see you soon

I'm writing from the Janiculum Hill overlooking most of Rome. I can see the Pantheon to my left and the Baths of Caracalla to my right. Imagine sun shining after many days of rain and a nice cappuccino taste in my mouth. Some have asked why I haven't written in a while and the reason is that exciting things are happening way faster and more frequently than I can absorb and articulate, so I find myself most often like a wide-eyed sponge just taking it all in.

But unfortunately the end is in sight and it's time to start thinking about returning to reality. Truthfully, the best explanation I can give of the past (too) few months is that I feel like I have been living in some fantasy world where I wake up happy (almost) every morning and go to sleep with the days adventures on my mind. I have been traveling around Italy as well as Spain and Morocco, learning new languages, drawing, eating new foods, talking, laughing...

Regardless of the fast pace, one of the most exciting things for me lately has been studio assisting Polly Apfelbaum at the American Academy. Polly came to lecture at RISD and the more I get to know her, the more inspired and amazed I am. She has exhibited at the Met, the MoMA and the Whitney, with Jackson Pollack and Andy Warhol, and also in a cabin high in the mountains that visitors had to hike to. She likes giving things away and usually doesn't listen to curators' opinions. She speaks of Raphael Moneo as a good friend, wears only black while all her work deals with color, and I just listen and ask questions while relishing my time with her. We work in her studio and then I have to brace myself for lunch where I may be sitting next to a NY Times editor or a Pulitzer Prize winner, a performance artist or an art historian. I keep reminding myself to smile and intelligently engage in conversation because often I am mostly in awe.

Excuse the cheese, but I really feel changed. My core remains the same, but I have a better grasp on who I am and how I view the world. I have more to smile about, more to think about, more to remember, more to pull from in my design life. I began this blog thinking about home and what makes a home. The thought has followed me throughout the semester as I decide what from this experience is mine and what I am taking with me.

I've visited a number of exhibits recently with artist quotes on the walls. In one, Chagall said, "Every painter has his homeland, his home town, and even if later on he is influenced by different milieus, certain essential traits persist in him; the aroma of the motherland lives on in his works."

I feel like I have a home here and leaving will be like leaving home. But I will leave and I'll put this place into my pocket with all of my other homes and smile when I think of Rome. I can't tell you exactly what I'll be smiling about because, selfishly I admit, I want some memories to be only mine. I can tell you generally where I've been and what I've done, but I can't fully explain a sound or a smell or a feeling. So those memories will stay unexplained only with me.

Thanks for reading and I'll leave you with a final quote that I really loved by Gustav Klimt. Seeing his paintings in Vienna with these words seem a perfect balance between extraordinary and the every day, because my every day has really been extraordinary.

"You want to know a kind of schedule, a daily routine-and this really is quite simple and rather regular. I get up early, usually around 6 o'clock, maybe a little earlier, a little later- if the weather is fine I go into the woods nearby- I'm painting a small forest of beech trees (when the sun shines) intermingled with coniferous trees, this lasts until 8 o'clock, then breakfast, afterwards a dip in the lake, taking all precautions, then I paint a little again, a lake picture if the sun in shining, and a landscape from the window of my room if it's cloudy- sometimes I skip these morning painting sessions and study my Japanese books instead- outside in the fresh air...And so on to lunchtime; after a short nap or I read something until the afternoon snack- before or after the snack a second swim, not regularly but usually. After the snack I paint again- a large poplar in the twilight while a storm is brewing- now and then, instead of the evening painting session, a game of bowls in a small town nearby-though rarely- then dusk falls and it's suppertime- then early to bed and up again in the morning bright and early. Sometimes I fit a little rowing into this daily routine to shake up the muscles a bit." Gustav Klimt, 1902.

northern tour

I'm just arriving back in Rome after an incredibly inspiring and over-whelming week away in Northern Italy. I don't think I am able to adequately articulate the impact this trip has had on me and I am still digesting much of what I have seen, so here is the best I can do. I am showing some photos and drawings from each place, what I noticed and what stuck with me. We started in Deruta and Assisi, then moved to Siena, Bologna, Vicenza, Venice, Ravenna, and Arezzo.

Day 1: Assisi

Chiesa di San Fancesco

San Francesco's tomb

Giotto Fresco

Day 2: Siena 

Museo Valdimontone (Michelucci)

Palazzo Pubblico

 Day 3: Bologna

Le Corbusier's Espirit Nouveau

Window Detail

Le Corbusier's Espirit Nouveau, Interior

Le Corbusier's Espirit Nouveau, Exterior

 Day 4: Vicenza and Venezia

Palladio's Teatro Olimpico, Vicenza

Palladio's Villa Rotunda, Vicenza

Palladio's Villa Rotunda. Vicenza

Carlo Scarpa, Venice

Venice

Day 5: Venice Biennale

Venice Biennale 2012 curated by David Chipperfield

                                                   

Finland Pavilion

USA Pavilion

Russia Pavilion

Spain Pavilion

Day 6: Ravenna & Arezzo

Basilica di San Vitale

In Bologna we visited Giorgio Morandi's museum and he says, "Nothing is new in the world, or at least very few things are, what matters is the artist's changed attitude when he considers and observes the things of the so called nature and the works which have come before him and have aroused his interests."

Ciao and sending love as always
Nicole

shanah tova u'dolce vita

"E importante no essere sola per la festa." It's important not to be alone on the holiday, Nadia told me as she met me outside the Cenci at 10:00 this morning. Nadia is the woman who cleans my building and we have coffee together every morning at 7 am. I get up early because I like the quiet before the Cenci turns to madness and she likes to sit with me and talk..I think. When I told her I was Jewish, she immediately invited me to spend the holidays with her. So she pulled up this morning on the back of her husband's moped and they parked near the Jewish ghetto. Of course services started at 9, and it was already 10, but first a coffee! So we went to Bon Bar and then headed to the Synagogue.

Though grand and beautiful, it's impossible to hear anything inside the big synagogue. After 10 minutes, we went around the corner to Nadia's little synagogue. Nestled in the upstairs of the Jewish hospital, this synagogue was beautiful and intimate and exactly what I wanted. Her grandkids came running in yelling, "Nonna!" and we arrived just in time for Haftorah and the shofar. Like all good Jewish families, Nadia's son and daughter go to different synagogues and she goes to both. So we left the little and went back to the big to meet up with the rest of her family. The piazza outside was packed with Jews, loud and chatty. I thought everyone was just socializing, but soon I understood why we were all standing there. Nadia motioned me to the steps of the shul, this grand synagogue ingrained with so much history, and I was pulled under her family's tallit for birkat hacohanim. The piazza fell silent but for the voice emerging from within the doors. It was over as soon as it began and I joined Nadia's family for lunch at her house. It amazes and inspires me that the whole Jewish ghetto was emptied 60 years ago and fully packed today. Nadia told me that her entire family was sent to Auschwitz. Somehow, her mom ended up in Rome again, but I didn't catch that part of the story.

Shouting Shanah Tova out the window, we drove away to Nadia's house. Lunch consisted of fetuccini instead of chicken soup and all of the other traditional Rosh Hashanah foods. We ate too much, laughed at my broken Italian, and played cards. All too soon, I found a bus back to a different reality.

By far the best holiday I have had in my four years away, I wonder what creates community and a sense of home. In light of the international tension, what connects people and what separates them? I didn't speak a word of English with Nadia's family, yet somehow we transcended the boundaries of language.

My yoga teacher had a nice closing thought at our class last night that seems appropriate for the new year. He said that there is a reason why yoga is called a practice. There are so many things we cannot do in life. But there are an equal amount of things we can do. We can practice at being calm when it seems unlikely. We can practice mindfulness and patience and acceptance and education. We may not naturally excel at certain things, but we can certainly practice. Being with Nadia's family today, who without hesitation brought me into their home, reminded me of the uniqueness and importance of community, tradition and openness. Here is to a year filled with all of these things and more, and lots of practice.

Shanah Tova from Roma.

I was also in Florence this weekend, so here are some photos:

On Ponte Vecchio

Waiting to see the David with Claire, Steph and Jess

Brunelleschi's Duomo

Florence from the hill

Making

Like most things over the past three years, I should have known studying abroad with RISD would be different. No matter how much I heard about college before September 2009, I found that RISD did things differently. The Architecture department the following year - a little quirky. And now a semester abroad in Rome: unlike most abroad experiences I've heard about. But it is precisely these differences that remind me each day why this is right for me.

 The biggest difference I have noticed over the years between RISD and other art/design schools, and most universities in general, is the emphasis on understanding and processing through making. I have spent the past week exploring monotyping for my individual project (printmaking). I am generally interested in the systematic overlaps of agriculture and economy, both historic and contemporary stories in Italy. On one side of my desk, I have very numerical, fact-based word maps regarding land usage and communal impact over centuries. On the other side are experimental prints of abstract shapes and marks, of time and space. I intend to eventually compile a big fat book of the two, illustrating my harder lined research with abstract prints. I am contemplating how to juxtapose image with text in order to best convey my argument.

Monotype Prints

Word-Mapping

Regarding the argument, only once I began making (prints and other visual models) did I begin to understand what I was trying to say. The fact-based, analytical research was fine, but it left me saying...so what? Those thoughts become meaningful when they are contextualized and visual. Only then do I begin to care more about them, and consequently others here do, too. Then I have invested some part of myself in the research.
I am exploring a sort of information architecture, a world where facts and images collide. And behind all of the facts are millions of stories and lives that have existed over millenia that require consideration and acknowledgement.

Now for a little tangent, but I think it relates.
Paula Scher, the first female principal at Pentagram, says, "Design isn't quite that simple. You don't just make something, have people go 'Ooh!' and you're done. What generally happens is that the reason you have to make something at all comes from some very complicated problem or issue that involves lots and lots of people that are afraid and jealous and suspicious, so before you even get to make the thing you really have to suss out the lay of the land so you can get everybody over all the stuff that's upsetting them, so they can be prepared to get excited about it."

I am still in the sussing out stage. However, the prints are beginning to resemble things I have made in the past and I am able to make old connections as well as new discoveries. From all of this, I am aiming to compile an anthology referencing the social architecture of agriculture and green economy in Italy. Italy is in the midst of a historical transition between localized farming and a larger, mono-plant system; my goal is to set up a way to understand that transition and thoughtfully respond to the contemporary changes, informing the future shifts the region will take.

My daily life in Italy is informing all of this work. In art history we recently visited Ostia Antica, the main port city of ancient Rome. Today we ventured to explore Medieval and early Christian Renaissance work, and next weekend we head to Florence. Here are some photos from the week. Enjoy and thanks for reading!

Ostia Antica

Villa Borghese

Kevin Walz studio visit

Basilica dei SS. Cosma E Domiano, c. 500 CE

Earthquakes, Etruscans, and Unknown Melodies

The past week has felt like ten and it will be hard to pick which pieces to share, but here is my best try:

We spent last Thursday-Sunday in the mountain region of Abruzzo, specifically the town of Castelvecchio, an area that was heavily damaged by an earthquake in 2009. The talk from Paola, an architect who has devoted herself to the region, was centered around revitalization, restoration and rehabilitation. However, as I spent more time exploring, I realized that the abandonment is not a result of the earthquake so frequently referenced. Castelvecchio was a city at its peak in 1900 with 1200 residents (now only 50). The exodus began with an earthquake in 1915, then a bad economy during the 1930's, and then the havoc of WWII. So the emptiness has roots beginning about a century ago and the energy to revitalize is coming 50 years too late.

The frame of the destroyed Medici tower 

 My impression from the weekend (which Paola was not so excited to hear) is that cities die. People move, relocate and rebuild for all sorts of reasons, but they are usually valid reasons. Castelvecchio was populated during the time of shepherds and saffron. As technology and globalization created new materials and easier ways of communication, the country folks migrated to bigger cities. The herds of 3 million sheep that used to be marched on a long expedition through the mountains are now shuttled by truck. Castelvecchio is beautiful in its abandonment and while I support rehabilitation in general, there is a lot to learn about the natural habitation and consequent abandonment of this mountain town. Perhaps the energy would be more fruitful in building elsewhere and leaving this history as history, in peace and in the past. The soul of the town is of fondly storytelling of a time when life was bustling, but there is not a strong, forward looking perspective even from the few remaining residents. There exists a spirit of contentment and of acceptance. The abandonment brings comfort, a haven for the few who remain.

Hiked to Rocca Calascio (think Lady Hawke and King David movies)

We returned to our routine in Roma and the bustling heat of the city. Wednesday brought a visit to the Catacombs and Friday we went to the ancient Etruscan burial sites of Cerveteri and Tarquinia. We are working our way chronologically in art history, beginning with the pre-Roman times. The Romans, however, were not so keen on documenting the cultures they conquered so all we can understand about the Etruscan cities are through the cities of their dead. The Etruscans held a strong belief in the afterlife, so their tombs are intensely decorated with fresco paintings and carvings that speak of land ownership, occupation and family life. Their tombs were constructed as their homes were, shaped like mounds that rise from the earth. The main theme of the visit was how we preserve memory. Ezio (our fearless art history leader) has a nice saying that one is only truly dead when the last person who remembers him is dead.

Tumuli in Cerveteri

Fresco painting in Tarquinia

I ended the week by going to Synagogue for Friday night services. One of the wonderful parts of being Jewish is that you can usually recognize the Friday night melodies wherever you go... Not the case in Italy, as I found out. Jews settled in Italy around 160 BCE, so while we usually refer to Ashkenazi and Sephardic Jews as the main traditional distinctions, there are actually Ashkenazi, Sephardic, and Italian Jews. The Italian Jews pronounce Hebrew a little differently and have entirely different melodies than any other Jewish community in the world. This community is also threaded with a deep history of persecution, beginning with the establishment of the ghetto in 1554 and running through the Holocaust when 16 out of the 2000 deported Jews from a 4 block area returned alive. It felt both comforting and alienating, a little known and much unknown.

Always more to come. Sending love from Roma. Ciao!

running headphone-less along the tiber

Don't worry Mom and Dad, I didn't run with my headphones in. Aside from safety reasons, here's another little story about why that was a good decision.

I managed to drag myself out of bed early Thursday morning for a run along the Tiber river before the August heat set in. After about 15 minutes, another runner turned the corner in front of me who seemed to look like he knew where he was going, so I latched onto his pace and ran a few feet behind him. We came to a fence in the sidewalk, stopped, and looked at each other to see if we should go around it or down the path closer to the river. After a few seconds of awkward nodding at each other, he goes, "Do you speak English?" An American! We ran together for another few miles down the river and he is from Evanston! We chatted for a bit until I realized I still had to run back, so we said our goodbyes and I headed back to the Cenci.

That is only one of the stories from my first week here and each day feels a little more unreal than the last. I live in the Cenci, a building sandwiched by the Tiber river, the Jewish ghetto with more Kosher restaurants than the North shore of Chicago, and the ruins of Pompeii where Caesar was killed. I can wake up and walk five minutes to the Pantheon. Five minutes the other direction and I hit Campo de Fiore with a fresh foods market. The other direction and there's the Colosseum. Right around the corner is a plaque locating where the Jews were rounded up this time of year in 1943. I explore a little more from home base each day as I get more comfortable here and expand my neighborhood.

The Cenci is named for the Cenci family that lived here in the 17th century. The story goes that Beatrice Cenci and her brother murdered their abusive father and were consequently beheaded in the main square in front of an audience of a few thousand. Past EHPers say her spirit still haunts the Cenci today, but I have yet to see anything suspicious.

Not only am I learning how to live here (as opposed to travel here), but I am here with a group of inspiring and creative RISD students. Each person brings a unique way of traveling, experiencing, and processing the world. While the majority of our studio work is independent, we have one initial group assignment: with 3 meters of fish line, we go to different piazzas and take photos of us using the fish line in some way that affects the space. The rest is up to us! Photos to come.

Nearing the end of week one with a limited, but growing, amount of Italian vocabulary (I can say I like peaches and one coffee please...and almost all of the gelato flavors), a semester of adventure awaits. We beach to Sperlonga tomorrow and head to the mountain towns surrounding Rome next week to cool off. I am starting my individual research simply by collecting and observing the things that interest me. I am particularly looking into the idea of Rome as a cannibal, or a city that eats itself. It recycles, layers, rebuilds, destroys and erodes. Nature takes back over the city and then the city takes over itself again and again. Hopefully more to come on that, but for now arrivaderci!

off to new adventures

Writing has always been somewhat of a meditative practice for me. It has allowed me to collect my thoughts and remember certain things from my travels. The Road Less Traveled has a wonderful tradition of writing letters to oneself at the end of each summer to be received in January. I have to continued that tradition each year, writing little notes to myself about where I wish to be or what I wish to have accomplished in six months. Often in the middle of a stressful year, it is so refreshing to read some summertime wisdom and bliss. I've never shared these letters; they're my own little secrets. And whenever I open one letter, I go back to all of the others to see what I thought a year ago. These letters take me back to San Blas, a mountain range in India, blisters in Alaska, Mt. Rainier, Costa Rica, my first job failures and successes. This first entry is the beginning of another sort of writing to myself...and to you.

While writing is an old friend, I have to admit that writing for others to read along with me is not. So I appreciate your interest, patience and support. It is always difficult, and often lonely, to share stories of my experiences once I come home, but maybe this blog will help me with that. I invite you to journey with me. Risk with me, laugh with me, grow with me. I'm so happy to have you here.

I tend to think about home just as I am getting ready to leave. Last week, the woman I worked for over the summer asked me where I see myself living and working in five years. My shortened response for some time has been that eventually, at the end of all this adventuring, I'll end up back in Chicago. I have roots here, I usually say, my family is here. Truthfully, it is troubling for me that I don't know why I would choose Chicago aside from my family. I want to have my own motivations to pursue a life here. But as I travel far from Chicago, as I have many times before, I believe it will become clearer to me why I come back. I've felt this itch to get out every year like clockwork since I've been 15 years old and I took my first RLT trip. The urge to travel has only grown since. For me to gain perspective and appreciation of my home, I need to leave and live in someone else's home in Rhode Island or Alaska or Rome or India. I need to take all of pieces of these wonderful places and beautiful lives, put them in my backpack, carry them home with me, carrying them with me for the rest of my life.

I hope you enjoy what I have to share with you for the next 5/6 months and I so happy to have you reading with me! Tell me what you're up to and comment back. Thanks again for joining me and see you soon!