|
|
 |
|
Thoughtful Walking |
|
written
by joeplumb / 10.24.2005 |
|
|
| |
Part 1: |
| |
Today we saw four sites, two churches and two cemeteries. In each set there were great similarities and great differences, especially when considering the intentionality of the two cemeteries.
The first cemetery we saw, the Protestant Cemetery, was very disorganized. There was very little uniformity in the placing of tombstones and seemingly no uniformity between the markers. Some graves were marked with elaborate sculptures, others with a simple stone.
The military cemetery was very different. There were four or five lines of tombstones, all equal in size, differing only in their inscriptions. No elaborate decoration for one man because his family was wealthy or because he had a higher rank, all were equal in death.
The intentionality of these sites is very clear. In the most basic sense, the Protestant graves were marked very differently, giving each soul a separate statement on the way they lived. Instead of the Catholic ideology, these Protestants believed to have an individual relationship with God, and it was this individuality that is seen by the amalgam of monuments in the Protestant cemetery.
Similarly, the military cemetery showed how the men there lived. The men lived in uniform. I think that’s the best way to describe it; they were uniform from the bugle call in the morning to the sounding of taps at night. They ate at uniform tables, ran uniform drills, and of course all wore the military uniform. They lived uniform lives, and the cemetery reflected that.
The churches, however, gave me two very different feels. In the first, Santa Maria in Cosmedin, seemed very cluttered in the middle of the church’s floor, and the boxed ceiling seemed to be an intrusion to the church’s space. The affect of this was a feeling of being pushed to the sides of the church, away from the clutter. In an apposing feeling, the apse mosaic seemed to draw me in. Because of these I spent most of my time looking at the mosaic from the sides of the aisles, getting as close as I could, but still not being very comfortable in the middle of the church.
Santa Sabina gave me an opposite feeling. If Santa Maria pushed me away, Santa Sabina pulled me away from the center. This was due to the lack of decoration at all in the vast nave. Even the elaborate floor tiling was covered by simple chairs. Here again the apse mosaic drew me in, but not along the center aisle. I spent most of my time along the sides of the church, reading the various Latin inscriptions that existed along the walls. Here again there was a flat ceiling, but it seemed much more appropriate here. The intense decoration of Santa Maria in Cosmedin seemed to warrant an elaborate vaulted ceiling, but here in Santa Sabina it seemed to accentuate the simplicity of the church, giving it as a whole a more homey feeling. This is odd because both churches have the same function, but the intentionality of the architecture is still vastly different.
|
| |
|
| |
|
| |
Part 2: |
| |
Darkness is used very well when I think about Santa Maria in Cosmedin. The high windows seem to illuminate only the ceiling, and leave the rest of the church to be illuminated by other means. Today there are lights there, but I can only imagine how the church looked when it was first built. During the day the ceiling would always be illuminated by the sunlight, but the rest of the church would stay in darkness. That is, until a priest came in and lit the lanterns. As people came in and lit candles, the church would come more and more alive, while the ceiling was always lit. As evening came, and the sun set, the golden ceiling would reflect the light and glitter with brightness. To me the church’s design perfectly compliments the idea of an omnipresent God. During the day the upper part of the church would be lit, so worshippers could see the light coming down from above. In the evening, when all was black, a single candle might encourage the ceiling to glow, showing that God shines down upon each follower. During the night it’s likely that a single candle would light up the golden ceiling more than the rest of the church, again showing that there is more enlightenment from above than there is in the area around man.
|
| |
|
| |
|
| |
Part 3: |
| |
They say that there is really no static part to a person, that all is subject to change. Usually we notice this change over time. We look back at last year’s wardrobe, the high school report card, even the 6th grade play, and see change. During my time in Rome I have felt this change. I am becoming more comfortable with the city by the day, each day crossing a new threshold. Yesterday I crossed a very literal threshold; I walked across the street. I didn’t stop first, I just stared down the driver and walked, through heavy Roman traffic, to safety about twenty feet away.
Today was different, because the threshold wasn’t something new. Today it was the market. The supermarket used to be a great place to get groceries, but here, in Rome, it is a cultural experience. No longer does the buzzing around the newly exposed meats bother me. I’ve become accustomed to it, so it really isn’t a cultural experience anymore. What it has become is so much more important to me now: it is a testing ground. I can memorize all the Italian phrases I want, but the market isn’t an Italian lesson, it’s the final exam.
I think it’s even harder for me than most people, because I won’t correct myself in the field. If I ask for three kilos of uva, I won’t stop the vendor when he starts putting an insane number of grapes into a bag. If I stop him, he’ll know I don’t know what I’m doing, and more than anything I want to blend in with Italians. While I know my appearance will betray my nationality, I’m hoping that the vendor will think that, if nothing else, I know what I’m doing.
So for me the market was a test, as I’m sure it’s been for 3,000 years; the test of the immigrant into Rome. While I’ve never thought of myself in their terms, I can relate to their challenge. It’s a challenge I’ve never had, but one I feel worthy to take on. So here is another market, Testacchio. I’m drawn in by the challenge. I never really thought about it but when we excused, I started into the depths of the market. I circled the market, and approached a cheese vendor. I pointed to a cheese and asked for mezzo kilo. When I walked away, the vendor might know I wasn’t Italian, but he knew that I had a made an effort to learn enough Italian to get past the “point and grunt” stage.
I walked away with my half kilo of cheese, and saw the group in front of a bread vendor. I was satisfied with my accomplishments, and like the hunters of old, I shared my spoils with the pack. I exit the market proud, the animal inside me proud that I had been the proving grounds, and came back victorious.
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
|
|
