The Decisive Moment

On the night we all sat down together and shared what our contributions to this trip would be, I really only had two strengths to share: being adaptable and knowing a few things about art.
I didn’t know this class would line up perfectly with my art history class when I signed up. I didn’t know that when I learned that the colonnade of St. Peter’s basilica is designed to invoke the feeling of being embraced into the church, that I would be on the recipient end of that massive outstretched hug. Yet, I found myself staring up at Michelangelo’s Ceiling like a kid at the zoo, aware of every detail of the creature in front of me.
Pediments, orthogonals, Memento Mori.
In Rome, every vocabulary word and essay you’ve ever written can be seen in every direction. At the Galleria Borghese, I found myself face to face with my written thesis on sculpture: Bernini’s David. It’s not the David everyone knows, but he seemed to escaped out of my textbook for me. Artistically, I am fascinated with movement, and if there’s one thing Bernini can do, it’s make the marble move. Literally and figuratively, David comes out of his marble form into our space, interacting with me and the other onlookers. He pulls back on the sling, eyes focused, his body off balance as he draws momentum. In art, we call this the “decisive moment”. It’s the moment you wait for, when the image is it’s most dynamic, right as the action happens.
When I think of all the experiences I’ve had on this trip, it’s full of these decisive moments. Hands raised above the ruins of Ostia Antica, a ceiling being blown off by painted angels, a look of understanding between people who may not have otherwise met. Our travel to Rome came into my space, I had to interact with it and learn to become a part of what made it so beautiful.
I’ve sort of been a rough “art translator” for the group. But the thing is, this trip to Rome and the people who joined me on it, have taught me a lot more about what art is and can be. This is our decisive moment.

As the final knight (haha) of this Roman adventure draws to a close, it is time to reflect upon my experiences in the capitol of Italy. The things that stand out most in my mind to be thankful for this trip are language and friendship.
One of the things I was most excited for here in Rome was a chance to practice Italian. At the borghese museum, I was able to carry on a conversation with one of the employees in only Italian. Although the conversation was only 4 sentences in length, it seems like a step in the right direction. I communicated with many others during the trip with varying degrees of success, but one thing was apparent: they always appreciated the effort.
The other event that stood out to me was our time at the Musei Vaticani. To many, this location is central to their religious ideologies, but to others, it is merely a historical wonder. However, it seems that regardless of background, everyone was in awe of the Sistine Chapel. The ability to connect with so many others whilst viewing one of the most famous artworks in the world is difficult to put into words, but it's something I'll never forget. The Vatican museum contained such a plethora of art that it was impossible to truly process it all, so I'm also thankful for friends that were willing to take a moment to discuss what we had seen and felt, rather than just push onward and miss out on the meanings behind the art.

People in Rome and Getting an Answer

The last day in Rome. A week’s worth of experiences for what is starting to feel more and more like home. I’ll miss it despite that I’ve only been here a short time. What will I miss?

Well it isn’t the traffic laws. That’s for sure. I’ve been honked at, slammed between two doors on the metro, told via revved engine that I needed to move, and nearly run over. As it turns out, traffic in Rome is much more anything goes. In truth, I was surprised one night to see someone actually getting a ticket for a parking violation. Don’t get me wrong, I love when things are a little hectic, but I certainly won’t miss the uncertainty of whether or not a green light really means you’re clear to walk or not.

It isn’t even the artistry and beauty (of which there is plenty). The city is incredible. It’s great to be able to walk to the Vatican at night for a heart-to-heart with God—which the passersby will find only slightly discomforting. Which, if you get the time, San Pietro Square should really be seen at night. Another note here reader: in Rome, it is very possible to end up accidentally at the Vatican. And I won’t discredit how humbling it is to stand beneath the Arch of Constantine and appreciate both its age and colossal size. It is truly an incredible experience. Despite all of these types of antiquities Rome has to offer, I wouldn’t say it’s what really makes leaving Rome feel unreal. It is, I think, the people and the great feeling of humanity that is present just walking the street. 

For example, after visiting the Trevi Fountain at about 10:30 at night, I took a walk around it. I got 20 minutes away and people were still active. The stores in the immediate area were closed or closing but the people kept about. It was not strange to them that anyone was out. And they were genuine and kind people. Even the alleys felt safe. And so it is with walking in Rome.

Up until that point, I was an American in Rome treating Rome like an American city, but not afterwards. I sat at the Fountain and just reflected on life. And the Romans all understood. Several looked at me and nodded, or just came up next to me. Many foreigners - I could tell from my sparse German and smattering of French and Spanish—passed me by or started loud conversation with odd looks directed towards me. But the true Italians, seemed to commiserate with escaping the bustle of life.

It’s like when walking to the Vatican for my unintentional night-time encounter with the colonnade (since I didn’t realize that though the security check points closed the square remained open) those who live here, such as the guards, had a deeper appreciation of stopping to do so. Meanwhile, those tourists who passed by for many a nightly photo were not able to appreciate the site for what it was: ultimately a church, a people. Let me explain the guards for those who do not know. The guards are military men who never seem to be in a good mood (not bad, just not happy). They carry very large rifles, the type which I'm sure are against American ownership laws. And they have a very straightforward approach to problems. These same guards, mostly silent threatening human-beings I had not tried to interact with so far, actually smiled at me and thanked me. And when I left, they gave me a little wave and a nod. If I knew more Italian, I probably would have understood more than just the introductory "Thank you". What I got from the body language was something like this: "You're not the only one, kid".

I say this like I'm an observer. But what I'm beginning to realize is I'm not.We're active participants in the culture. Today, I had an incredible connection with the maid at the hotel. It did not last long, but long enough that we both understood each other. She passed me in the hall singing Amazing Grace--in English! And it was just beautiful, and I joined in. Just for a moment, we both understood each other, even though we couldn’t communicate in basically any other way. It lasted until we did not know the words, and then it was over. 

But it doesn’t have to end. I feel we can take some of it back with us. For example, in Louisville, if you're lost, you just ask directions. But after four or five tries in Rome, I'm willing to amend that. Note one: looking confused is a no-go. In Louisville, looking confused is the hallmark of being lost. Do that in Rome and people will run off in the opposite direction (true story). Note two: simply getting someone's attention is not enough to get an answer. I'm used to getting a direct answer whenever I get someone's attention. But three different people heard "Scusa", acknowledged it, looked at me knowingly, and I could not ask them anything. Note three: except on public transit, space is everything. For getting a conversation, you need to be in shouting distance, not closer. Finally, after a lot of trying, I got a working approach—put on a blank look, give five feet of space, get the person’s attention, and then ask the question with almost no gap between. So far, success every time, though not always a right answer (in fact, the answer was very wrong, but I made it back despite). It's something that from now on, I know. 

What makes it a part of you, I think, is the recognition of your own humanity. You can’t see the city without realizing the vastness of the world and your own smallness. One begins to understand that they are part of something much bigger. St. Peter's is not just a big beautiful church - it's a place others have gone before you, that has a developing and interconnected history. The Trevi Fountain is not just a place for tourists to throw their money - it's something that connects others through the stirring of emotion. The street is a constant rush of life, not just you in a crowd. And being one among many means being part of a group of people who understand each other. One thing is for sure: if nothing else, you will leave Rome knowing that the 20 people crossing next to you at the intersection have an intimate group understanding for being honked at, slammed on the metro, and nearly run over (even if they don’t say it). Not much, but a start. It's the little things as much as the grandiose.

An Accidental Pilgrimage

On 18 December 2017, I, like so many more before me, cried in St. Peter's Basilica. Specifically, I cried in the necropolis (burial ground) under St. Peter's Basilica looking at the plexiglass case in which St. Peter's bones are stored. It wasn't the 2000+ year old remains of the man who essentially founded the Catholic Church that got me. In fact, the only reason I was looking at what is left of the person Jesus is said to have described as the "Rock of the Church"was because I was trying to maintain my composure and divert my attention away from the physical rock that was turning me into a sniffling, leaky mess. Nicknamed the "graffiti wall", the rock is historically a place for faithful individuals to come and transcribe their prayers to the "Apostle of the Apostles". The wall is a plaster mess of partially-legible Latin scribbles crafted by anonymous hands, and the sight of it was completely overwhelming. Here I was in a body that is always breathing, or metabolizing, or salivating, or thinking, or something standing parallel to a structure that changed only by the will of other mortal bodies like mine. The juxtaposition of my constant physical change with the wall's physical consistency was flooring. It made me think about the pilgrims who wrote on the wall; maybe one furrowed his brow when he was thinking, maybe the women who came along 34 years later on a similar mission had a dimple that you could only see when she laughed, maybe her son with the cowlick made the same trip to visit St. Peter to pray for the recovery of his beloved. The authors of the entries on the graffiti wall have been lost to history, but their dreams, their desires, their passions are preserved in a public archive.

As an Honors student, I am required to complete an undergraduate thesis. I have chosen to study personal narratives of suffering through genre studies of memoir, journal, and oral storytelling. I have found that the journal is unique in that it is a deeply personal document that captures a moment shortly after it passes. Thinking about the pilgrims who contributed to the graffiti wall allowed me to see the wall as a sort of communal journal through which those in need could find the catharsis and peace of the written word. This perspective silenced my mind- for about 30 seconds I was in a state of meditative mental quiet. This silence was broken by three words that eventually wedged their way into my psyche: "this is important". The graffiti wall in St. Peter's Basilica invited me to step outside of my experiences and transcend the constraints of time, cultural, and ideological differences to connect with the raw humanity of unidentified persons, and for that, I am humbled and grateful.

Pinecones and Peacocks

A theme of this trip has been that there is so much, too much, to see and experience. While one would like to see as much as possible, it is important to devote a bit of time to processing and truly soaking in what’s going on.
That being said, there were so many options of where to go next that I simply could not choose. I also had seen so many breathtaking and incredible things not only that morning, but also in the days before. This necessitated some time of reflection and meditation if my experiences were to be truly meaningful.
So this is what we did! Myself and 4 other students sat outside on the edge of a fountain and processed everything that we had seen and done at that point. We noticed a pine cone and tried to remember what our guide had told us they represented. In Rome, pine cone motifs are abundant.
We also remembered seeing peacocks in the first church in the scavi under the basilica, as well as in some more recent decor.
This sparked a deeper conversation about why human beings choose to emphasize certain aspects of life, and why we pay homage to these symbols. We also discussed different religious and otherwise existential aspects of life, sharing multiple theories and even some personal opinions.
This conversation reminded me of a painting we had seen that day in one of the rooms of the Apostolic Palace. Raphael’s fresco known as The School of Athens features Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Pythagoras, and many other well known philosophers. (As a student of philosophy, this was one of my favorites!) In the fresco, these great thinkers are portrayed as actively teaching one another, learning from one another, and reflecting on their life experiences. Some of our own topics of discussion were similar to the very things that perplexed these men. Through time and space, there are things that bond us together as human beings.
From some of the other posts here, you can see how we have experienced a culture that is different from our own in more ways than one. If we exist in the same time, how much more different could the culture of these ancient philosophers have been from our own American culture, the present Italian culture, or any other present-day culture? This lesson has been reiterated to me through this trip: despite our many differences, through space and time we are all connected through our humanity.