Some people have asked about the apartment that we are staying in while in Rome. Since it is only a two bedroom and we had booked it in advance, Gary is staying at The Best Western Piccadilly...just two blocks away. For information on our apartment, here is the web site: www.casacleme.com
Last night, Gary's concierge reported that the strike had been settled, so we had another Brucato Morning--off at the crack of dawn to be the first in line at the Villa Borghese, hoping to get in. When it finally opened, the clerk apologetically said we'd have to go on stand-by, since our reservation was for yesterday when the place was closed. So, as soon as everyone else went in, we returned, and he actually gave us four passes free of charge.
Cardinal Scipione Borghese was fabulously wealthy and his uncle was the Pope, so he was able to build himself an incredible villa surrounded by acres of gardens and parks. He had an excellent eye for art, and whatever he wanted, he got by buying, bribing, or even using his Papal connections to convince owners that it would be in their best interest to donate pieces to his collection.
The villa today seems as fresh and new as it must have been when the Cardinal lived in it. Every inch of the place is covered with paintings, fescoes, mosiacs, real and faux marble, gold leaf trim, painted ceilings--you name it. Room after room after room after room.
One of them had no fewer than seven Caravaggio paintings in it, although one was on loan. One was a portrait of himself as a boy with a lecherous look. On the opposite wall was another boy, his favorite model, holding a large basket of ripe fruit as if inviting you to sample some of the delights he had to offer. But next to this was another picture of an emaciated shepherd boy with the worldly look of one who has seen it all. It's title was "St. John."
Caravaggio was the bad boy of the late or even post-Renaissance. Before he was 21, he'd spent a year in jail for something, and shortly thereafter, when he came to Rome, he was protected for some time by powerful patrons. Only when he killed someone did he have to flee and spend the rest of his life on the run. He died at the age of 39 on his way back to Rome hoping for a Papal pardon.
Borghese, who had known Caravaggio personally, somehow acquired what was probably his last painting, one that he may have been taking to the Pope as a peace offering. It depicts David, not as the heroic slayer of giants that Michelangelo carved, but rather as a sad, young man holding the Goliath's severed head by the hair.
As in most of Caravaggio's paintings, light and dark help create the theatricality of the moment, but even more, the expression on David's face leads to many interpretations as he gazes on the head, which is actually a self-portrait of the artist. Could this be a portrait of a youthful Caravaggio looking mournfully at what he had become, an anguished, haunted man destroyed by years of dissipation? Or perhaps it's a plea to the Pope for forgiveness for the murder he committed years earlier? Or maybe it's Youth symbolically looking at the the face of Age? Who knows? All I can say is that the expressions on both faces and the tension between them are enough to move one to tears.
And while we're on the subject of David, Borghese also has one carved in marble by Bernini, another contemporary who is well represented in the Cardinal's collection. Some critics consider Bernini to be an even greater sculptor than Michelangelo, and we have two statues of the same subject to compare. The latter's David is probably the most famous sculpture in the world, but the one by Bernini also has a valid claim to greatness.
The one by Michelangelo, which is in Florence and reproduced on coffee mugs and tee shirts all over the world, shows a youth gazing with calm determination at the job ahead of him, killing the giant Goliath with just a sling shot. The stillness, beauty and confidence of the statue became the symbol of the City of Florence itself. The one by Bernini, however, captures the dramatic moment—the split second—before David hurls the stone. The expression of angry determination on this David's face contributes to the energy of the sculpture, and it invites the viewer to share that space, that moment in time, that emotion.
There's one other Bernini statue I want to include before we leave Rome, a city that is filled with his statues. It's the main attraction in a tiny church we stopped at on our way home. It's Bernini's famous "Ecstasy of Saint Teresa," which he carved for the Cornaro family, four members of whom are seen, carved in marble, in a nearby box, as if at a theater, discussing what's happening on the stage before them.
Bernini depicts the saint at the very moment she experiences what she later described as the pure ecstasy of God's love. If you didn't know the title of the piece, you'd think it was close to pornographic. As some wag put it, “If that's what religion feels like, I'm all for it.”
The amazing thing is how Bernini could transform hard, cold marble into a woman who seems to float on air as an angel readies another arrow to thrust into her. Nothing in sculpture before or since has produced anything quite like this. The Cornaros not only paid Bernini to create this masterpiece, but they also gave him free reign to design the chapel it's displayed in. The burst of divine light falling from the heavens onto the statue is actually a concealed skylight. In fact, the whole place is a stage set for this extraordinary, frozen moment of pure (holy?)rapture.
One look at my three companions as we left the Cornaro Chapel matched my own sense of exhaustion at the overload of art we'd experienced this morning--that plus the two early-morning departures and the temperature that, by noon, was edging up to the predicted 86 lead us to the wise decision to head straight home for some much-needed down time, otherwise known as naps.
Last night, Gary's concierge reported that the strike had been settled, so we had another Brucato Morning--off at the crack of dawn to be the first in line at the Villa Borghese, hoping to get in. When it finally opened, the clerk apologetically said we'd have to go on stand-by, since our reservation was for yesterday when the place was closed. So, as soon as everyone else went in, we returned, and he actually gave us four passes free of charge.
Cardinal Scipione Borghese was fabulously wealthy and his uncle was the Pope, so he was able to build himself an incredible villa surrounded by acres of gardens and parks. He had an excellent eye for art, and whatever he wanted, he got by buying, bribing, or even using his Papal connections to convince owners that it would be in their best interest to donate pieces to his collection.
The villa today seems as fresh and new as it must have been when the Cardinal lived in it. Every inch of the place is covered with paintings, fescoes, mosiacs, real and faux marble, gold leaf trim, painted ceilings--you name it. Room after room after room after room.
One of them had no fewer than seven Caravaggio paintings in it, although one was on loan. One was a portrait of himself as a boy with a lecherous look. On the opposite wall was another boy, his favorite model, holding a large basket of ripe fruit as if inviting you to sample some of the delights he had to offer. But next to this was another picture of an emaciated shepherd boy with the worldly look of one who has seen it all. It's title was "St. John."Caravaggio was the bad boy of the late or even post-Renaissance. Before he was 21, he'd spent a year in jail for something, and shortly thereafter, when he came to Rome, he was protected for some time by powerful patrons. Only when he killed someone did he have to flee and spend the rest of his life on the run. He died at the age of 39 on his way back to Rome hoping for a Papal pardon.
Borghese, who had known Caravaggio personally, somehow acquired what was probably his last painting, one that he may have been taking to the Pope as a peace offering. It depicts David, not as the heroic slayer of giants that Michelangelo carved, but rather as a sad, young man holding the Goliath's severed head by the hair.
As in most of Caravaggio's paintings, light and dark help create the theatricality of the moment, but even more, the expression on David's face leads to many interpretations as he gazes on the head, which is actually a self-portrait of the artist. Could this be a portrait of a youthful Caravaggio looking mournfully at what he had become, an anguished, haunted man destroyed by years of dissipation? Or perhaps it's a plea to the Pope for forgiveness for the murder he committed years earlier? Or maybe it's Youth symbolically looking at the the face of Age? Who knows? All I can say is that the expressions on both faces and the tension between them are enough to move one to tears.
And while we're on the subject of David, Borghese also has one carved in marble by Bernini, another contemporary who is well represented in the Cardinal's collection. Some critics consider Bernini to be an even greater sculptor than Michelangelo, and we have two statues of the same subject to compare. The latter's David is probably the most famous sculpture in the world, but the one by Bernini also has a valid claim to greatness.The one by Michelangelo, which is in Florence and reproduced on coffee mugs and tee shirts all over the world, shows a youth gazing with calm determination at the job ahead of him, killing the giant Goliath with just a sling shot. The stillness, beauty and confidence of the statue became the symbol of the City of Florence itself. The one by Bernini, however, captures the dramatic moment—the split second—before David hurls the stone. The expression of angry determination on this David's face contributes to the energy of the sculpture, and it invites the viewer to share that space, that moment in time, that emotion.
There's one other Bernini statue I want to include before we leave Rome, a city that is filled with his statues. It's the main attraction in a tiny church we stopped at on our way home. It's Bernini's famous "Ecstasy of Saint Teresa," which he carved for the Cornaro family, four members of whom are seen, carved in marble, in a nearby box, as if at a theater, discussing what's happening on the stage before them.
Bernini depicts the saint at the very moment she experiences what she later described as the pure ecstasy of God's love. If you didn't know the title of the piece, you'd think it was close to pornographic. As some wag put it, “If that's what religion feels like, I'm all for it.”
The amazing thing is how Bernini could transform hard, cold marble into a woman who seems to float on air as an angel readies another arrow to thrust into her. Nothing in sculpture before or since has produced anything quite like this. The Cornaros not only paid Bernini to create this masterpiece, but they also gave him free reign to design the chapel it's displayed in. The burst of divine light falling from the heavens onto the statue is actually a concealed skylight. In fact, the whole place is a stage set for this extraordinary, frozen moment of pure (holy?)rapture.
One look at my three companions as we left the Cornaro Chapel matched my own sense of exhaustion at the overload of art we'd experienced this morning--that plus the two early-morning departures and the temperature that, by noon, was edging up to the predicted 86 lead us to the wise decision to head straight home for some much-needed down time, otherwise known as naps.
