Last Looks

Today marks my last full day in Cortona. Then it's off to Venice for a couple of days, back here for the "Last Supper" Friday night, and then an early train to Florence on Saturday to catch my flight.

I'm really, really bummed out about leaving this little mountain at the moment. While the summer has had a lot more ups and downs that I would have hoped for, it's all been the best as far as my growth is concerned, and I hate to leave this vibrant, inspirational, serene atmosphere. I've met some great artists, been inspired more than I ever have in my life, made some new friends, saw some of the world's greatest architectural, artistic, and natural treasures, and have done things that I would never have the opportunity to do otherwise. I learned how to process and print film in a darkroom, furthered my design skills, and developed a well-rounded knowledge of some of the other art forms going on at UGA and in the world right now. And, somewhere along that road, I met one heck of a girl that I'm lucky to have in my life.

Cortona has been such a wonderful place to learn, grow, and live over the last two months. I am so blessed and so thankful to have had this opportunity. Thanks to all for the support, well wishes, and financial help over the last two months. I'll do my "final" post after I return home on Sunday, with a recap of the most memorable moments of my trip along with the usual meandering ramblings. 'Til then, ciao.

-msr

Quiero dos tacos blandos...

The first thing I'm going to do upon returning to America: eat Mexican food. I'm craving to the point of dreaming about it.

Home Stretch

Well, the end is in sight...and it's getting clearer by the moment. I have class tomorrow, Monday, and Tuesday, and that's it for the academic part. I haven't posted this week due to the amount of work I've been slaving over, but I think I've crested the hill. Our final photo portfolio is due on Tuesday, and my final landscape project is due the following morning. I've nearly completed my photo stuff, and hopefully the last design project won't be too much of a headache.

Then it will be off to Venice for a personal vacation to end to my time in Italy; I figured it would be fitting to spend my last two days here exploring the same city that introduced me to this wonderful country. Plus, now that I'm armed with a novice level of black and white skills, I might be able to pull out a few worthwhile photos upon my return. That would make me happy.

Sorry for the lack of introspect/exciting tales. Not enough sleep mixed with an exhaustion of my artistic skills for the time being make for a rather monotonous post. Also, please keep another one of my friends from here, Beth Robinson, in your prayers. She just got word this morning that her brother (only 25 years old) passed away, and she is already on a flight home. I've seen so much heartbreak this trip...I guess it just goes to show how much we need to cherish every day and live life to the fullest.

Ciao,

-msr

Celebrations

What a week. A rush to the finish in both of my classes, a whirlwind trip to Rome, a field trip to Orvieto, and an Italian Mass to top it off. Where to begin...

Last week was the climax of my classes, which made for some late nights but ended up making my birthday that much better because I had nothing to worry about over the course of the weekend.

Rome and my birthday were great. I have a wonderful, amazing, caring group of friends and family that let me know that I'm loved, and for that I am forever grateful. I am so blessed. Thanks to all of you.

Rome itself was amazing. We caught a later train that we wanted due to a guest speaker announced at the last minute here in Cortona, but things worked out as they always do, and the group made it to the amphitheater in Rome long before the show started. A wonderful dinner preceded the show, setting the mood for a quiet, upscale evening.

Damien Rice was unbelievable. The venue was an imtimate outdoor amphitheater, the stage a simple semi-circle dotted with candles on the ground and a fairly simple lighting set around. The show began minutes after the last bit of sun fell behind the horizon, making the candles and the single spotlight on Rice's piano that much more effective. He started off the show alone, playing "Rootless Tree" with piano being the only accompaniment to this haunting song.


"what i want from you
is empty your head
they say be true,
don't stain your bed
we do what we need to be free
and it leans on me
like a rootless tree
what i want from us
is empty our minds
we fake a fuss
and fracture the times
we go blind
when we've needed to see
and this leans on me
like a rootless..."

Band members joined Damien one at a time, song by song. The setlist was wonderful, with only "Older Chests" and "Amie" left out from my favorites. A completely unplugged version of "Cannonball" closed out the set. And when I say unplugged, I mean that Damien Rice asked the audience for quiet, unplugged his acoustic guitar from the mic, stepped out to the edge of the stage, and played the song sans any electrical help at all, just his voice barely carrying through the night, as if he was just some guy sitting on a streetcorner in Rome playing for the passerbys on the street. As if that wasn't enough, the encore was full of fun songs and topped off with a version of "Cheers Darlin" that I can't even describe. Phenomenal show.

The next day was spent visiting St. Peter's for one last time and then making our way back to Cortona. The night was finished off with pizza at Tonino's and a viewing of "Almost Famous".

Saturday was spent in Orvieto, a neat town on top of a plateau about an hour from Cortona. Naps in a park, a bit of cave exploring, yet another duomo visit, and a little bit of window shopping made up the day.

This morning I got up a bit earlier than usual and went to an Italian service at the Catholic Church in town, just for a change of pace. I wanted to see if the worship of God carried over to me through the denomination and language barrier. It was a beautiful service, and the nun that led the hymns had a voice that carried through to my soul. The ritualistic nature of the Catholic Church is something that interests me. I like that they show so much respect to the past and to God, but I wander if it is these same rituals that have alienated so many people within that organization from the God that it is supposed to be about. Regardless of my theological questionings of the church, it was nice to be in God's House again, however different it may be from Glady Branch.

Sorry for the rambling nature of this post. I don't really have the patience to go in-depth on much, but I wanted to share the last few days' events while they were still fresh. Take care everybody.

Ciao,

-msr

Partying in the birthday suit

Off tomorrow to see Damien Rice in Rome. I'm really, really excited; it's not too often you get to see one of your favorite artists, on your birthday, in Rome, with good company. Not much else to write about...thanks to all for the prayers for my buddy. A little bit of background: Blake, one of my roommates here, had to fly back home yesterday on a moment's notice due to a very serious and sudden health issue with his father. We got word earlier today that he made it home alright and that his dad was still hanging in there, thankfully. Please continue to keep his family in your thoughts and prayers; this should never have to happen to anyone, and certainly not to such a great dude.

I'll be back in Cortona on Friday with a little write up about my latest adventure.

Ciao,

-msr

Perspective

A few events transpired this morning that made me take a few steps back and reevaluate my life and personal situation. I am so incredibly blessed, and feel frivolous for worrying about unimportant things and adopting a negative attitude towards so many things recently. The little things always work out, and it hurts to know that I've been anything less than positive at the same time that a friend of mine is going through a truly horrendous situation. A quote from Mary Schimdt's Sunscreen essay comes to mind:

"Don't worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday."

Please keep my friend Blake in your prayers, and I encourage you to take a step back from your own life and count your blessings and to tell the people around you that you love them.

-msr

Somewhere There's Music

Something happened this past weekend that is a rare event in my life: tears came to my eyes. It wasn't the beauty of Florence (which was the city I spent my weekend in) that brought them on, nor was it any human interaction. It wasn't from a sad sight, or from an tragic ending to a book or film. It was simply a series of pictures of some guys playing musical instruments. Strange, eh?

Larry Fink, an American photographer who focuses on social commentary and certain people groups, has an exhibit titled "Somewhere There's Music" on display at Florence's photography museum. The pieces were black-and-white shots taken between 1950 and the early 70's of American jazz artists, ranging from the legends like Leroy Jenkins to guys at the local bar. This body of work left me stunned; it is the perfect example of an artist connecting with their subject, and having the skill and talent to display this connection in a way that no other person could and no other medium could. This quote greeted us as we entered the exhibit, and I don't think I could explain what he did with a million of my own words:

"Jazz players were my heroes. I idolized and was awed by them. As a young boyish man, I stood in line at the clubs unknown to most so that I could experience first hand the inner pleasure of beauty, the linear intelligence, the liquidity, the release. Music, foul and growing, dark, round, and tranquil, long and clear...it is for me the river of life. It fuels me on the deepest level. I wish to share with all the majesty of being witness...to sound."

The prints caught that moment where a jazz musician loses himself in the music, where he becomes one with his instrument, where he transforms into a different animal. Fink understood the music, the moment, and captured it in a fashion that took my breath away. I felt I could relate with this subject; while I have yet to find my own medium of expression (photography might be it, but I still have a ways to go), I am blessed with the ability to lose myself in a someone else's body of art, be it a film, song, photo, or occassionally a painting or sculpture. That moment when a piece of art takes over, when the world becomes secondary to the experience at hand, is magical to me. It has happened numerous times this summer, and from a plethora of inputs ranging from Ryan Adams to a short film to Bernini's sculptures to some of my classmates' work to God's own paintings in the sky. Thus, it was fitting that a medium I care so much about, with a subject that has been so key to me this summer, was the one that finally got me, that finally made me just stop and take it in, stirring my heart and losing me within it. It was beautiful. I wish that I could write an entry that would do the experience justice, as corny as that sounds, but writing is most definitely not my medium.

I guess I'll leave with a quote from the legendary Roswell Rudd, and one of the pictures from the show. They might do a bit better.

"...So I would be dancing around and doing my scat, singing along with what they were doing. And just watching those guys go into another world, with their sounds, you know, and the expressions on their faces changed and their behavior was different...something comes over them, some kind of extraordinary force comes over them...moves them, you know, a strange feeling, or maybe just a huge kind of epiphany...suddenly, skies open up and you see eternity..."




Ciao,

-msr

A Sense of Place

Cortona is starting to feel a lot like Athens as far as my comfort level goes. I know my way around our little mountaintop pretty well, and the novelty of being in a foreign country wore off a good while ago. I can finally do what I sought out to: immerse myself in a place, familiarize myself enough to feel it, and hopefully glean some design techniques and philosophies from it. Life lessons wouldn't hurt either, but that's an entry for a later time.

It no longer feels strange to see road signs and advertisements in a foreign language. I don't feel totally lost when I walk down a street and don't hear a word of English spoken. Uneven stone streets, while not fun to navigate while jogging on, don't seem so awkward anymore. Ordering at a restaurant isn't as much of a challenge as it used to be, and I'm even getting used to the tiny cars that line the streets.

By no means am I flaunting myself as a blue-blooded Italian or anything like that; rather, I make those points to show that I've just grown accustomed to this way of life, and I think that's kinda neat. Now, in my last few weeks here, I feel like I can now really take it in and immerse myself in the spirit of this place. Why is this so important to me? Because it's linked on so many levels with what I want to do with the rest of my life.

Each place has its own personality and leaves its own distinct impressions on its occupants. It's important for a designer to recognize those feelings and see what elements of a given area contribute to those impressions. These same elements will be manipulated by the designer in order to create a new sense of place in other locations, so understanding what makes an area its own is quite the important task. Most people think that Landscape Architects just throw in some shrubs to make a place prettier, but my actual aim is to create a space with its own individual presence, and it takes a lot more than a few rhodos and boxwoods to accomplish that. An understanding of scale, light, hardscape materials, entries, circulation, elevations, views, and spatial presences are all critical in mastering the craft of creating spaces.

The natural and built environments of Italy are quite different than those back home, and that's why I'm so interested in how people react to their surroundings here. And in this place where language has almost no influence on my perceptions of space, I can now focus on other things. For example, the geometry of the buildings. The lighting at different times of day. The scale of plants, their color, their bloom time. Where people walk. How fast they walk through the space. How the age of things affects their character. Where the eye is led to upon entering a space. How art or sculpture affects the space. Where windows are. Where doors are. Where are we guided to? What is there along the way? What colors, what textures draw you towards them? Which ones push you away? And, most importantly, how to the people in these places act? Do they move through quickly, or do they stop and let their eyes wander? Do they interact with the environment around them, or do they just accept it and move on? What do they focus on? Obviously, the landscape doesn't define all of the behaviors within it and thus a sociological understanding is also key, but that might be another rant sometime too. This is already long enough.

Big picture? It's neat to surround yourself in a wholly different environment. For a person that is going to be designing them for the rest of his life, I think I'm pretty blessed to have this opportunity. Hopefully I can get some tips through the fellas that built this city all of those centuries ago, letting them speak through their creation. Because while the language barrier might throw a wrench in figuring out what kind of pizza that is on the counter at the bar (turned out to be anchovies...), the relationship between a person and their environment is the same in any language, much like a kiss or a smile.

I think the folks at the Italian Customs Department have it out for me. No, really. How hard is it to get a package that contains paper, shirts, pop tarts, peanut butter, and some flip flops cleared? I'm gonna get the stuff just in time to pack it up and tote it back home. Lesson learned? Sometimes the easy-going, get-it-done-whenever Italian way of life can be a bit irritating.

*End rant.

Reflections Part 5 & other assorted thoughts

Sick Micah = no posts for a few days. Sorry to all that missed my rambling. :) The good news is that the bug has been kicked to the metaphorical curb, and we're prepped to go for a good week that will end with a weekend in Florence.

Before I continue on my Reflections slant, a few random thoughts:

It's really, really expensive to live in Italy. The nasty exchange rate right now is probably to blame. I'm basically paying twice as much for everything that I would back home.

I get to see Damien Rice, in Rome, on my birthday. How cool is that?

It hit me the other day that I'm over the halfway point of my time in Europe. That makes me sad. Surprisingly though, I'm fairly ready to get back stateside, if nothing else to see my family and my dog. And eat Mexican food.

Onto Venice reflections:

I fell in love with Venice in my time there. The city definitely has its lows in its stooping nature towards tourists, but the urban fabric of the city and its unique relationship to the natural landscape intriuged me to no end. It took me a day or two to really get a feel for Venice (the overt tourism gimmicks jaded me despite an amazing arrival), but I can safely say it has been my favorite place to be so far in Italy. A recount of one unforgettable moment:

The initial entrance to the city is unbelievable. A train carried us to Venice from the mainland, arriving on the northwestern side of the city. This path meant that we didn't see anything but ocean until arriving in the station, with nary a look at the city itself. After arriving at the train station, I left Kara with our luggage so that I could venture out into the drizzle outside and buy some water taxi tickets. As I walked out the door of the stazione, I felt like Tom Hanks in "The Terminal" as he steps from the harsh airport into the sweeping New York streetscape. Suddenly, all of the hustle, the chaos, the stuffiness, the coldness of the train station were gone. In one step, a horribly confined space had transformed into a breathtaking vista, and along with that was an experience that I will never forget. A large piazza spread out in front of me, terminating into the Grand Canal that ran left to right in from my perspective. On the other side of the Canal, the familiar-through-movies-and-pictures buildings speared out of the water, seeming to float. The buildings each shared a side, tightly knit together, creating a whimsical patchwork quilt of varying heights, architectural styles, and once-vibrant colors that still shone, only with the wink of many years of history. People came and went in a peaceful manner, strolling throughout the piazza and over a stunning bridge that spanned the canal to my left. Boats idled through the water in front of the houses, made up of as many styles and sizes as the buildings they scurried around. The drizzle provided a welcome refreshment from the stale station air, and the faint smell of the sea drifted in front of me, adding a strong reminder of the sea's all-important dynamic relationship with the city. A typically beautiful Italian church on the left and another sublime government building on the right framed the view.

I froze in the door of the train station. This unexpected vista riveted me in place, bringing a crooked, childish-wonder kinda smile to my mouth after the initial shock. I was in Venice. I closed my eyes, trying my best to cement this moment in my mind. The smells, the sounds, the views. Familiar elements, but set to a composition that I had never experienced. Love at first sight might be true after all.