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Exit, no exit - Judy |
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written
by jwang3 / 10.24.2005 |
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Assignment |
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As I entered Santa Maria della Concezione, I’d already had the mental image of what I’d expected to see – gold ceilings, a central nave, columns lining both sides – “the works” of the Catholic Church. When I walked in, though, what struck me first was the darkness; there was barely any light throughout the entire church. It consisted of a long corridor with a number of display rooms on the left. Each room was composed entirely of bones, arranged in different shapes and figures and utilizing different skeletal parts. My initial thought was: creepy. Even the lanterns were made up of bones, as were the patterns on the walls. As I progressed further and further down the corridor, peering into the displays, I became more and more bothered by what I was seeing. By the time I approached the final room, I could hardly wipe the horrified look off my face.
Walking back down the corridor, however, I was forced to see the displays once again, this time knowing fully well what to expect. While my feeling of horror was still quite intense, my reaction to each display room differed from that of my first walk. Instead of seeing just bones of dead people, I saw the display as a whole. I looked more carefully at the figures that had been assembled, rather than the individual bones they were composed of. When I had reached the entrance again, I felt as if I had completed a full circle. Seeing each display twice gave me closure to this overwhelming site. I cannot claim to agree with the message of hope that the church was said to convey, but I can say that I understand it. The lack of an exit to this church forced me to retrace my steps, get over the shock of seeing the bones of 4000 Francescan friars, and see the message of life out of death. Had there been a door at the end of the corridor, I would have left in a heartbeat and in all likelihood, never have come back.
Compared to the Santa Maria della Concezione, Via Veneto and the Spanish Steps seem so petty. There is no need to walk down the Via Veneto or the Spanish Steps twice in order to fully comprehend the symbolic meaning because there is no symbolic meaning. People go there to see and be seen. Walking by all those important buildings on the Via Veneto, then avoiding all the annoying people sitting on the Spanish Steps, and finally, dodging cars and trying to pass slow tourists on the tiny sidewalks was more than enough to convey to me that sense of an open space and a public site. Aside from my own irritation by the walk, I felt that both Via Veneto and the Spanish Steps were too large for me. The sidewalks were abnormally large for Rome and the feeling of the area was completely modern, differing so much from the ancient city I see every day.
Particularly, the style of the Spanish Steps made for a huge amount of open space. In descending the steps, I was forced to veer right, then left, then right again. The majority of the reason I had to walk in this way was because of all the people sitting on the steps; the other reasons were that of where my eyes were drawn. The vastness of the space allowed for free movement; the direction that my attention was shifted towards became the direction my body was headed. Completion of a full circle around these sites was not necessary in order to serve its purpose, that of being a singular figure in the large and famous area. For me, once was enough.
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