I just woke up with a very clear and vivid memory of Paris:
I was in this thrift store vintage boutique with Rebecca and we were checking out. Rebecca noticed the salesperson’s nail polish and, speaking no French, asked me to compliment her on it. For some reason, the nail polish compliment REALLY excited the salesperson. We were chatting it was great. She said “Oh, here’s the color, I actually have it with me!” (In French). It was one of those OPI colors, a really pretty pink shade. It was called “Houston we have a purple” (I know, I know, it was a distinctly pink shade: problematic). I thought this was so strange—what a distinctly American cultural joke. My fascination with cultural canons was sparked—did every American understand where this came from? Did this reside in some collective American unconscious? Could it possibly have reached a Parisian audience? Surely not.
And I was right, Kind Saleslady was like “What a bizarre title, OPI is hella strange” (In French. Might not be an exact translation). I was like “ahh… you know what it means?” And, with the help of her friend (somehow, the words for spaceship and space mission had not come up in my French classes..), I explained that there was this spaceship, Apollo 13, and it went up into space and there was a malfunction and all the astronauts had to repair it themselves and then there was a movie with Tom hanks and he said “Houston, we have a problem” and isn’t it nice. It was actually kind of strange, because , what a weird story, you know? I think it’s really telling and American. I know that we no longer have the kind of space program that we had in the 1960s, I know we’re not sending people to the moon, but our space program was a uniquely American endeavour (yeah, yeah, Russia…) and it was something that almost defined us as a nation (especially on the eve of the Vietnam war and in the midst of the civil rights movement, it was uniting and, frankly, good for PR-oof that’s cynical—to say “Look, the MOON!”). The space program—the capacity to send Americans to the moon, to, depending on how you look at it, extend the reaches of manifest destiny to outer space, or to boldly go where no man had gone before and extend the reaches of humanity and scienty—was amazing. I mean, it still is amazing. And it does and did reflect distinctly American heroic(?) ideals. Americans’ fascination with space and the beyond was actually realized when we went to space. How amazing. And it has been immortalized (I hope) through Hollywood—Apollo 13, the Right Stuff, Armageddon (not based on a true story). So, of course “Houston we have a purple/problem” was relevant and made sense* (I mean, as much as OPI nail polish colors ever do) because it reminded Americans of that distinctly American story of space-heroism. Space-heroism: not a French ideal. How strange.
Also, I can, like, chat to people in French, ain’t that exciting!
It’s getting to be about the half-way point of my time here (WHAT???!?!). Time for a little mid-term review. It does, as I’ve mentioned before, feel incredibly like home. I think I have done a lot, in the past couple days of being a little bummy and homesick, to isolate myself from Italian culture, and so I’m going to work on that. MOAR ITALIAN.
edit: As you can see from the above text, this document has been a long time coming.
Also, note to self (and, really, to anyone who wants to visit Florence or stay there for an extended time):
Buy the Amici degli Uffizi museum pass. I’m not sure what it costs, but it comes with a) Free access to most of the museums in Florence (and I mean the big ones: the Uffizi, the Bargello, the Boboli Gardens—which, though a site to behold, would feel like kind of a ripoff if I had to pay whatever amount of Euros it actually cost—among others). My program gave us these, and I could not be more thrilled. I think the best part about the museums being free is that there’s no pressure. My favorite way to experience art is not while fending off a phenomenon I like to call “museum feet” after waiting in line with 5 million tourists. If you’re shelled out for the ticket, it feels like a) you can only go once, maybe twice; and b) you’ve got to stay for a long time and you better enjoy it. Having that free pass meant freedom. It meant that I could go to the Uffizi Gallery and look at one painting and then leave, knowing that I’d just come back another day. It meant that i could go to the Boboli Gardens, which are, honestly, the most breathtaking gardens I’ve ever seen, and just read War and Peace on my kindle, intellectual hipster-style. It meant that I could find one room in the Bargello (oh god, go to the Bargello) and sketch for 3 hours without feeling guilty for missing more of the museum. It meant, also (at the Uffizi at least) that I could skip the line, which at the Uffizi meant saving 3 hours. (Some people may think waiting three hours to see Botticelli’s stuff is worth it, but really, those are three hours that could be spent eating gelato).
Bottom Line: If you’re only in Florence for, like, a week, shelling out the €40 for folks up to age 26 or €60 (!!) for adults is probably something you need to think about. Tickets for most museums run between like €5 and €9, most being around €8. So, as an young adult, if you go to 5 museums, it’s definitely worth it, and if you’re an old adult, you have to go to like 8 or 9 museums to break even. While it can mean a lot of freedom, no one likes the cloud of “well, I paid 60 freaking euros for this, I’m going to another museum. AND I”LL LIKE IT” all vacation. (Here’s a link to the website)
Watching SNL. They’re doing bad Boston accents. I’m done. I’m packed. I’m going to see my parents. I’m on my way home.
Strange.
It’s almost the end.
Great day today, hanging out with Andrea and Sarah. Exploring the city that has become home. Damn. We went to the Duomo today. It was actually pretty funny; we saw a lot of students from the program taking this last day to visit (finally) Florence’s most famous landmark. The interior is strange. It’s… empty. It’s large. It’s not as majestic as I’d thought or hoped. I’m not a huge fan of Florentine Gothic style, and the lack of pews or art, the sheer amount of horizontal space and number of tourists took away the magic a little bit for me. Climbing the Duomo, though, was magical. It was extremely inspiring to be between the two shells of that famous dome, to be in the place I’d dreamed about coming to since the seventh grade. Wow.
We went to Mercato Centrale for lunch. I got meat covered in ground meat. It was hella delicious. I think the meat might have been wild boar. We all just sat in the Mercato, enjoying our wine and eating our food. It was wonderful.
We went wandering. We made a great dinner and just sat together drinking lots of wine and White Russians (which, incidentally, are absolutely delicious). I love the community I’ve created here and I am so sad it’s ending. Damn.
This wasn’t the most eloquent blog post. That’s fine. I’m tired.
I really like ceramics. I really like it a lot. (Some of) my pieces came out of the kiln today, and some of them look like just utter shit. Like maybe a third grader made them. Shitty Shitty. Which is sad, because the forms are beautiful, but the glazing is just disgusting. Alas. Some of the pieces, however just look SO GOOD. I am SO happy with them. My series “ex voto” came out really really nicely, and I absolutely love them. They look like a real person made them. I am so ecstatic about them. I love them. I think I have, like 5 or 6 pieces that I really love and that makes me SO happy.
For some reason, though, there were some casualties in the studio. Glaze is glass, right? and so, if you break it, you have broken glass. and that shit is sharp. And glass cuts pretty deeply. And bleeds pretty a lot.
If you are writing a paper on the fetishization of the female form in medical illustration, do NOT, I repeat, do NOT type in “women, medical, fetish, art” into google images and expect something to help you with your research.
Chickpeas are cheap, delicious, nutty, and protein-filled. Additionally, they are easily recognizable, and I can pronounce them in Italian. Needless to say, I’ve been eating a lot. I also have gotten into the habit of making broths out of every legume I use (are lentils legumes? Let’s just go with “yes” for now…) and using them to flavor my rices, my next batch of legumes (lentil-broth lentils are nice, rich, and filling), or some nice fall soups (lentil-broth soup with carrots and potatoes, man.)
This recipe is a basic one that I make all the time. Because who likes pasta? Nobody?
Brown some butter in a skillet (melt it and cook for a minute or two on medium heat until it turns a light golden color and starts to smell delicious but not burnt). Toss in 2-3 chopped shallots and a pinch of sugar and turn the heat to med-low. Give the shallots a stir every once in a while. Allow the shallots to slightly caramelize or otherwise cook to perfection. Toss in some arborio rice (“some” here is like a cup? a cup and a half?) and, like, move the pan around a bit. You should hear the hiss and shit. Then, add some white wine (“some” here is like a splash? or two even?) and slowly add chickpea broth (like 1-2 cups). Stir it all about a bit. Make sure that the rice is covered in liquid. Loosely cover the pan and stir every, like 5 minutes. As the broth is absorbed by the rice, you’ll need to replace the liquid until the rice is the desired texture. So, just, like, add water or more broth, a little bit at a time, about every few minutes until the rice begins to be the right texture. Never let the pan become dry or your rice will burn! When the rice is about the texture you want, stir in some provolone cheese and some frozen peas. Then you can eat it.
The Magdalenes in Italy are really fascinating to me.
First of all—Good Lord, Donatello is a beautiful and gifted sculptor. I have had a kind of bummy week—hanging around the house, napping, cooking. Good stuff, but not really spending a lot of time in, you know, Italy. So, I’m going to go be a tourist today. A friend of mine from class and I are going for pastries today, then, I think I’ll drop my things off at home and go to churches. And go to museums.
Today, I saw some American money for the first time in 4 months. That shit is weird. All, like, tiny and stretched out. It does not look like what money looks like, but what Mickey Mouse might use to purchase his…white gloves?
But, actually, this transition home will be strange. I love it here. I love it here so much. I never never never want to go back.
Every time I take a painting course, I make one piece that I like, maybe. Today, I made that piece. Okay. Satisfied.
In other news: fuuuccckkk it’s almost overrrr
Some of the readings I’ve been doing are really playing it fast and loose with the term “of course”
Note that ‘Scandinavian languages’ refers to the northern Germanic languages, i.e. Danish, Faeroese, Icelandic, Norwegian, and Swedish, but not of course Finnish. (Oh, really?)
called Blob. I went to it. That’s all you need to know.
Imagine you are drinking a beer. Imagine you are surrounded by Italians. Imagine you are sitting on a nice fall night in Florence in a cozy bar. Imagine two young men, about 24, clad in black button-downs, jeans, and converse sneakers. One is bearded. One looks a little like Joseph Gordon Levitt if you squint. The sit on stools and hold instruments, JGL has a bass, Beardy has a Yamaha acoustic. Everyone is pretty happy and a little tipsy. There are french fries with mayo.
Okay, are you there? Bene. This is what you are listening to:
(I wrote down the set list last night because it was pretty funny)
1. Don’t Know Much About History
2. A Medley of Backstreet’s Back (Alright!) and The Beatles’ Come Together. Obviously.
3. These Boots were Made for Walking
weird commentary in Italian
4. Blitzkrieg Bop
5. Video Killed the Radio Star
6. Karma Chameleon
7. Strange Rock and Roll Medley
8. My Sharona, or, rather, the Italian-language version of that song (which, obviously exists) and talks about “La Simona”. So…
9. Another Medley! This time it’s Walk Like an Egyptian and Are You Gonna Be My Girl?, which, surprisingly, worked pretty well.
10. More Medleys! It seems the Italians love medleys. Stand By Me and Beautiful Girl
11. Country Road, that quintessential song of the Florentine experience.
More weird commentary. What’s that you say, JGL-looking guy?, Your friend from Spain is here? And he wants to play the tambourine? Okay. Fine. Also, of note: a ukelele has appeared and replaced the bass.
12. Stealing Kisses from You
13. All together now! (this was actually really good… included some nice guitar tapping. and nose pinching, which I can’t really explain)
14. For some reason, a really slow and ukelele-filled version of Highway to Hell that involved three-part harmony.
15. Another slowed, down, Jason-Mraz-like rendition of You shook me all night long. Beginning to be uncertain about whether or not JGL and Beardy understand the lyrics.
16. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.
And… that’s Italy, folks.
So it’s winding down time. Shit. I have ten days left. I went grocery shopping for the last time. I am starting to pack up. Crazy.
I had two nights of really good friendship and bonding. I have a little cohort, a group of about six of us (Sarah, me, Heather, Andrea, Meg, Jessie) and we have had some really nice get togethers. It’s like playing dress up a little bit, going out on the town and being adults. Two nights ago, Sarah had a dinner party. I came over and we cooked—roasted two chickens, made potatoes with rosemary and goat cheese, made delicious white wine gravy and green beans. Our friends started pouring in to Sarah’s apartment and I carved the chickens and it was just so easy and nice. Drinking wine with good friends and having a home and hosting. It felt good. It feels like my twenties will be manageable and enjoyable and good and real. I felt at home. And, I mean, I thrive on groups and group activities, I am at my best when I’m in a small crowd of the people that I care about and that care about me and it was really comforting to know that, even though the group I left at Swarthmore isn’t around, I can still have that.
Tonight was another fab night. We went to a bar—not a fancy shmancy cocktail bar but a pretty American-style pub. Everything was wood and brick, except for the frescoed ceilings. Fucking everything is frescoed in Florence. But it wasn’t too Americanized—which was lovely because I hate being with Americans when I go out. Now, I know that makes me sound pretentious and America-hating, but I’m super not. I love and identify with the US (well, maybe not quite now… WTF Barack? Why do you reject science?), but there are a lot, I mean a lot of people (and a lot of them are female people) who come from the US to Florence to be loud and drunk and hook up with the Italian menfolk. And there are consequently a lot of clubs in Florence that look like they’re the freaking apple store and there’s, like, glitter and shit everywhere (example: Twice! A bar litterally wallpapered in silver glitter.) So this bar, The William (yeah…) was super relaxed. There was definitely an American presence, but it was a pretty good mix. And it was our little group again and we all got beers and french fries and listened to the music and laughed and said stupid shit. There was a rather… dynamic duo up there, a guitarist and a bassist (who looked exactly like Max—he was playing in a black collared shirt and red tie too) and then there was a ukelele. They played a pretty hilarious (and deafening) set. It was just a good fucking night. And I can’t believe I’m leaving soon.
I’m also getting so much better at, like, interacting with Italians. My Italian is improving! Yippee! What will it be like to go to the states and be with Americans who are not just this weird study-abroad cohort?
I don’t know why I’ve never worked with clay before. It’s both a different approach to and a different product from artmaking than I’m used to. It’s about making things that are active in the world. The things that we interact most intimately with in our lives are ceramics—the plates we eat of off, the vases in which we put our flowers, the toilets we shit in—are all ceramics, and the….object-ness of working with ceramics, the integration into life of ceramics is really engaging. Painting and drawing are about storytelling, about holding (as it ‘twere) a mirror up to the world, and creating some form of truth in response to what is all around. They are important and moving. Ceramics—functional ware—is an active participant in life. And yet, it’s still art! Whoa!
So I’m excited about that. I’m doing a couple of series—one on faces and facial features, one on translating my anatomy notes from this time last year into sculpture, and one more conceptual one of science as functional ware. I’m excited!
Also, I am good at throwing pots. Not only am I good at it, I find it meditative and wonderful. This is lovely.
