Saturday May 23, 2009  9:00 p.m.  Badia di Pomaio, near Arezzo, Italy

            Well, I have always wanted to stay in a monastery, so here I am above Arezzo in a charming hotel called the Badia di Pomaio.   (It was only after arriving here that I realized that it meant Abby of Pomaio, in that very small town in the hills above Arezzo.  It is VERY hard to find, and not just the first time either, as I seem to get lost each and every time.  (Wish my son Steven was here to guide me!....There was one most amusing moment when I drove up to the only restaurant on this a rather deserted road, and three elderly Italians argued about which directions they should give me, the back roads or the easier roads.  Even though I took the latter, I still had to ask another time, which really didn’t work!)  I think I was lost for an hour last night, arriving just about 9:00, and almost immediately getting a call from Clare as I was waiting to check in.  I made it to dinner at 9:28, just before they closed for the night. (Had a delicious dinner of smoked salmon marinated in balsamic vinegar, swordfish with a special sauce, and then a light, creamy dessert with a raspberry topping, a bit like Swedish cream but lighter.)

            It was a bit of an adventure earlier yesterday to get the rented car at the train station in Verona.  I have never driven by myself in Italy, so I think I am rather brave.  I could not pick up the car between 12 and 2:00, so after my first class ended at 12:00, I walked back to my Il Viccolo apartment, ate cold chicken leftovers from the previous night (plus delicious strawberries and a banana) and packed.  It was 2:30 by the time I caught the bus at San Fermo and got back to the train station.  I tried traveling with just my computer backpack, as a trial run for Rome and Florence. 

            I don’t think the driving was that bad, actually.   I did rather poke along at 100-110 kms on the autostrada, with almost every other Italian zipping by me (the Pimsleur phrases rang in my head: “In Italia, si guida velocemente; in America, si guida lentamente.”)  Caught some traffic in between all the tunnels north of Florence, so I really got to study their shapes (and lost about 30 minutes of time).  At one point, they seemed very much like the hills in Masaccio’s Brancaci Chapel, behind the Tribute Money.

            I also felt an affinity today with Piero della Francesca, as I traced his works from town to town.  The winding autostrada between Arezzo and Sansepulchro was amazing in terms of geography.  I wonder how they even put a highway through there: the hills folded in among themselves and fell down to the roads.  They actually felt a great deal like Vermont.  And then I wondered about how inspired I am by those Vermont hills, as well as by Piero’s essential simplicity and spirituality, and could only hope that my work has some of his power.

            I feel Piero’s power as I write.  His colors are not unique from painting to painting (using often that same brown, red, green, blues, black, white and gray), but his forms are so three-dimensionally powerful.  In the right space and time, one feels as if the figures could step (with the utmost dignity of course) right into our space.  The Resurrection of Christ had this amazing immediacy: his foot poised on the sepulcher, about to support a step upward and toward us.  The landscape was just what I had driven through, although covered with olive trees instead of deciduous and pine trees.  I was also struck by the beautiful Corinthian columns framing this piece, squeezed in between groin vaults in its present museum location.  There is such an architectural feeling to Piero’s figures, and yet his architecture is so warmly lit as to be humanized.  And then the landscape falls into perfect place: its monumentality of experience reflected in the shapes of the figures and the architecture.

            I had seen the Legend of the True Cross with Steven in 2001 and with the Syracuse trip when I was a student in 1976.  But this time I had to drive through Arezzo to get there (instead of climbing up from the train station).  I went into the Duomo first, since I could find a parking spot there, and I did find Piero’s Mary Magdalene, but I was wondering where the Legend had gone.  (The good thing about traveling alone is that you can talk readily to other people, and I was told by three nice Italians where the church of San Francisco (duh) and Piero’s frescoes were.)

            I actually had a new, good guide book with me, so I could answer some of my questions therein.  I had forgotten the details of the battles but could easily check that out.  But nowhere could tell I find out why the door is open above Mary in the Annunciation.  It must be another clean vessel symbol, and perhaps the wooden pole below that window is a reference to the cross and sacrifice to come.

            I also thought that two other frecoes in that church looked like Piero’s work, but maybe they were just followers or apprentices.  I was assured by the guide that the only works by Piero were those of the Legend of the True Cross.  But I think the other works were legends of St. Francis; the reverse poses, facial expressions, simplicity and limited use of color sure reminded me of Piero.  I had about 20 minutes to kill before my entry to the chapel, so that’s the only reason I was looking at these pieces.

            After enjoying the True Cross frescoes, I had a capucchino (my first of this trip) at a café outside the church and read more of the guidebook.  It gave me a chance to enjoy just being there.   And before I left in my car, I discovered Petrarch’s house and wandered into check it out (for free).  It was rather interesting, including original editions of his 14th century texts under glass.

            Drove next to San Sepulchro and had a most delicious ravioli lunch in a small café with wine racks surrounding me, and where I was the only one eating.  The ravioli had bits of gorgonzola, spinach (I think) and pine nuts.  It melted in my mouth.  I had wine and then capucchino again, remembering that they often cancelled out each other’s heady effects.

            Before I got to enter the museum, there was a wonderful Renaissance re-enactment of a march, drums, trumpets and flags being waved and thrown about.  It was fascinating to see their skill and I hope I got some nice pictures.  I also enjoyed my earlier visit to Piero’s home, where there were some works from the multi-venue Luca della Robbia show.  But the house itself was lovely: simple, powerful forms of architecture.  Not fancy at all: beamed ceilings, rounded arches between rooms, and little else.  Just what I value: lovely shapes, simple in form but rich in effect.        

            My last stop was in Monterci, just a few kms detour from my way back to Arezzo from San Sepulchro.  The Madonna del Prato was highlit in one little room.  Two rooms were dedicated to informing us of the restoration, and one other room showed an informative movie on Piero.  I also bought several items that caught my eye: a 1910 calendar of Tuscany, two lovely blue and white bags, and another more scholarly book on Piero. 

            The Madonna del Prato also had a wonderful presence.  This is the image where she is pregnant, with one hand on her swelling belly and one awkwardly bent at her wrist with an elbow out.  At times she seemed as if she was inside the tent shape, opened at each side by an angel in perfect reverse poses (using the same stencil), and at times she seemed as if she was hovering in front of the opening.  She looked worried and reminded me of Vermeer’s image of the pregnant woman weighing her jewels.  There was a similar stillness, spirituality and awareness of the responsibility of children (not to mention the savior!) in their faces.

            There is such a powerful dignity and self-awareness in Piero’s works, a humble religious and spiritual quality.  The figures have flawless posture, as if we could all have that dignity if we walked with that grace.  Or so I aspire to.  These figures even reminded me of samurai: that self-sacrifice, that dedication, that inner awareness of the important things in life.  His work is not overly decorated nor distracted by material wealth.  He once lived in Florence early on, learning lessons of perspective from Brunelleschi and others, color from Veneziano, but then Piero returned to the peace of his little hill town of San Sepulchro, just as Cezanne left Paris to work alone in Provence.  I can certainly relate to those values.

            I also think that Piero is wonderfully combining that humanism of the 15th century with a Christian and more forgiving spirituality.  There is a human warmth and intense awareness and presence with all his figures.  With the dominant Madonna and Christ, it is as if he is re-creating that more forgiving Christ as is seen in the New Testament rather than the fire-and-brimstone Christ of previous centuries. I wonder who has done scholarly studies on this, and well as on his influence from the landscape.

            After studying the Madonna del Prato, I walked up a few yards to see the views from the hills of Monterci (and I was only halfway up as it was).  I continued the effort to take what pictures I can of the landscape, to see how that peaceful and harmonious image is carried into his paintings in terms of form and content.  Then I drew a bit myself to feel the shapes and color better.  It’s been really nice to see these places where he worked and lived.

            My little abbey cell seemed dark upon my return, so I went out by the pool to read a bit.  The pool water refreshed my feet.  The computer needed to be charged, so I relaxed and read my book a bit.  Does the peace in Early Renaissance art reflect the light, peace and gentle wind and hills of the Tuscan landscape such as I have been immerse into? It does seem like that to me.

            I had another melt-in-your-mouth dinner (asparagus and truffle sauce, duck in a honey sauce and eggplant puffs) and a glass of red wine.  Sat outside a bit for the sunset, but it was buggy so I came back in.  Having some trouble connecting to the internet, however.  Such is life.  Will try to connect with my family tomorrow.

            It is so quiet here; unlike the cars racing by in Verona.  I slept like a log for the first time since our arrival Wednesday and it felt wonderful.   I am looking forward to my trip to Urbino.  I wonder if they got my letter and if they will let me measure and take pictures there.