Lavori in corso" Photography by Diedré M Blake, 2012. (Primavalle neighbourhood, Rome)
It’s a wakeful morning, a bit too early. Yet still, it is not early enough for me to justify returning to sleep. I turn my mind to thoughts of my plans for the day, which inevitably leads me to broader thoughts about my plans for my life–I won’t get into that here though. It is about one of my thoughts, a simple plan really, upon which I would like to reflect today.
—
You see, after spending some months tackling the Italian language and feeling a bit bruised and battered by the process, I have finally made a decision. I have decided to learn Italian.
—
At this point, you might wonder what in the universe am I meaning, considering that my previous statement suggested that I was studying or “tackling” Italian. No, I am not completely off just yet. What I mean is that my morning reflection led me to realize that I have not been truly wanting/desiring to learn Italian… that is, until now.
—
I understand that some, perhaps many, people have this edict regarding the language: i.e., Italian is one of the most beautiful languages to speak, to write, and to learn. I have not been of this mindset, and am not certain that I am now. What I am is appreciative of the nuances of the language and I have come to enjoy its melodic quality. I am still more inclined, however, to Germanic languages… but that might have a lot to do with certain aspects of my personality and how those languages complement them.
—
The point is that after all these many months of my studying and my 16-month love affair with Rome, I have only now opened myself to truly connecting with the people and the culture–I was a bit too busy living and trying to extend the pseudo-reality of the honeymoon phase in my relationship with Rome.
—
What I realize now is that I can accept Rome and that Rome can accept me. More importantly, a most wonderful aspect of this acceptance is that we will finally come to understand one another. Yes, it may sound a bit strange to speak of a city in this way, but…
I’ve spent a great deal of time roaming the streets of Rome. From the very start, what appealed to me the most, beyond the monuments, was that I understood little of what was being said by those around me. I wanted to be lost in a crowd of people, with whom I did not have to share my thoughts and to whom I did not need to react.
Of course, it is hard for someone like me to be invisible anywhere in Europe, where my dark skin certainly contrasts with the norm of whatever society in which I am presently. I did, however, achieve a sense of my own private world, away from the some of the harshness of the reality that I had been living prior to my first visit. Rome gave me a chance to see myself again, to hear my own voice, to listen to my thoughts, to believe in the possibility of building a beautiful and touchable future.
—
I suppose that I had thought that if giving up this “separateness,” this self-imposed “isolation,” this ignorance of the world moving around me would mean losing everything that I had gained. I believe I have written about this very issue before, i.e. how our thoughts (sometimes highly irrational) can prevent us from embracing that which is can actually enhance our lives.
—
So, here I am. This morning I have woken with the desire to read an entire novel in Italian. It is my favourite novel from my adolescence. I even went so far as to purchase the book in Italian on Kindle, so that I could immediately begin the process. No, it is not A braccia aperte by Mario Tornello. It is Intervista col Vampiro (“Interview with the Vampire“) by Anne Rice.
—
A braccia aperte
The reason for the image of A braccia aperte is that this book of poetry was what ignited the desire within me to learn the language… It is also another reason why I am feeling a bit late.
—
I discovered the book on a random walk one early afternoon through my neighbourhood, Garbatella–this was before the snow. There is a small bookshop just before the roundabout that leads to one of the major roads in Rome, Via Cristoforo Colombo. I am not quite sure what possessed me to go inside the shop, but go inside I did.
—
It was quite dismal and suitably dark. Here and there were smatterings of stationery and schoolbags. From what I could tell, many of the books had been bought either at the start of the new millennium or in the decades before. The owner of the shop, a lady, was engaged in a long conversation with a customer, regarding the latter’s family–that’s as much as my Italian could tell me. When she did finally notice me, she came over and in halting Italian I explained to her that I wanted to find a poetry book of Eugenio Montale. I had imagined that given the fame of the poet, finding a poetry book of his in a bookshop would not pose a problem. I was wrong.
—
After much conversation, during which I was offered every romantic novel the store had to offer (now folks, do I seem like the romantic novel type to you?), the owner finally left me to wander about… although there was not much wandering to do as the shop consisted of one very tiny room, which currently included all its merchandise (both offered and stored), the owner and her customer, and me. Still, I hovered near the entrance and allowed my eyes to scan over a number of books that were easily visible to me, and that is when I saw it…
—
The small cream-coloured book with its Times New Roman font and its single graphic design of a winged eye appealed to me. Perhaps I thought that it would be easy to read, because it was not a large book, or perhaps because of the simplicity of its design. Who knows. Whatever the reason, I picked it up and opened it to page fourteen.
Without knowledge of the meaning of all the words, I understood the poem. When I write “understood,” what I mean is that the poem connected with some core part of myself that allowed me to grasp its meaning. Whether reading it in silence or aloud, the poem (for me, at least) elicits a profound experience.
—
Caro amico
Ho letto il tuo urlo senza voce
e m’è caduto il cuore.
Mi dici che i morti in riposo,
sospesi tra due cieli bruciano
sullo scoglio vestito di sole.
Non saprò più immaginare
sulla cenere di ciò che fu.
Siamo inermi nel delirio
di chi non sa amare
ciò che l’alba del tempo
ha inciso per l’uomo.
—
Mario Tornello was a painter, a poet, and a writer. He was born on October 21, 1927 in Palermo and died on February 2, 2010 in Rome. He was all that I hope one day to truly label myself to be. At present, I am a bit of a lavori in corso (“work in progress)… but then again, aren’t we all.
—
Now, I am off for my walk; kindle, Italian/English dictionary, poetry book, and pen; for which I am already late… but happily so.
6. Cougarism/Dirty Old Men – I do not mean negatively. What I don’t understand is why we spend time labelling either of these types of people.
Because what we are talking about are “types” of people: women who prefer to date younger people AND men who prefer to date younger people.
This is vastly different from people who struggle with pedophilia or pederasty.
Yet still, we spend time reducing women to animals “cougars,” because they are 1) able to and potentially 2) prefer to date younger men. Also we do the same to men. We make them into perverts, that somehow they are doing something “wrong,” something “dirty” by dating someone younger. Jealousy gets you nowhere, folks. 😉
I live in Rome. I don’t know about other cities in Italy or around Europe. Here, however, it seems to me to be quite normal for “May-December” relationships to occur. Younger men often date older women. Older men often date younger women. It doesn’t seem to bother the Italians who live in Rome much. So, why is there such fuss and such hype… enough so that there is apparently a television show called “Cougar Town?”
Granted, there are some people who are just simply predatory and seek underaged sexual/intimate partners… And that’s when I would point possibly to words like pedophilia and pederasty… Of course, this is just my opinion.
If the agenda is that one is strictly worried about the welfare of the young, then it shouldn’t really matter if the older person is male or female.
7. Reality T.V. – As some of you know, I am back in college for the second time around. Life as an undergrad affords one many pleasures. One of these pleasures is hearing about the latest in reality television. Apparently, the Real World is still on! Who knew! Considering the fact the first Real World premiered prior to my attending college the first time around (1995), I was a bit surprised, especially as after season 3 the structure of the program shifted dramatically.
I still miss Pedro Zamora (3/1/72-11/11/94), at whose funeral President Clinton spoke… and who, in my opinion, represented the very best of what the Real World hoped to show the youth of the world… That is that we can do so very much in our lives and touch the lives of many in real ways… even if we are given limited time…
My point is that my fellow students are quite absorbed in these made-up realities, these worlds of opulence, in which a group of young people are tossed and expected to humiliate themselves through intoxication, fornication (yes, I wrote that!) and by divulging way too much information, and making general spectacles of themselves… But why is this entertaining? Does anyone else remember the original 3 seasons of the Real World??? How awesome were they in comparison to what’s going on now? Oi… 😉
8. Relationship Construct – Perhaps as therapist I shouldn’t write this type of thing. And on a professional level, my opinion is quite different from what I am about to write… because I do get it. On a personal level, however, I don’t get traditional romantic relationships. More specifically, I do not understand why we engage in the process of “demanding” or “asking” of someone else or ourselves to commit to being together “forever.” No…. really, I don’t get it.
In my mind, at this point and for some time now, it would make more sense to simply allow for people to flow into and out of our lives, rather than say “No, you must stay” or “Don’t leave me.”
9. Pejorative Reclamation – Okay, at first glance this may not make much sense. What I am talking about is in reference to certain movements, such Third-wave feminism in the 90s. Pejorative reclamation is the action of marginalized groups taking ownership of terms/words that were used against them and “reclaiming” them in order to infuse and empower these words with new and positive meaning. So, for example the term “bitch” was one of the first to be reclaimed. Some examples of reclamation are Meredith Brook’s song “Bitch” (1997) and “Reclaiming Cunt” Eve Ensler’s episodic play The Vagina Monologues(1996). So, what don’t I understand?
I don’t understand what happened… Again this is simply my experience. I, however, watched as women went from in the 90s taking power over the words that were for so long used against us… to then slowly but surely using them against ourselves as the decade ended and the new millennium began. I could say as much for the “N” word. Also the LGBQQT community has watched as the word “gay” has been taken back and has now become synonymous with the meaning of “stupid” or “ineffective” even as the community gains wider acceptance.
10. After 2000 – To end on a lighter note. I am not sure about anyone else in their 30s or older. What I have recently noticed is that I somehow stopped. I am reminding myself of the “little old ladies” I used to see as a child, who seemed to be stuck in a period at least two decades earlier… from their manner of dress to their manner of speech.
What I mean is that my frame of reference drags me right back to the 90s. I feel much more comfortable listening to alternative rock and am comforted by thoughts, songs, movies, etc. from the time period of my adolescence and my young adulthood. It’s not that I am against the new millennium or that I refuse progress, etc. Just somehow I feel a bit out of sync. I don’t know… Perhaps I should start watching television. It perhaps doesn’t help that the only things I watch on YouTube are between the years 1969 and 2002. 😉
Tourists and Construction, photography by Diedré M. Blake (Via Frattina, Rome, Summer 2011)
The streets of Rome continue to be filled with tourists, street vendors, performers, designer and not-so-designer stores, construction workers and apparently me. To describe Rome as “hot” in summer is a vast understatement – I am beginning to wonder if I have descended into the depths of hell, and am only a few moments away from seeing fire and brimstone. Who knows… especially with the temperatures at night being somewhere between 80-95 degrees. Regardless, I have come to look at this period as merely the final stages of my own personal experience of being tempered.
I’ve returned to Rome after being two months away. The process of my return was not an easy one as it meant vast amounts of paperwork and a whole lot of letting go. Both of which, I had assumed that I was quite accustomed to by now… apparently not. 😉
Beginning where I am: Part 1
It’s been a long time since I have written on my blog… and with good reason. That is, getting paperwork done to move overseas is never easy and is time-consuming as is the finalizing one’s life that is being left behind. More importantly, however, I wanted to take a break away from my introspection – As much as sharing my thoughts with the larger world is an interesting and encouraging experience, I have found that there is equal importance to be given to the practice of shielding one’s thoughts.
In moving forward, I would like to make my blog a more interactive experience – I am not certain of how that may actually manifest itself. 😉 From some of the feedback I have received, however, I have come to understand that my thoughts have been helpful to others and have given them perspective/insight into their own lives. And so, I would like to invite questions or topics to be addressed via my blog. After all, how much can I talk about my life? 😉
Thus, I begin this new phase with the hope that I can reach out and help others more directly. Of course, I will continue a weekly (or perhaps even more often than that) update of my blog with topics of interest that arise from my observation from the world around me. In the interim, send me your thoughts and questions. (diedreblake@gmail.com)
D.
Monday, 29th of August – Beginning where I am: Part 2 (Self-deconstruction and understanding the strength of one’s self-foundation)
These words begin The Book of the Damned, one of the two books belonging to the collection The Secret Books of Paradys 1 & 2 by Tanith Lee. Whether I knew it or not, for the last few weeks, I have been attempting to answer the question by living it.
From the moment I stepped foot on American soil at the end February, I began running from one place to the next, one meeting to the next, one person, one action, one word, one thought to the next, to the next, to the next, to the next… through illness, through injury, through fatigue… Fast. Toward what end?
Stop.
4.14.11. Less than two weeks later, I find myself in conversations with women on airplanes and in buildings, discussing the passage of time, which somehow always seems inevitably wrapped up in variations on the theme of love, whether absent or present in one’s life. From these conversations, I have come to realize that I am a person who is content with who I am and where I am in each moment for the most part, regardless of comfort or discomfort. Life is life, and from it I learn and I evolve.
Jet Lag, photography by Diedré M. Blake (4.14.11)
I realize that for some the dynamic nature of love creates an intolerable fragility, internally and/or externally. In turn, this fragility can breed a need for control of others, and a hostility towards the multiple constructs of romantic relationships and a simultaneous contempt towards chosen solitude.
It is my belief, however, that love is there if one chooses to give it and thus to experience it… regardless of relationship status. I love and am loved. It is simple, and I do not need to complicate it.
On the subject of love, however, I am no expert. Rather, I am simply sharing some recent thoughts, or just think of this as a moment of the odd blog-rambling.
How fast does a man run, when the Devil is after him?
It depends… on how one sees the Devil and how prepared one is. What is the Devil? A reflection of one’s self? A fear? Moreover, is one prepared to deal with a confrontation with the Devil and with the inevitable aftermath? Who knows…
I have stopped now as I have no need to run. In stopping, I have come to realize that I saw the unknown and my doubt as my devils and so I tried to run away from them. This “running” gave me some relief, because I thought I was doingsomething. And I was doing something in actuality… but that something was nothing good in the end for me, because I making myself more ill as I gave myself less and less rest. I worked my mind and my already injured body hard… And again, toward what end?
The point is this – What need have I to run from devils of my own creation? Why should I not see all the parts of myself, of my thinking and embrace them, so as to understand them, and thus to understand myself better?
Jet Lag II, photography by Diedré M. Blake (4.14.11)
I could make many excuses, and all would be equally reasonable, as to why I have not written in so very long. What I have come to realize is that no matter what, none of these excuses change the fact that I haven’t been writing, and that’s that.
Snow covered ground now
bones stiff with age like dried tree
limbs for wildfire
-db
Alice stepping through the looking-glass, John Tenniel (1820-1914)
So, what, pray tell, have I been doing with my time over the last week and a half? Well, I have been learning what it means to be back in the Boston area, to be back with my family of choice, and to be around all that is familiar to me. Somehow, however, the familiar has not been as comforting as perhaps it should be. Rather, I find myself rather disconnected and jarred by the experience of being back… I feel displaced as though I have landed in a version of Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There, where I have stepped back into a life that is quite upside-down, backwards, and surreal.
Each morning the snow on the ground shocks me, and stiffens my bones. I spend my days perusing employment advertisements in English, Italian, and German. I research immigration information, and download more and more forms, and consider the challenges involved in moving to Rome. It is in these moments that I think about the days I have spent there, and the people, whom I have met; and most importantly, the person who I have become because of my journey to Rome. Thus, these challenges have become opportunities for self-growth in my mind, and I understand that it is only through perseverance that one can truly accomplish one’s goals. For myself, the goal now is to be happy, and at this moment in my life, where I am happiest is in Rome.
Foundation
It has been amazing to me to hear the various responses when I say that I am planning to move to Rome. 😉 The conversations usually go something like this:
Me: “Yeah, I would like to move to Rome by the end of September.”
Person: “Wow! Do you speak Italian???!!”
Me: “Umm…. No, not really… Surely, I can learn though. Right?”
Person: “Yeah, I suppose…. Um… Do you know how hard it is to get a work permit to work in Italy??”
Me: “So, I’ve heard. I am a pretty positive thinker though.”
I am often amazed by how easily others can be deterred by a seeming obstacle. For myself, I recognize the challenge in getting a work visa, but it is not impossible – It is merely difficult. If, however, I simply threw my hands up in the air and said, “Oh, forget it! The Italian government won’t give me a visa!” then my cause is already lost, because I have already made the decision for them, i.e. that I do not want the work visa. This is not my way, however. I am laying the best foundation that I can, so that my application will be accepted, and if plan A (self-employed work visa) does not work… Well, there is always plan B (being hired by an awesome company who will do the paperwork for me)… And plan C is in development! 😉
Finding my path…
Thus, I begin by reaching out to all who I have known, asking for guidance and open to all ideas, and welcoming new persons and concepts. All in the hope that this will lead me to further wisdom regarding the path I am creating to achieve my goals… And my goals are far more complex than the desire to go to Rome…
Life sometimes can feel to me like a Choose Your Own Adventure story. Perhaps you might remember these books? They are the ones that were written in the second person and had the reader make choices as a part of the narrative. Based upon the choices of the reader, the story could end suddenly (usually, badly or with a neutral conclusion) within a few pages, or could continue until the last page, if memory serves me well, with a positive ending. So, why am I reflecting on this today?
Well, as I get ready to leave Rome, I realize that I am at a crossroads in my life. So very much has happened in the last five months, it sometimes seems unfathomable. From going through these experiences, however, I have learned that beginnings and endings are much the same: filled with anxiety and adventure, which are all due to the uncertainty that both beginnings and endings bring. Thus, I find and have found myself a bit like Bilbo, the hobbit, finding comfort in what has always been familiar, but recognizing too that the “greatest adventure is what lies ahead.”
D in studio, Rome, Feb. 2011
Too often in my life, I have fixed my gaze upon my past, and then when I would look at my present, I could not see the possibilities of my future – Instead I relied upon the desires of others to effectively move me from point A to point B in my life. I realize now that I have learned and can move on from my past experiences, focus on my present, and look and move towards my future based on my own desires. Moreover, although my future may be unknown to me, I can look to it with a positivity that is based in the certainty of my own self-efficacy and assurance in my support system – Coming to Rome has taught me in a most profound way that I am loved as I am and also as I evolve.
Strange day finds me lost
Yet still much the same – Found and
Changed because I choose
-db
Back again…
Thus, the journey begins… with one decision made, one path chosen, one step forward… towards a future truly unknown. So, I return there… to America, to Boston, to the comfort of what I have known… However, I am coming back again… to Rome.
After all, is it not as they say, “All roads lead to Rome…” even if for a moment in one’s life… and how one defines the duration of a moment, well… who knows?
In the interim, I return to Boston to see those whom I love and to visit familiar places. I am not one for missing people or places, but I am missing Boston as I am already missing Rome. In both of these cities, I have found a sense of home and have made connections with people I hope always to have in my life.
I cannot write. No, I do not want to write… I have been feeling crappy from the disgustingly deceptive weather that leads you to believe that the bright sun outside is actually radiating heat. Once you are outside, however, you come to find that it is actually as warm as spending the night naked inside a freezer! Okay, okay… It’s not that bad, but… The wind here has caused the cold air to rip through your very bones, and every single achy joint that I could possibly have has decided that now is the time to act up! Besides all of that, I am coming to realize that my time in Rome (this time) is coming to a close…
Piazza Mignanelli, Rome, Italy (2.21.11)
From a very young age, I have had to learn how to say goodbye temporarily to both people and places (cherished objects inclusive). Due to this, I have been fairly good at parting ways, and am not much disturbed by great changes in the comings and goings of others. I learned from early on in life that I cannot control the actions of others… I can only control my own. Thus, here I am, sitting and writing on an early Thursday morning in my small studio space in Rome, trying to think about how to say goodbye, for now, to this space, the new friends I have made, the old friends I have known, and the city I have come to love.
Ending are, however, simply opportunities (perhaps somewhat forced) for beginnings… That is, unless you choose to stand still, metaphorically and literally speaking, both of which I refuse to do any longer. Thus, I will move in one direction or another, in order to create, begin, and experience the next chapter of who I am to be in this journey of life. And who will I be? I do not know, the story is creating itself as I take each step forward. Certainly, I have a profound sense of who I have been and who I am. I also have hopes of the ways in which I will be in the world and with others. Who, however, in the future? I will let the story tell itself, and allow for my faith in the protagonist to grace me with the belief in the goodness and greatness of the final end.
Doubt
Lately, I have been hearing around me doubt reflected. What I mean by this is that I have been listening to the doubts others have about my present life and/or their perception of my own doubt within. Of course, I would perhaps be of the same thinking were I to simply look at one layer of my own story. I, however, have known my own journey and what has led me to this point… Moreover, whatever doubt I may experience and ultimately reflect out into the world, I understand that it has its place as well, and most importantly, it is only temporary.
Farnese Atlas, a 2nd century Roman copy of a Hellenistic work (Naples) Image by Lalupa and taken from Wikipedia.com
For the most part of my life, I have had to be a person without doubt. I have had to be, or at the very least express, certainty… about my life and my future. This is the first moment that I can truly say and be okay saying, “I don’t know, but I have faith in myself, my supports, and the powers that be.” Before I would say (regardless of whatever I truly thought and felt), “I do know and I must make it so.” Perhaps for some people, the latter statement makes more sense and expresses a type of inner strength. For me, however, the former statement is more authentic and less isolating. I no longer have to make myself into the mythic Atlas, carrying the celestial spheres or world atop my shoulders. I now know how to ask for all types of support because I am able to acknowledge my uncertainty. It is in times of uncertainty that it is best to reach out and ask for advice from your supports, and not just to keep your own counsel.
Thus, this has been my process: living with doubt, accepting it, learning from it, reaching out when I need to in order to cope with it, and moving on from it.
All right, so the reality is this: I am writing this on March 4, 2011. Also, I am no longer in Rome, but sitting in the comfort of my studio-like room in the house I share here in the U.S. However, better late than never, right?
Tourists at Piazza Navona, Feb. 2011
People-watching is one of my favourite pastimes. I am also starting to believe that it is the national sport of Italy (yes, yes, I know… there is football/soccer) as Romans, regardless of sex, seem to naturally engage in the stare-you-down-as-I-pass-you-in-the-street activity. Also, both Romans and tourists alike enjoy sitting outside cafes and restaurants, in order to take in the events and activities of passersby. This is without wonder as there is so much to see, smell, hear, listen, and touch in Rome, whether it is the beautiful art prints being sold in the Piazza Navona, or the Bangladeshi street venders asking tourists to try out any one of the many gel-filled objects only for 1 Euro.
Promoter handing out flyers for La Traviata Opera at the Spanish Steps (Rome, Italy) Feb. 2011
During my stay, I have definitely engaged in my share of people-watching, which has provided me with moments of both humour and contemplation. What I wanted to address in this post, however, are the talented people, who are fixtures on the streets of Rome, whom we sometimes rush by as tourists, because they are simple “street performers,” or “street vendors.”
Campo dei Fiori – Sasha
I remember the first time I saw Sasha Aleksovski perform. It was an early evening and I was on my way home. At that time, I did not have the opportunity to stop and stay for his entire performance, but I made a mental note to look out for him. Luckily, I found him one afternoon, and was able to take some pictures of him, and learn more about his work.
Sasha Aleksovski (Campo dei Fiori area) Feb. 2011
Sasha is a performance artist. Upon first glance, one might merely think him to be a mime, i.e. until he truly begins to move. The fact is, Sasha is an extraordinary dancer with a both grace and a fluidity that enchant the observer. The storytelling quality of his movements create a sense of empathy… And even if it is for a brief moment, one cannot help but to stop and pay attention to the story Sasha tells through the expression of movement.
Sasha Aleksovski was born in Skopje, Macedonia, and studied painting and sculpture. He lived in London for three years, where he studied mime and dance theatre. He began studying butoh dance in 1996 in Rome. He continues to perform both in public and onstage in and around Rome. You can find him on Facebook.com or sashaaleksovski@libero.it.
Trastevere – Alex
While making a trek around the city of Rome, it is fairly easy to find your share of watercolour prints, copies of famous paintings, and a host of other image-based art, especially in the tourist-filled areas such as the Piazza di Spagna and Piazza Navona.
Everyday I would take a walk through Trastevere, and it was on late weekend afternoon that I met Alexandre Veron. Actually, to be quite truthful, I met his photography before I met him as Alex actually sat some distance away from his beautiful work.
Art stand, Alexandre Veron, Trastevere (Rome, Italy) Feb. 2011
Alex is a black and white photographer, who takes images of Rome’s everyday life. He does not set-up situations, or gets models; he simply photographs what he sees… and what he sees and photographs is wonderous. I wish I had taken a picture of his pictures. Perhaps, however, a stroll through Trastevere… or emailing him might work too. Either way, look him up as he is quite a gifted emerging photographer.
Alexandre Veron is a French photographer currently based in Rome, Italy. You contact him via email at veronalexandre@yahoo.fr.
Campo dei Fiori – Taras
Meeting Taras was one of those odd occurrences… like lightning striking the same place/person twice. It was quite a cold and dreary Sunday, and one of those days when Rome and I were not the best of friends. I was walking back from my usual stroll to the Piazza di Spagna. On this day, I stopped to listen to the band that played daily in the Piazza Navona, and then made my way to Campo dei Fiori.
Band performing in Piazza Navona (Rome, Italy) Feb. 2011
Taras Bokan, musician, Campo dei Fiori (Rome, Italy) Feb. 2011
I had not really observed many musicians playing in the Campo dei Fiori area since my arrival. Then again, I rarely came out at night, and perhaps that is when they often played. Thus, it was a surprise when the sound of music fell upon my ears as I entered the marketplace.
There, sitting on a small stool, sat Taras Bokan playing guitar. Moreover, on what was truly a grey day, he wore the brightest and most wonderful smile that matched well musical abilities. Also, close-by stood Sasha Aleksovski, the above-mentioned performance artist, who told gave me some information about Taras. From this conversation with Sasha, I had the distinct impression that there was a strong community bond amongst street performers, which I could only imagine would be beneficial due to the emotionally grueling nature of the work – It truly is not easy putting one’s self on display for the world and asking simultaneously to be compensated for one’s creativity. Each day is a financial uncertainty for those performers, who do not have other means of livelihood.
Taras Bokan's guitar, Campo dei Fiori (Rome, Italy) Feb. 2011
Taras Bokan, apparently, is amongst the fortunate, and has been able to utilize his musical talents in different arenas.
Taras is a multi-talented individual, who is not only a musician, but also a composer (and is quite a gifted artist also).
With Italy’s unemployment close to 9% and also its lure for artists of all kinds, it shouldn’t be unusual or shocking to see many talented, established and emerging artists utilizing the public space as a forum to display their creativity… and most importantly, to earn a living. Yes, the ancient buildings are important, and the art of old too. What I am suggesting is to move pass any biases, and take a serious look at the offerings of those who make up modern-day Rome, i.e. the street musicians, performers (and I am not talking about the ones wearing gladiator gear), and artists – These people are helping to build the new image of Rome, and should be equally treasured.
So, I have not posted anything in the last couple of days… and there is a very good reason for this – I have been learning a great deal about Roman nightlife! And given that I have been complaining about my feeling very old… understandably, I have been sleeping in-between and after the nightlife experiences (and you know by now how much this is necessary)! Thus, this posting for Friday, truly covers Saturday and Sunday as well.
Thanks to Isobel, both Friday and Saturday nights found me out and about amongst the young and not-so-young, plus the most ethnically diverse crowds of Rome (particularly on Saturday night).
Trastevere, 2.15.11
Trastevere. Everyday I take a walk through the area known as Trastevere. It is a grungy, grimy place, filled with streets covered in dog feces accompanied by the random not-so-homeless dogs, garbage, homeless, plus the ever-present tourists. I love taking pictures of the dying and living plants and flowers there.
In a way, Trastevere captures well what Rome is like to me, i.e. once you remove the rose-coloured glasses… Then, the impressiveness of the ancient buildings, the lure of the many tourist traps, and the awe you once felt simply fall away, and Rome becomes real. Initially, it may be difficult to find the beauty in the reality of what Rome is, especially once the glamour is gone. I promise you, however, that it is in its authenticity that Rome is at its most poignant and magnificent.
Friday
I am fortunate to have a guide and friend such as Isobel, who has lived in Rome for the last 8 years. She has been able to show me the places, where Romans go to enjoy themselves amidst but apart from the many tourist-geared and tourist-filled establishments. Friday night was no exception. We found ourselves at Bir and Fudfor dinner, a trendy and popular (with both locals and visitors) establishment due to its Neopolitan-style pizzas and… you guessed it, beer! I think Isobel described the beers there as quite rare and very good, and she is not alone in her opinion. Now, I will say this… If you are not interested in drinking beer (ahem, like I was), you are quite out of luck at Bir and Fud! It’s either beer or water, buddy! And I’ll tell you this too, whole families were there, and I am not quite sure how their children were managing, but… I, for one, stuck with the natural water (and it was quite tasty too)!
We followed dinner with a pleasant stroll through the well-cobbled streets of Trastevere. (Ladies, here is where I will advise you to please… rest your feet for several hours before you go out in heels late at night in Rome – The gaps in-between the cobblestones are vicious, and will take out an ankle or two!) Along our walk we happened upon a bookstore… Now, I will tell you that this is the most unique bookstore in which I have ever been. Why? Well, because this bookstore was selling chocolate shots. That’s right! Little shotglass-shaped chocolates, in which could and would be poured whatever alcohol your partying heart desired! Of course, it wouldn’t surprise you that by the end of the night (my night, that is) the line for this bookstore was out the door! (And no, I will not tell you the name of the bookstore! You can look it up yourself. ;))
Excellent car, Trastevere, 2.15.11 (Nice enough to lean on too!)
I wish that there was more that I could say about the nightlife experience of Trastevere. There really isn’t, however. There are many bars, including the famous Bar San Callisto, where young (and of course, not-so-young) people hang outside, drink very cheap beer and other beverages, and lean against other people’s rather small vintage cars. Outside of this, well… No, that’s it. There isn’t any “outside of this.” People walk the streets and hang outside of bars, drinking and smoking. The crowd is somewhat alternative (whatever that means these days) with a mix of folks reliving the 80’s and 90’s, plus the typical middle-aged Italian men thinking that they are still in their 20s. All in all, it makes for fun people-watching, if you enjoy this sport as much as I do. After all, there is nothing quite as a fun as seeing a teenage 80s version of Axl Rose look-alike (hair, hip movement and all) hanging outside of a bar wearing multicoloured spandex tights and a bandana on a cold night. So, “Welcome to the Jungle” and while you are here on a Friday night… you might as well make it Trastevere.
Saturday
Testaccio.After recovering from a night in Trastevere, Isobel recommended that we spend some time in her neighbourhood, the #1 Club District also known as Testaccio. I have to say that I love this neighbourhood… and I have only been here a couple of times. Each time, however, the vibe here has been one of tranquility and diversity. The people of Testaccio are all basically moving along with their day, but seem to care enough to stop to ask about each other’s lives. Even on a weekend night, Testaccio did not lose its tranquil vibe! Rather, the police actually come into the neighbourhood and shut down the main street, only allowing residents and taxis to travel in – This, I believe, has helped the neighbourhood maintain its relative calm, and as a woman, I felt safe walking there at night.
We began Saturday night at theCaffe Emporio, a restaurant/bar with an ultra modern, chic and urban design. This was obviously the place to see and to be seen… And boy, did I see! There was a wide age range, as is typical with many of the Roman establishments in which I have had the opportunity to spend time, and the music played catered well to this. There was everything, from the early 80s to contemporary electronica. And of course… not to be outdone by the Trastevere bookstore I suppose, they offered free samples of rum and chocolate (Isobel explained to me that it was some kind of a promotion… so, you had better hurry if you like rum and chocolate – Not that I am endorsing this behaviour. I dislike both rum and dark chocolate – Yes, I know I am from the Caribbean… Sheesh!)
The only thing missing at Caffe Emporio was a dance floor (Isobel did tell me that they did have a smoking room… and I can see how that might be necessary in Rome). We found ourselves a dance floor later on in the night (and I mean much later… Yes, I am old, or feel old… or something – Checking the clock, it was only 11:30pm).
Now the thing about Testaccio is this: there are many clubs! And they are all lined up next to each other (I will add: next to the ancient garbage dump – See above article about the neighbourhood.) There are free clubs and pay clubs. From what I could tell, nothing was happening and no one happen to be in the free clubs. So, Isobel and I made our way to a pay club. Please, don’t ask me the name, because I cannot remember. All I know is that I could hear Latin music from outside, and that was good enough for me as it suggested that there might be a hint of diversity/integration in Rome! And surprise, surprise….
If you had asked me earlier in the day if interracial couples exist in Rome, I would have answered, “Not that I’ve seen.” At this club on this Saturday night, however, it seemed that whatever racial/ethnic barriers that typically exit during the day in Roman society were momentarily lifted and people were free to mingle amongst each other and to express interest in each other. The shades of brown were many. Immediately recognizable for me were the Bangladeshi and Africans, but I am sure that there were a host of other people, who like myself, were from other countries. And of course, our Italian hosts were out in full force.
Isobel and I spent the night dancing (I, mostly by myself – I am simply a dancing queen… Seriously, you can’t touch this!) to bachata, merengue, and salsa. It was brilliant, fun, exciting, and a good 10 Euro spent, in order to dispel some of my notions about the issue of racial segregation here in Rome. So, go to Testaccio, especially, if you are young and have lots of energy… I am still recovering, and so I am going back to bed! After all, painting the town… is quite a lot of work. 😉
Night sky (View out of my kitchen window), 2.17.11
It’s late… very, very, very late. Tonight, however, I have been transported back in time to any one of the many college dormitories, I had the pleasure of residing in during my undergraduate years… I don’t know what your college experience was like, but mine involved a lot of screaming adolescents and young adults at all hours of the night… and day too!
Fast forward to tonight, to me… sitting here in my little studio in the beautiful city of Rome… and to my neighbours, both the Italian locals and the American college students, screaming at the top of their lungs and slamming their doors. Why? I don’t know. Moreover, I don’t care. What I do care about is the time… It’s after midnight. It’s actually 1:30 in the morning…
Listening to the carryings-on my neighbours (and from the little bits that I am understanding, I think there is a break-up in progress) and feeling my level of agitation growing (because of how late it is and that they are choosing to go through all of this at this time), I am struck with a thought – I am getting old.
My shadow (Trastevere, 2.14.11)
You may say, “Yes, D, everyone grows older with each passing moment,” and I would agree whole-heartedly with that statement. What I am talking about is not a chronological shift, because that is happening no matter what (even though time is a man-made construct… but I will talk about that another time)! I am more focusing on an emotional/psychological shift – I realize that I have lost some of my joie de vivre … or perhaps never really gained a true foothold in experiencing it.
Thus, the passionate exchanges of younger people (whether this argument here in my building, or the carousing late at night of the young people and the young-minded people from Trastevere to Campo dei Fiori) have begun to feel like an inconvenience rather than something to celebrate and appreciate. I know there are some of you, who may think, “But D, you’re right! This behaviour is highly inappropriate!” And yes, on some level it is, especially for the not-so-young people. On the other hand, this is the process of youth, i.e. to experience and learn the intricacies of love, disappointment, excess, and emotional disaster. 🙂 Also, this is an experience and an expression of passion... Something, it seems, that I have grown rather tired of hearing… Well, at least when it is 1:30 in the morning. Still, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to explain in the morning to my young American female neighbours that there is great wisdom (on sooo many levels in the case!) in the old adage “Silence is golden.”
Passion
Over the last few years of my life, especially the last several months, I have been accused of being a dispassionate person – And rightfully so! I have worked hard to get to this place of objectivity and emotional control (for the most part 😉). As a therapist, it has helped me in my work to see beyond my own “stuff” (as one of my favourite fellow therapists would put it), and focus in on my client. In my personal life, it has also helped me to see beyond the “stuff” of the moment, and focus on what needed to be resolved. In all of this focusing and control, however, I realize that I lost a vital part of myself, i.e. the part that feels things deeply, the passionate side of me.
Artist studio, Eughen (Trastevere) 2.15.11
There are many sides to who I am as a person. Beyond the therapist, and now blog writer, I am also an artist, a poet, a singer/songwriter, a musician, a crafter and a designer. I also dance and act, and I have a wide array of other interests, to which I continually add. These abilities have all been a part of me from a very young age, and I cannot imagine myself without them. There was, however, a short period of time not very long ago when I was not able to use my hands well due to my fibromyalgia symptoms – This experience was emotionally and psychologically devastating, but it set in motion a series of internal and external experiences that brought me to this moment in my life, i.e. sitting in Rome writing this blog. For it was in experiencing the fear of losing my ability to create that forced me to confront myself. I had to look at who I was becoming and what I was doing to myself.
And what I was doing was trying not to live. Now, I don’t mean in the sense that I was trying to die. I mean that I was trying a sort of “nobody moves, nobody gets hurt” kind of policy, trying to keep still in my own life, in order not to cause trouble for anyone, myself included. What I realized, however, was that no matter how still I stood, the people around me would still experience hurt (this was out of my control). Furthermore, in standing still, I was only causing hurt to myself, because I was not living. (I recognize how cryptic some of this may sound as you read it, but to be more explicit about my meaning would be unbeneficial.)
Flowers found on Via di Ripetta, 2.18.11
Life is meant to be beneficial. Why we are here is not for the purpose of being dragged down into the gutter, in order to be made to feel unworthy of life. Why we are here is not for the purpose of being made to stand still, in order for others (and ourselves) to feel safe because they know where we are. Why we are here is not for the purpose of being elevated so high that we have no concept of the ground below us, in order for others to have someone to feel proud of and/or to knock down. We are here to experience, to feel, to learn, to meet, to grow… to feel passion.
Store-front (Campo dei Fiori) near Via Arenula, 2.14.11
In coming to Rome, I have made many realizations… and perhaps this is why I love this city so very much. Rome is not a quiet place.
Rome is “grungy” (Isobel agrees with me on this) and raw. Rome is sex, food, art, and wine. Rome is male and female in their purest forms… and all protesting about something! Rome is laughter, shouting, crying, and cold staring. Rome celebrates the process of life into death… and back again, plus the “stuff” in-between. Rome is constantly teaching its residents… its visitors… and me that both within and without… therein lies one’s passion, joie de vivre, andraison d’etre.(My apologies for all the French terms… I know I am in Italy.) 🙂
And so I am off! It’s sunny out today… and who knows what the city has in store for me. 😉
Toward the within... 