The End of Everything Part 2:

Giovedi, November 20

Sitting opposite Joelle a woman has the face of the chubby cherubim of Raphael’s Madonna of Foligno. Her right shoulder bounces up and down as she chats, as if cradling a tennis ball under her right jaw. Her plump exposed hip, threatens to roll over a wide black leather belt studded with coins. Flat, cleared farmland, interrupted by wooded hills, is framed by the train window. A flock of Burne-Jones, Saint Paul’s between the walls sheep pass by. Now a forest brushed with earth brown, khaki greens and apple yellows. Winter is coming. Heading north it will get colder. The colours blend together like watercolour. The skies are soft and the clouds have no edges. I want to jump off the train and stay here. Passing through tunnels ears start popping, we must be climbing.

A change of trains at Florence. Siena is only 40 kilometres but the train will travel via Empoli and take 1 hour and 40 minutes. However the gentle pace proves restful and suits the countryside. Locals alight and board here and there, none in much of a hurry. An affectionate couple sit opposite. “How long will the train take?” They are surprised. They have no luggage.

Siena’s store windows are stacked with panforte. Christmas is coming.

Sitting on the terrace of Bar Il Palio, the tension leaves our bodies and rolls down the slope of Piazza Del Campo towards Palazzo Publicca. Rome was a big town and not easy to get around. Some churches were so difficult to find and we walked and walked and walked. Here in Siena, our hotel is just 50 metres away in Piazza Indipendenza. A pigeon lands on a nearby table. It has no feet. Bar Il Palio plays early Beatles.

We arrived early taking a place on the barricade closest to the entrance of Palazzo Pubblico. We witnessed the moment following the blessing as the horses clattered and clopped through the Town Hall’s doors. A young rider had the face of a Paul Strand portrait. It was the last day of the Palio and the contrada of Istrice would soon have victory. The prize, a Madonna adorned banner. What an afternoon it was Il Palio Brezano of July 2,1975.

I’ve been to Siena three times now. That first time without a camera. The second time in 1984 with a camera that square pictured a man in a suit, leaning on a bollard in the middle of a nearby street and now this third time. I would be happy with a good suit photograph. Dorothea Lange and August Sander both made wonderful suit photographs. Imagine a room with a view of Piazza Del Campo. Siena is so beautiful. Rust brown stone, flashes of light and glimpses of the eternal. In 1348 The Black Death took half of Siena’s people. Ghosts are everywhere.

Ristorante Spaghetteria da Renzo’s (14, via Delle Terme) minestrone soup is delicious. The cook’s face testifies to a life in the fields.

Venerdi, November 21 – 2am.

The pigeons warble in their roosts in the brick sized holes in the wall opposite Hotel La Perla’s window. Life must be rough for a pigeon. I’m still waking at Western Australian time.

The 8am radio in the lavenderia self service is pleasant enough. The same format as 60s Perth Radio; a single male announcer, the occasional jingle and Abba, Knowing Me Knowing You. The sun picks out some walls in Banchi Di Sotto while most are in deep shadow. The late November sun is low in the sky all day, morning, mid day and afternoon.

With the Duoma full of Carabinieri it’s straight to the Museo dell’ Opera del Duoma. Duccio Di Buoninsegna’s Madonna of The Maesta, sits enthroned surrounded by saints and angels on panels 5 metres wide. I’m enjoying the stillness of Siena’s 14^th century painting. Although Terre Verte (Green Earth), the Medieval and early Renaissance under painting colour for human flesh is unsettling. The use of green enhances the warmth of the over painted red Cinabrese skin colour but when I see green flesh I see putrescence. Duccio’s, The Maesta was painted for Siena’s Cathedral in 1311, 7 years before his death and 37 years before the arrival of The Black Death. 

Room 406
Day 8 November 22 (Sabato)

We leave Siena on the 8.47 for Florence.
A woman shakes a rug over a balcony.
On the horizon a snow-capped mountain.

After a not too long walk, arriving at 6 via Medici, a family stands by the entrance, the parents are crying. We are given the key to room 406. What a hotel room! Hotel Medici must be a 2 star hotel. There is room to walk around the bed and there is a writing desk. The bathroom is small but not as small as in Rome and Siena where you could shower while sitting on the toilet. We meet Ivan in the street near the Duomo; he’s a little grey now. He travelled to Florence from Bern. It’s good to be together again. It’s been 8 years. We find a bar that sells expensive beer. Ivan asks what the photo project is about. It’s about The End of Everything I say.

We visit; The Duomo, a market, buying Remi a leather belt, San Lorenzo, the oldest church in Florence, the church of Santa Maria Novella, with Giotto’s Crucifix at the centre of the central nave.

Domenica, November 23

The Sacrifice of Isaac

The Uffizi’s enigmatic blonde gazing at the viewer, in Botticelli’s Primavera, I think her name is Flora, looks like Cate Blanchett. A Wikepedia down load claims that Renaissance blondes bleached their hair in urine.

Bob Dylan sings;

“Ah God said to Abraham kill me a son
Abe said man you must be putting me on
God said no, Abe said what
God said you can do what you want Abe
But the next time you see me comin’ you better run
Well Abe said where do you want this killing done
God said around Highway 61”

When I first heard Bob Dylan’s 1965 Highway 61 Revisited, it was a revelation, a motorcycle ride of harmonicas and electric guitars and surreal images and dream narratives and biblical visions. The lyrics didn’t always make sense. What made sense was the spellbinding logic of rhyme and rhythm. It was poetry with a beat, played by a band flying somewhere I’d never been before. On Highway 61, Dylan’s transformation, that began with Bringing It All Back Home, from the folk singing, freight train riding Oakie, to Rock n Roll star; was made complete.

The colours of Caravaggio’s The Sacrifice of Isaac are more sombre than the other paintings I’ve seen. Perhaps the others were cleaned, or perhaps it’s the dim lighting in the room, or perhaps that’s how it was painted. Sombre. It’s a sombre business, God ordering a father to kill his son. This painting has a background. The hilly terrain, Cyprus trees, chateau and other buildings, say Rome rather than the desert of Canaan. (Although it looks like the painted background of a 19^th century photographer’s studio.) An angel grips Abraham’s knife wielding wrist, and points to the surrogate sacrificial ram. Isaac’s eyes confused and terrified, plead to the viewer. What a powerful rendering of terror. The viewer can do nothing. The eyes of the ram don’t leave the finger-pointing angel.

In the Caravaggio movie he was asked what is best sculpture or painting? Sculpture can’t capture a man’s soul like painting, said the movie Caravaggio. We have coffee at Caffe delle Carrozze. With a close up view of the Ponte Vecchio it’s expensive.

On the other side of the Arno, Cappella Brancacci and Masaccio’s beautiful frescoes. Masaccio commences the Brancacci Chapel frescoes in 1427. In 1428 Masaccio leaves for Rome and soon after dies, at the age of 26, leaving the frescoes unfinished. In 1484, 9 years after the birth of Michelangelo, Filippino Lippi completes the Brancacci frescoes. Italian art is still some time away from the Michelangelo revolution.

Masaccio’s Adam and Eve driven out of Paradise, is Edvard Munch like says Ivan. Adam and Eve eat from the Tree of Conscience and Yahweh is angry, as they now can discriminate good from evil without having to defer to him. If they eat from the Tree of Life, then they become immortal, as gods, so they are expelled. In my 1956 publication of the frescoes, Adam and Eve are depicted wearing stencilled fig leaves. The frescoes have since returned to their original portrayal and Adam has a penis and testicles. Masaccio paints no snake. The only other figure, is a sword-wielding angel dressed in red, ushering the striding couple from Paradise. Eve’s face grotesque in her anguish.

After Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Conscience; God said to the woman, “You shall bear children in intense pain and suffering; yet even so, you shall welcome your husband’s affections, and he shall be your master.” And to Adam, God said, “Because you listened to your wife and ate of the fruit when I told you not to, I have placed a curse upon the soil. All your life you will struggle to extract a living from it. It will grow thorns and thistles for you, and you shall eat its grasses. Thus God expelled him, and placed mighty angels at the east end of the garden of Eden, with a flaming sword to guard the entrance to the Tree of Life.

Genesis 3:23

Masaccio’s work is recognised for its nascent naturalism, yet there is still a medieval stiffness. The Church had used puppets controlled by strings for morality plays. Marionette means Mary Doll. And in Massaccio’s The Tribute Money, Jesus and the disciples look as if made of wood. They gesture uncertain of their moves. The turmoil and the strangeness of it all. Masaccio would have liked Dylan’s album John Wesley Harding;

There must be some way out of here, said the joker to the thief
There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth.
Outside in the distance A wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching The wind began to howl

A wine bar and pizzeria on Via De Cimatori beckons and invites us in for dinner. The Divina Comedia has a bohemian feel about it. I imagine poetry brewing here. A waitress wears a wild hairstyle. The food and wine is tasty and affordable. After dinner, Ivan and Regina will return to Bern on a night train and tomorrow we leave for Paris.