It’s already been a month since I left GU, and we’re already starting our 4th week in Rome. I have also already used up 1/3 of my notebook. It’s sad to begin to say goodbye so soon, but it’s thrilling to see the first of the months until reuniting with home and loved ones whisk by.
Yesterday we worked some more on the Sistine street planning of Rome while beginning the Baroque in earnest. We walked from Piazza de Popolo (Piazza of people or pines…depends on how you translate it), where the pilgrims of olden days began their journey through Rome. This street plan of Rome basically got transplanted into Paris and Washington D.C., so the piazza is a big deal. Martin Luther began his pilgrimage to get indulgences here in 1510, and later Queen Christina of Sweden rode through here astride a horse (not sidesaddle) after abdicating her throne to become Catholic. She is one of two women buried in St. Peter’s and one of Fr’s favorite characters of the 1600’s. I’d like to read more about her. Piazza de Popolo is also in the neighborhood where Keats and the other expats used to stay during the days of the Grand Tour. There’s still Battingtons’ Tea Room, where you pay 20 E for a cup of tea, a scone, and tradition. Fr. is not impressed.
We visited two churches housing paintings by Caravaggio. We saw Saul’s Conversion and the Crucifixion of Peter in the Cerasi Chapel (sp?) – so beautiful. I love the strong diagonals and the shining realism of it. Caravaggio began the Baroque in earnest, focusing his paintings on a single dramatic, emotional moment that pushes into the viewer’s space and interacts with the environment. For example, in The Calling of St. Matthew, which we also saw, the light in the painting does not come from the painted window but seems to come from the actual window of the chapel, and in the painting of St. Matthew writing the gospel his footstool looks like it’s about to fall out onto the viewer. It was also cool to see that in the 3 paintings of Matthew in the Concarelli Chapel, his calling, his work, and his martyrdom follow the traditional Catholic process of prayer: purgation, illumination, and union with God. In the Calling, Matthew is obsessively counting not 100 dollar bills, not 10 dollar bills, but pennies – he’s still grubbing through them on the table when Jesus walks in and points to him. Peter seconds his pointing, standing between the two as the mediator of the church. Diagonals in the painting also point to Matthew. The pointing hand itself is the same as Michelangelo’s fingers in the creation of Adam on the Sistine Chapel. It’s a really cool painting. There is just so much coded meaning in Caravaggio’s works.
We also saw some sculpture by Boraccio in the Chigi chapel. Stories of Habakkuk and Daniel in the Lion’s den connect across the chapel, and the realism and emotion of each sculpture is beautiful. I didn’t like the Baroque before, since my teacher disdainfully described it as ‘wedding cake,’ but I really like it now. The neoclassical period called it ‘Baroque’ as a derogative term, meaning ‘misshapen pearl’ because of its movement and emotional twisting (in contrast to the neat geometrics and planes of Renaissance and Neoclassical art), but the Baroque artists saw themselves as very classical; they simply revived the Hellenistic style of antiquity instead of the classical style. Sorry if that makes no sense; if you ever want to go get coffee I’ll explain or go check out an Art History book.
On our way home we saw the Ara Pacis, cased in a controversial modern building designed by a Japanese Architect that replaced the fascist museum Mussolini put up. Mussolini pretty well covered the area around Augustus’ mausoleum with fascist architecture as a statement of his identity as the new emperor, but some of it has been torn down now. We also saw Alfredo’s, the restaurant that created Alfredo sauce, and the home of St. Luigi (Aloysius) Gonzaga.
Today we continued the baroque explorations with a slight detour: the Capuchin Cemetery. This cemetery and museum, built by Capuchin brothers (founded 1528), showed the austerity and fervor that marked this reformed group of Franciscans that helped the Jesuits lead the Catholic Reform in the 15-1700’s. In the 1600’s a new wave of mortality hit Europe as population outstripped resources (Malthus, anyone?) and the plague hit again for the last time in 1640. Groups like the Capuchins responded with the motif of Memento Mori, among other things. Memento Mori means remember death. In this particular cemetery, the friars buried their dead in a mixture of quicklime and earth from Jerusalem. When the bones were clean, someone (no one knows exactly who) arranged the bones into decorations. As Fr. Maher says, “How do you solve the problem of too small a cemetery? Dig up the bones and make tasteful decorations.” The first mention of the composition of the crypt came from the Marquis de Sade’s visit in 1775. The first of the little chapels has an inscription: “What you are now we used to be, what we are now you will be.” Some Franciscans ate dinner with a skull as a centerpiece for the table – this took it a bit farther. The bones of about 3,700 people are buried or incorporated into the walls here. The designs, made out of jaws, ribs, vertebrae, etc. formed surprisingly delicate traceries on the ceilings and created arches over paintings and altars. I didn’t find the crypt grotesque at all, although it was certainly thought-provoking. Even death became a beautiful thing, and the bones usually treated with such fear became a sort of mockery of death itself. The afterlife in Christ makes earthly remains simply material; bodies are just bodies, and we all die. It was also interesting to think that God knew each and every one of the bones in that building, and could have reassembled each and every dear body if He chose. It was also an unusual way to experience the beauty in the design of the human body. I could just imagine a brother sorting through piles of bones, seeing the possible shapes, gathering up the pieces he needed like lego blocks. Totally unafraid of death. I really liked it.
The accompanying museum also held some interesting pieces. They had a display of St. Padre Pio, who I need to research more. He was an incredible confessor and mystic (20 hours a day spent in hearing confessions) and JPII didn’t think much of him until he saw Pio’s works, after he became pope. Pio was canonized in 1999, so he is a very modern saint. They had his briefcase and a few other things on display.
They also had a couple baby dolls used a devotionals. This, being Fr’s area of expertise, promised a good lecture. Dolls of the baby Jesus or Mary were made by women for women to help focus on the humanity of the infant Jesus. When a nun joined a convent, female friends gave her a doll as a symbolic spouse and child, both found in the person of Jesus. Around Christmas women would hold their dolls as a devotion. Also interesting was a painting of Joseph with the infant Jesus. In the early church Joseph is always portrayed as an old man asleep in the hay away from the nativity because the dogma of the virgin birth was not nailed down entirely, and they didn’t want peasants to think that a virile, 22-year old Joseph had anything to do with the baby. By the 1600’s the dogma was established to the point that to suggest otherwise would mean burning at the stake, so Joseph could be portrayed with the baby. Through time Joseph continued to get younger, until he was eventually used as an anti-communist symbol as a young, muscular man with baby Jesus in one hand and an axe in the other with Mary looking on adoringly. Fr. has written a book on Joseph, it’s on amazon. I’m intrigued.
The rest of the day we spent poking our noses into Baroque churches by Bernini and Borromini (talk about the possibilities for confusion…). Luckily Bernini tends to like sensual emotion and lots of color, while Borromini is a bit more academic and intellectual in all white, so we can sorta tell the two contemporaries apart. Beautiful sculpture and movement in stone.
Tonight we have an appointment with the Jesuit archives to see some of St. Gonzaga’s letters and some other goodies from the archives. Fr. says all the Jesuits laughed at the Dan Brown movie and the idea that the Vatican archives are full of technology; they all knew that IF there was any technology, it would have to be the coffee machine. Which always breaks.
Speaking of coffee: cappuccinos are named after Capuchins. The capuchins wear a brown habit with a white piece (I blank on the exact name of the garment) and the coffee with milk looks the same. Fr. took us for cappuccinos this morning and told me about trying to order one in the US. He told the barista, a guy with dreds, that the frothy, thin stuff he gave him was NOT a cappuccino. The waiter responded, “I’m just doing what Seattle tells me to do.” Fr. was not impressed. “That’s what the Germans said about the Nazis. Think for yourself.” The very liberal young man was left sputtering. Don’t ever mess with Fr.’s coffee, or his cutting wit.
We also saw some sculpture by Boraccio in the Chigi chapel. Stories of Habakkuk and Daniel in the Lion’s den connect across the chapel, and the realism and emotion of each sculpture is beautiful. I didn’t like the Baroque before, since my teacher disdainfully described it as ‘wedding cake,’ but I really like it now. The neoclassical period called it ‘Baroque’ as a derogative term, meaning ‘misshapen pearl’ because of its movement and emotional twisting (in contrast to the neat geometrics and planes of Renaissance and Neoclassical art), but the Baroque artists saw themselves as very classical; they simply revived the Hellenistic style of antiquity instead of the classical style. Sorry if that makes no sense; if you ever want to go get coffee I’ll explain or go check out an Art History book.
On our way home we saw the Ara Pacis, cased in a controversial modern building designed by a Japanese Architect that replaced the fascist museum Mussolini put up. Mussolini pretty well covered the area around Augustus’ mausoleum with fascist architecture as a statement of his identity as the new emperor, but some of it has been torn down now. We also saw Alfredo’s, the restaurant that created Alfredo sauce, and the home of St. Luigi (Aloysius) Gonzaga.
Today we continued the baroque explorations with a slight detour: the Capuchin Cemetery. This cemetery and museum, built by Capuchin brothers (founded 1528), showed the austerity and fervor that marked this reformed group of Franciscans that helped the Jesuits lead the Catholic Reform in the 15-1700’s. In the 1600’s a new wave of mortality hit Europe as population outstripped resources (Malthus, anyone?) and the plague hit again for the last time in 1640. Groups like the Capuchins responded with the motif of Memento Mori, among other things. Memento Mori means remember death. In this particular cemetery, the friars buried their dead in a mixture of quicklime and earth from Jerusalem. When the bones were clean, someone (no one knows exactly who) arranged the bones into decorations. As Fr. Maher says, “How do you solve the problem of too small a cemetery? Dig up the bones and make tasteful decorations.” The first mention of the composition of the crypt came from the Marquis de Sade’s visit in 1775. The first of the little chapels has an inscription: “What you are now we used to be, what we are now you will be.” Some Franciscans ate dinner with a skull as a centerpiece for the table – this took it a bit farther. The bones of about 3,700 people are buried or incorporated into the walls here. The designs, made out of jaws, ribs, vertebrae, etc. formed surprisingly delicate traceries on the ceilings and created arches over paintings and altars. I didn’t find the crypt grotesque at all, although it was certainly thought-provoking. Even death became a beautiful thing, and the bones usually treated with such fear became a sort of mockery of death itself. The afterlife in Christ makes earthly remains simply material; bodies are just bodies, and we all die. It was also interesting to think that God knew each and every one of the bones in that building, and could have reassembled each and every dear body if He chose. It was also an unusual way to experience the beauty in the design of the human body. I could just imagine a brother sorting through piles of bones, seeing the possible shapes, gathering up the pieces he needed like lego blocks. Totally unafraid of death. I really liked it.
The accompanying museum also held some interesting pieces. They had a display of St. Padre Pio, who I need to research more. He was an incredible confessor and mystic (20 hours a day spent in hearing confessions) and JPII didn’t think much of him until he saw Pio’s works, after he became pope. Pio was canonized in 1999, so he is a very modern saint. They had his briefcase and a few other things on display.
They also had a couple baby dolls used a devotionals. This, being Fr’s area of expertise, promised a good lecture. Dolls of the baby Jesus or Mary were made by women for women to help focus on the humanity of the infant Jesus. When a nun joined a convent, female friends gave her a doll as a symbolic spouse and child, both found in the person of Jesus. Around Christmas women would hold their dolls as a devotion. Also interesting was a painting of Joseph with the infant Jesus. In the early church Joseph is always portrayed as an old man asleep in the hay away from the nativity because the dogma of the virgin birth was not nailed down entirely, and they didn’t want peasants to think that a virile, 22-year old Joseph had anything to do with the baby. By the 1600’s the dogma was established to the point that to suggest otherwise would mean burning at the stake, so Joseph could be portrayed with the baby. Through time Joseph continued to get younger, until he was eventually used as an anti-communist symbol as a young, muscular man with baby Jesus in one hand and an axe in the other with Mary looking on adoringly. Fr. has written a book on Joseph, it’s on amazon. I’m intrigued.
The rest of the day we spent poking our noses into Baroque churches by Bernini and Borromini (talk about the possibilities for confusion…). Luckily Bernini tends to like sensual emotion and lots of color, while Borromini is a bit more academic and intellectual in all white, so we can sorta tell the two contemporaries apart. Beautiful sculpture and movement in stone.
Tonight we have an appointment with the Jesuit archives to see some of St. Gonzaga’s letters and some other goodies from the archives. Fr. says all the Jesuits laughed at the Dan Brown movie and the idea that the Vatican archives are full of technology; they all knew that IF there was any technology, it would have to be the coffee machine. Which always breaks.
Speaking of coffee: cappuccinos are named after Capuchins. The capuchins wear a brown habit with a white piece (I blank on the exact name of the garment) and the coffee with milk looks the same. Fr. took us for cappuccinos this morning and told me about trying to order one in the US. He told the barista, a guy with dreds, that the frothy, thin stuff he gave him was NOT a cappuccino. The waiter responded, “I’m just doing what Seattle tells me to do.” Fr. was not impressed. “That’s what the Germans said about the Nazis. Think for yourself.” The very liberal young man was left sputtering. Don’t ever mess with Fr.’s coffee, or his cutting wit.
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