Some Multiple of “A Portrait of the Artist”
17 Saturday Sep 2016
Posted in Art
Monthly Archives: September 2016
Reporting for Duty
16 Friday Sep 2016
Posted in Education
At work, oddly with a search engine, on Walden.
Between me and the far hillside, a steady rain.
I read in the Gulistan, or Flower Garden, of Sheik Sadi of Shiraz, that “they asked a wise man, saying: Of the many celebrated trees which the Most High God has created lofty and umbrageous, they call none azad, or free, excepting the cypress, which bears no fruit; what mystery is there in this? He replied, Each has its appropriate produce, and appointed season, during the continuance of which it is fresh and blooming, and during their absence dry and withered; to neither of which states is the cypress exposed, being always flourishing; and of this nature are the azads, or religious independents.–Fix not thy heart on that which is transitory; for the Dijlah, or Tigris, will continue to flow through Bagdad after the race of caliphs is extinct: if thy hand has plenty, be liberal as the date tree; but if it affords nothing to give away, be an azad, or free man, like the cypress.
The word I’ve been working on, for a time, is mystery.
By now no riddle here: I just missed my 11:00 date with the iPad.
Weather Reporting
16 Friday Sep 2016
Posted in Travel
Woke up. Some time before 7:00, and I heard:
It was pouring rain. The first thing that I did
Was to change beds and climb back into sleep.
Woke up. Some time before 9:00, and I wrote.
It now is overcast, trying it would seem to stop.
The market, we both wondered, does what on a day
Like the one that drove us away with such bluster.
Will the clouds to keep uncovering. News at 11:00.
Between a Hard Rock and a Poor Interface
15 Thursday Sep 2016
Posted in Uncategorized
In a blind spot, on a path we travel often, sits the studio of a critically acclaimed master.
We had seen his art work before, by accident, when another exhibit in Norcia closed early.
A good thing, then, that I asked Rebecca if she wanted to stop. Who knew what we’d find?
“Stories made by stones at the seaside.” New work, inspired by the birth of his great-granddaughter Gaia.
Walking along a beach, finding found-art in the stones, is one thing–enjoyable, but not necessarily transformative.
But to attach the stones to the piece of art, coupling it with the painting it inspires, now that’s something else.
To see the stones for yourself. Then to see the artist’s rendering of what nature itself has already expressed. Amazing.
Between the stones and whatever interface kept us away from this artist before, I am grateful that it has passed.
Now, if I could only get my devices to sync up, I could move the research on Bizzarri further along.
Gone Before You Know It
14 Wednesday Sep 2016
Posted in Uncategorized
The last melone was the best:
So very sweet, and yet so firm.
Who knew we didn’t even know
That season’s end was closing fast?
-
- The proper end to a Still Life
Unless this strange, new orange football
Turns out to be the best of all….
-
- Not quite orange, exactly, but then what but “strange” to rhyme with it?
A Quiet Corner of the Park
13 Tuesday Sep 2016
Posted in Uncategorized
Or else, from Rebecca’s prospect view:
Trying to Figure Things Out
13 Tuesday Sep 2016
First, the music. And first, by entreating my wife: What kind of music was that? Knowing her major, career, and current interests, I no more expect an answer from her than from me.
According to my instructor, the correct answer to the kind of music is “discordant.” But the more I inquire, the more she insists that she is just “no help on that score” [pun delightfully intended].
Wikipedia speaks of Rossini’s inspired, song-like melodies (earning him the nickname “The Italian Mozart”); whereas no search results are expected to show up for Vittorio Montalti.
So what were the instruments we heard? (Hard to see, without opera glasses, from the cheap seats. And as my 6th grade teacher could attest, how very little did I show a distinguishing ear.)
Before I hear from Rebecca, my best guess would be percussive. The guy on the far right side had a string of instruments (by no means, string instruments) he was running between.
The whole thing sounded electronic to me, sort of John Cagey in a more continuous, melodic sort of way. Otherwise, how would a single, solitary note ever get sung?
Beyond these few, pitiful excuses for something to say about this obviously modern music, we expend our learning lesson on the headlines in the paper: “Rientro a scuola per piu di 5mila studenti.”
After the Opera
12 Monday Sep 2016
Posted in Art
Behind S. Nicolo, where we heard “Hey Joe,” night falls on the hillside.
Politico 2.0
12 Monday Sep 2016
Posted in Travel
Umberto is funny. Some nights, at the Osteria, he makes the rounds. But others, we don’t hear from him again once he has taken our order.
Tonight, the place was almost empty. Only one other couple, and they were finished well before 21:00 (early by Italian standards).
And so, Umberto arrives with “il problema.” That is, the figurative earthquake that has hit the tourist industry in Umbria.
Back and forth, between his English and our Italian, we review the media coverage and its aftershocks on the tourist economy.
Hotels and restaurants, like his, are hurting. Italian children return to school today. The season is over, finished.
From one media story, to others: a moment of remembrance for “9/11”; the flood of African immigrants, landing on Italian shores.
A sidebar on the Pope, with more political incorrectness from this avowed “old man,” follows. Our young waitress keeps stealing glances.
When I go to pay the check, Umberto is more than surprised by the length of our stay. Pleased, maybe, that we have braved the news.
The Dreaded Conversation (in Italian)
12 Monday Sep 2016
Posted in Education
In Piazza della Liberta, come ci si aspetterebbe, la domanda temuta: “Trump o Clinton?”
We fumbled over our collective American selves for the answer (in Italian:-).
On a second political conversation, in Inglese e in Italiano, more later.
Meanwhile, we did learn a new Italian word in Piazza Libertà: “la paura” [fright].