Category Archives: italy

Canvas: Roma Cafe

Okay, I did do a painting before last Christmas. A co-worker gave me a photo of her favorite spot in Rome and asked me to turn it into an ink-and-watercolor piece. I’d never done this type of mixed media, and I was relatively happy with the result. This project rekindled my interest in drawing and forced me to become familiar with watercolor, a medium that has always intimidated me.


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Canvas: “The Hermitage of Mt. Subasio”

Oil & acrylic on canvas board. Based on a photograph I took of the hermitage of St. Francis in Assisi, Italy; it was one of my favorite places in the country.

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My favorite day in Italy was Pasquetta.  In Italian culture, this is the Monday after Easter, in which families picnic in the countryside.  Friends of our program, Kay & Chubba, live in a villa in the hills across from Orvieto.  They invited all of us students to join them at their home for Pasquetta.  The day after Easter, we all hiked up to their villa, carrying food and books and journals and cameras.  The weather was glorious, food was in abundance, and Kay & Chubba opened the wine made from their vineyard.  We ate and talked and ate and laughed and ate and took naps and ate and explored.  I just remember how incredible the weather was, how breathtaking the view of the city from Kay & Chubba’s villa, and how happy everyone was.  It’s a shame we don’t have such a tradition in the States: a day to simply do nothing but be together, enjoying good food and the beautiful world around us.

Buona Pasquetta!!!

Seriously, this is the view of gorgeous Orvieto from where all of us are sitting in the picture above.  See why we stayed there all day?!

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Wine Time

The production of wine goes back thousands of years, and many believe it actually originated in the Middle East.  Evidence of the earliest European wine production has been uncovered at archaeological sites in Macedonia, dated to 6,500 years ago, which is an incredibly exciting fact for a member of the Macedonian ethnicity who just loves her wine.  However, wine production improved considerably during the Roman Empire, and today, much of the world associates classically great wine with Italy.

I experienced some truly wonderful Italian wines while living in Orvieto.  I had only consumed light white wines before Italy, but my roommate over there came from a family of red wine drinkers, and she got me hooked on the full-bodied Chiantis of Tuscany.  I will now drink a dry red wine at room temperature over anything else I am offered.  Thanks a lot, Amy.  You’ve ruined me.

My time in Italy inspired me with the desire to try wines from other parts of the world, including Argentina, Chile, Hungary, and Australia.  If you enjoy a glass of wine with dinner once in a while, or a glass while you are cooking, I encourage you to try something imported, something new, and not just the cheap table wine that tastes like weird juice.  My favorite sparkling wine, far more than champagne, is Italian Prosecco, or the delightfully crisp Moscato D’Asti.  You get the bubbles and the feeling of something expensive and special, but without the bitter aftertaste champagne often leaves.

My parents and I have sort of adopted a “house red”.  We love the wines from the Kalbarri vineyard in Australia:

We don’t drink too much white wine anymore, but when we do, it’s usually the Orvieto Classico I introduced to my family upon my return to the states.  I haven’t found a vineyard that has reproduced the divine Classico that the Bigi vineyard does, but they don’t export their wine, so I’ve had to settle for another:

Chianti, however, will always have a special place in my heart because it reminds me of all of the meals I ate, the friends I made, the personal growing I did, and the memories I made throughout Italy.  Wine is a huge part of life over there, not a beverage on which one becomes drunk, but one that is enjoyed in company and to celebrate every wonderful thing about life.  When I purchase a Chianti, (which I do only every once in a while because I’m a snob about it actually coming from the vineyards in Tuscany) I splurge a little, because some things in life, as in relationships, are about quality, not quantity.

Here is where I will sound like a huge wine snob:  do not buy boxed wine.  It’s never as good as bottled, and it tells anyone who looks in your refrigerator that either you are incredibly cheap or you drink so much that you need a giant straw to go into your liquored up juice box.  In conclusion, enjoying wine and being a wine snob does not make you an alcoholic or a bad person.  It’s always about moderation, friends, just like with junk food, children, and romantic comedies.

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Gelato in Bolsena

Before exploring the catacombs below the town, we stopped for gelato.  We enjoyed the smooth ice cream out in the sunshine, but one customer was dissatisfied.

“I’m not really feeling this flavor,” said Rachel, studying the top scoop on her cone.

“At least it’s the top scoop.  Just push it off or something.”

“I suppose I could flick it off,” Rachel replied, as the rest of us focused on our treats.  It was quiet for a few moments, all of us enjoying the gelato in the radiant sunlight.

“You guys, you guys:  watch this.”  As she spoke the words, Rachel, holding onto the bottom tip of her cone, made a flicking motion with her wrist.  I believe her theory was that the top scoop of gelato would fly off the cone.  Instead, the entire massive cone broke off and smashed into the cobblestones, leaving poor Rachel with a cone tip oozing melted gelato.

“Wow, Rachel!”

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Wednesday of Ashes

First entrance into ancient duomo

of breath-taking enormity

Black and white pillars reach to heaven

Fog settles

from familiar incense

Massive crowd of sinners and saints

steeped in tradition

Priests chant

a sermon in lyrical tongue

Repentance, forgiveness

long line for Lent

Kneeling before a priest

receiving my blessing

and a dusting of ashes

In this new place,

this medieval town,

I am part of something greater

A new life

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Martedi Grasso

Known as Mardi Gras to most Americans, Fat Tuesday was the first holiday I experienced upon my arrival in Italy.  We had barely settled in when the entire country, some places more than others, celebrated Carnivale with great zeal.  I remember early that Tuesday morning, visiting a local bakery, tucked away on a side street.  I purchased a paper cone filled with delectable zeppole, the Italian equivalent of donut holes, and roamed the quiet streets, watching the shops and cafes open and the small grocers and florists receive their early morning shipments.

The night was a different experience.  Little children ran all over the place dressed in costumes.  Confetti and glitter of violets, reds, and golds filtered through the air and fell into the cracks between the cobblestones.  Silly string was sprayed all over buildings and unsuspecting walkers.  There were people everywhere until quite late; it was the only night I remember returning to my humble abode before the rest of the town had closed its shutters.

This piece, oils and acrylic on masonite, was inspired by my memories of Martedi Grasso in Orvieto, and the taste of Carnivale I received in Venice.  I’m not sure what else to do with it, or if I should do anything else.

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In an olive grove

I was born into one of those ethnic groups which hold sacred such things as olives.  The value of this little fruit became more clear when I studied art in Italy.  Olives don’t merely garnish cocktails or perk up a vegetable platter.  The oil of olives isn’t used simply to sauté food and dress salads.  Writer Marlena de Blasi best describes the ancient gift of the olive in her beautiful memoir, A Thousand Days in Tuscany.  It takes great effort to squeeze the oil from an olive, but the lifeblood of each plays a major role in Mediterranean cultures from blessing a child at birth to anointing a body upon death.  I find it quite beautiful that olives, though simple and slightly ugly, are an important piece of the history of many ancient societies.

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Tousle the wisteria blossoms…

The convent I lived in hugged the cliff of Orvieto.  The courtyard was filled with wisteria trees.  One of my clearest memories involves me hanging out of my window over the courtyard, breathing deeply as the fragrant Italian wind swept up from the valley to tousle the wisteria blossoms.

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Sorrento smells of lemons and basil…

I visited Sorrento in the peak of lemon season.  Fresh limoncello was available everywhere, and I’ll never forget my first taste.  It was served to me in a shot glass.  Now, I was only aware of American shots:  you down the whole thing at once.  That’s what I did, and I didn’t realize that wasn’t proper until I noticed the stunned expression of the limoncello lady.  I indicated that I wanted to look at some of the beautiful bottles, even though my innards were burning as if doused with acid.  I was supposed to sip the liquor:  oops.

The smell of lemons and fresh herbs always seemed to linger in the air of Sorrento.  The Amalfi coast is understandably Italy’s luxury riviera.  Maybe someday I’ll write more about Sorrento…

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