it was amazing to see the only book with his handwritten notes. After moving further into the room, I spotted what looked like a wooden bird hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. The structure had a circular wooden center and thin bat-shaped wings. It was the flying machine in which da Vinci used the anatomy of birds to help engineer the structure. He designed the device so that a man could “fly” by compressing it with quick movements. What amazed me was that most of da Vinci’s sketches have inspired inventions that are used today however this is one invention that still is left to be developed further. I feel like the longing to fly has always been around, and it is possible that one day, his sketches and ideas could be used to inspire others to invent a perfected flying machine.

While this excursion was unplanned and it was not exactly what I had anticipated, I am glad I had the experience to see da Vinci’s work and learn more about his life. The Scuderie del Quirinale is a beautiful space, and it has a staircase in the back with large glass windows to see a stunning view of the city. While I reflected on my time at the museum, what amazed me about some of his work was that many of the ideas he had were not fully developed, and that actually inspired other inventors and architects.

Ekphrasis 1

He radiates confidence,

Naked,

His body exposed,

To the elements of the forest.

Barefoot the young satyr stands,

His round toes,

Against the flattened earth.

This satyr has stopped,

Halting to rest,

Against the remnants of a tree.

He leans against the thin stump.

Its branches,

Long gone,

Broken,

Leaving only the base.

His smooth skin glistens in the sun.

The light hits his body,

Muscles chiseled,

Allowing the definition in his stomach,

To be seen from afar.

Hair slicked back,

It lightly brushes against his back,

Showing his delicate features,

Thin lips and almond-shaped eyes,

An oval face.

Long ears almost concealed,

Pointed at the tip.

Beautiful is his face,

Youthful and mischievous,

His thoughts wander.

Cradling the fruit,

He holds in his arms,

Swindled in a cloth.

Grapes and apples,

The fruit so heavy that it drops,

Almost falling onto the ground.

As he stretches his right hand,

Towards the open sky,

His stiff arm,

Hangs in the air.

He stares in awe,

He tilts his head,

To admire the imperfect fruit.

He grips the apple,

The soft skin of it,

Held between his hands.

The sweet juice,

Concealed within the round tender skin.

He takes pleasure,

In staring at the sweet beauty,

His eyes,

In a trance,

As if seduced,

About to be overcome with joy.

(05/26/2019, Giovane Satiro, Il sec dc da originale del tardo ellenismo, collez. albani)

Piazza San Pietro

Greta closed her eyes underneath her sunglasses and took a deep breath. Her daughters behind her played on their phones and her new husband was distracted by the camera he had bought for the trip. The girls insisted on taking a break after having seen St. Peter's Basilica and walking up the dome. This was Greta’s first time on vacation after her remarriage with Christian and she had decided to bring her two girls. Her oldest daughter, Mary, seemed excited by the idea of visiting Italy for three weeks before starting her internship in Berlin. As a junior studying history, Mary had wanted to visit Rome and Florence however Catherine, the youngest wanted to stay back in Germany with her father and friends. Greta and Mary had to force Catherine to come instead of having her stay in the countryside of Germany.

After arriving in Italy, the family had settled on staying in Prati. For the first time in years, Greta had left the trip to be planned by Christian who adored traveling. He was the person who purchased the tickets, found the AirBnB, and scheduled the itinerary according to the places that Greta and Mary wanted to visit.

As Greta, pushed her short curly hair into a hair tie, she noticed how busy the Vatican was becoming as the day progressed. She had pushed her family out of the apartment early in the morning so that they could arrive before the rush of tourists. Her father was the one to teach her to arrive early. Greta’s father, a devout Christian, was the first person to bring her to Italy before his sudden death a few weeks after the vacation to Rome. Sitting on the steps of the portico, looking to see the Vatican Obelisk in front of her and moving her eyes to watch people entering St. Peter's Basilica all reminded her of her father. This was one of the only places she remembered visiting with him as a child. He had taken Greta into St. Peter’s Basilica, he held her on his back as they listened to the priests singing during mass. Greta, having not gone to church in years since her father’s death, said a prayer for him as she closed her eyes again.

(Piazza San Pietro 05/24/2019)

Piazza Navona

     My tired eyes close easily, leaving me in the dark, so that I can tune into the sounds of the busy Piazza Navona. I know I am not in Saratoga Springs anymore because I can hear the sounds of a city. Rome, like most cities, is bustling and alive with movement. Compared to the first time I did the Momentary Blindness exercise, I am surrounded by people from around the world instead of inside my office space listening to Skidmore employees. My body melts onto the street curb, the cold pavement surprisingly is more comfortable than I expected. My white, creamy cardigan protects me from the cold breeze that hits my back. The sun, when not hidden behind the thick clouds, is able to warm my back however the chilly wind continues to attack my bare ankles. 
     Within the Piazza, I am sitting on a street curb facing Sant'Agnese in Agone. The water from the Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi is the first sound I hear from behind me. The water, dripping off the sculptures hits the basin of the fountain with such force that I feel like I am standing near a waterfall. Milling around the Piazza Navona are people, with the hum of voices concentrated in front of the fountain but also spread out around the Piazza. After only listening for a few minutes, I hear Italian men talking, an American family strolling by and a French couple taking a walk. Everyone has their own agenda, some people moving through the space with their voices disappearing quickly, while others can be heard lingering in the Piazza. The lyrics of Frank Sinatra’s, “I Love You Baby ” is being sung behind me by a man with a heavy yet smooth Italian accent.
    His voice fades quickly as I hear the sound of traffic. From outside the Piazza, impatient drivers in their cars can be heard with their engines speeding up, getting faster just to fade into the distance until the sound of the engine disappears. People are walking on foot, but I also hear tire wheels of bicycles gliding against the cobblestone. A stroller makes its way across the street in front of me however the heavy wheels loudly clank across the uneven cobblestone.  A baby’s piercing cry interrupts my train of thought, and I open my eyes for a few seconds to write down what I am hearing. I close my journal, stand up and join the group of Skidmore students, only to add more movement and noise into the busy Piazza Navona.

(Piazza Navona, 05/22/2019)