If I have learned any Italian word on this year’s trip, it is “chiuso“–“closed.”

“A picture is worth a thousand words” is an old saying I recall recalling.  One pic beside the other, then, must be worth either two thousand or a million (you do the math when the door marked “chained” stands between us and the church.)

Other photos follow the same motif (trust me, you don’t want to sit through that long-lasting picture show–any more than you want me to trot out the “bulleted list” format to give a go at testing the old memory).  Suffice it to say, “Chiuso.”

Five sculptures remain in Spoleto from Sculpture Nella Citta, the renowned 1962 art exhibit, which was a part of that year’s festival.  Calder’s Teodelapio is the largest (and most famous as well, I suppose), by design.

But Lynn Chadwick’s Stranger III brings out “the thing that is winged” in view.    & the other two, by Consagra and Francina, have their own respective virtues.

For a somewhat different take on art in the city, there is always this candid photo of winged rain-gear from last year’s trip.  (Note nonna’s place in back.)

Can’t find the name of this deconsecrated church.  Seems like, last time, there was an historical marker.  So far, I haven’t tracked down a single reference.  In any case, I’ve always liked the way it looks.  Today, no cars blocked the view:

Enjoyed the chance today, in the first place, to return to the Opera House.  Lovely hall, as seen from the orchestra level this time.  Incredible acoustics.

Excited even more by the finale of the piano competition, this time in concert (so to speak) with the Spoleto Orchestra.  (More about that later.)

But first there was the familiar “pony tail” guy, who tuned the piano for at least a half an hour, at times it seemed with the intent to solicit a confession of some sort about something.  (Hey, that’s about the extent of my Italian.)

Then there was the other “hair” guy, one of the judges we’ve been following, who turns out to be the Orchestra Director.  Quite young, and an entertaining presence on stage, with the fingers of his free hand forever taming the mane.

Eventually, the competition arrived: two males, each playing the same piece: “Rhapsody in Blue.”  Wonderful, wonderful, just wonderful, is all I can say.

Then the (younger?) ladies played something else.  Sounded vaguely familiar to me, especially at first, but I could never place it.

Amazing way, in any case, to spend a free afternoon in a pretty hilltown.

For three days now, we’ve been going to the Strumenti & Musica festival.  (In our case, we’ve snubbed the Fisarmonica in favor of the pianoforte—in lots of the playing, a might heavy on the forte.)

What a blast!  Young adults in their early twenties, sometimes younger, all auditioning to play in an ensemble (we think)—or for some other prize we haven’t figured out.

You can cut the competition with a knife.  One mother thumped her daughter on the back (in a gesture of encouragement, one presumes)—so hard it almost took the wind out of the girl and the room.

Another prima donna (if males be such) moved around like he owned the place. And as for Palazzo Leti Sansi itself, here’s hoping Rebecca’s photographs do the trompe l’oeil (optical illusion) justice!

The judges even joined us at nonna‘s kitchen for lunch one day, though they probably think it was the other way around.