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Far away |
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written
by jwang3 / 10.24.2005 |
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Part 1: |
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Santa Sabina is named by Blue Guide as one of the most beautiful churches in Rome. I agree. Light filters into the room from the windows above, illuminating the symmetry and the congruence of the room as a whole. The soft colors of the marble walls and the mosaic tiling on the floor create a sense of serenity. The décor of the church is simple; at the end of the central nave lie more windows with a mosaic apse above and light stenciling and carvings between the columns. In a word: beautiful.
But that’s all it is to me. Unlike Margaret Visser, I feel that I am merely an observer, a visitor, appreciating the beauty of the church from a distance. While Santa Sabina is beautiful in its simplicity, I feel more lost in the space than drawn into it. The side chapels, impressive and elegant, are equally massive and unpersonable. The mosaic apse on the ceiling depicting Jesus sitting on a mountain discipling glitters in its splendor, yet it is beyond even the scope of my camera.
Santa Sabina should, in its minimalism, bring its viewer closer to God. Instead of the feeling of oppression brought on by the heavy gold inlay across the ceiling of Santa Maria Maggiore and the sense of obscurity by the huge statues of St. Peter’s Basilica, Santa Sabina should make me feel freer, more welcome into the world of Christianity.
That, however, is not the case. The sparse décor of the church has quite a lonesome effect; the space is big and empty and I am but a small dot in the building. On the apse, Jesus, surrounded by His followers, sits in an open position, inviting me to participate. The setting of the mosaic, however, proves contrary to this. Set high atop the nave, the apse is the farthest point in all of the church. Directly below the apse is the central alter, lined with pews and podiums for the priests. This space, closest to the image of Jesus, is sectioned off, closed to the general public by marble walls and iron gates. While Jesus is shown inviting all to participate in all that He is, there is no way to reach Him. He is unattainable, blocked by gates and walls, located far too high to grasp. I am never eye-level with Him, nor am I ever close enough to touch Him. Santa Sabina has achieved its purpose in me; I see the beauty of Jesus from a distance, but I am still too far away, incapable of being brought closer to Christ.
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Part 3: |
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From afar I can see the tell-tale signs of a market: bustling crowds hovering over stands, awnings covering protruding displays, and large signs proclaiming the low prices the vendor offers. The inner shopper in me leaps for joy. All these stands, all these shoes, and all this shiny jewelry; I am excited, I am overwhelmed, but I am hungry. Wait, hungry? Call it starving.
At this point, everything in Piazza Testaccio seems so unattainable, for my hunger overwhelms me and forces me to think only of where my next meal will come from. The glistening beads on necklaces and glittering sequins on shoes will have to wait. I force myself to acknowledge that my physiological need must be met first and that the beautiful things that I yearn to rummage through and explore will still be there upon my return.
But alas, they are not. True to Italian form, many of the shops have shut down in honor of the afternoon siesta. As my eyes roam around the piazza, I rest my sight on the few stands that have dared to defy the Italian siesta by remaining open. Elated, I dash across the piazza, in hopes of finding the perfect souvenir from Piazza Testaccio.
I don’t find it. It seems as though the shops that remain open during afternoon siesta do so in order to generate business, for their merchandise is not good, to say the least. The beads that glittered in the light now look cheap and false. The shoes that I had craved have disappeared. The piazza looked better from far away; I should have left it at “from afar.”
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