I don't even know what to say about Amalfi coast this weekend because it was that perfect. More perfect than any picture or any blog post can say and I wish more than anything that everyone in the world gets to go there someday. It's like your head forgets work and school and everything that ever stressed you out or made you cry so that there's room in every part of your body to soak up all the beautiful and happy that ever existed in the world. It's the early morning Caprese breakfasts on the water. The icy limoncello shots on the beach. The swimming through turquoise. The boating everywhere you need to go. The jumping off 40 foot cliffs like you think you can fly and wading in grottos in the middle of the ocean like you think you're a mermaid. It's making more new friends than you thought possible and toasting to the moment. It's the collapse in exhaustion under a late afternoon sun and the warm sun-soaked stones you mindlessly organize on your tanned stomach. It's the foreign accents you play with on the bus back and the hours of laughing with friends in showered hair and new sweatshirts until you fall asleep in your tiny tropical bungalow.
And now I'm back in Florence, 7 hours north and another kind of paradise. The kind that feels like a home, while being so far away from home. And where the best wifi in town connects me to the home I still miss so much, no matter how perfect this one gets.
Tuesday
And for the first time, what's past is past
C's the one that let's me know when new Taylor Swift songs come out, and I'm the one that listens to them 1300 (you like that) times within the hour she texted.
So there's that for my own personal repetitive, obsessive, wait one more time listening pleasure. And so when I'm feeling extra dramatic I can sing the chorus out loud to myself as many times as I want to. While I sit on my teensy twin bed and eat bowls of Cheerios with peaches. Yes, multiple bowls, because the milk is so good here and the peaches so sweet and the Cheerios so familiar, and well, that's all you really want to eat when you find out he has a peach tree is his backyard, too.
So there's that for my own personal repetitive, obsessive, wait one more time listening pleasure. And so when I'm feeling extra dramatic I can sing the chorus out loud to myself as many times as I want to. While I sit on my teensy twin bed and eat bowls of Cheerios with peaches. Yes, multiple bowls, because the milk is so good here and the peaches so sweet and the Cheerios so familiar, and well, that's all you really want to eat when you find out he has a peach tree is his backyard, too.
Sunday
Livin On a Prayer
~another epic karaoke song experience~
-see so much art I wouldn't get to see otherwise because one of our professors took us EVERYWHERE as we followed behind like little ducklings. This woman knows everything- early/high renaissance expert is an extreme understatement. She has her PhD from Yale! She knows so much about every little thing, she doesn't even stop to breathe. It's mentally exhausting, but one of those things you just have to endure and appreciate, like that quote live as if you'll die today, learn as if you'll live forever. Definitely learned enough for forever.
About humanity, too. Some of the little anecdotes she told us about random Roman princesses reminded me so much of myself, I'd be like yea girl, I feel you, I'd steal the basket of bread from my dad's royal dinner party for me and my little brothers, too. Coulda been a -Roman- princesssss. We're really all the same, 1520 or 2012, royal or not.
By 6 pm, the last church was closing but our professor just talked her way into it like, "mmm, no...no you're actually not going to close yet" while we all scooted in. I don't even think she got permission, she just kept talking to the custodian until we were all in and then he couldn't do anything about it. Haha poor guy. Then off we went to explore one more cathedral.
Sometimes I would just look at a crucifix and think I might die if I had to hear about why in this one, he's wearing clothes. He, sorry. It's not like we went specifically to see all the religious stuff, it just happens to be that all the art in these ancient cities is religious. It's just what people were inspired by back then. Religion was life, literally. Someone must have started telling the bad people they'd go to this place called hell if they kept it up. It's a nice idea, really. Just wanting peace and love. Too bad politics got in the way of that one.
So anyway, I think it's important to see the human side of it all, not just the biblical side. But all in all, it was so worth it. I felt like we got a VIP tour of all the ancient treasures of these towns. Our professor also treated us all to local St. Zita cake at the end of the day, which was heavenly. Ha, that might be a cute pun if I didn't use that word to describe every meal I eat here.
About humanity, too. Some of the little anecdotes she told us about random Roman princesses reminded me so much of myself, I'd be like yea girl, I feel you, I'd steal the basket of bread from my dad's royal dinner party for me and my little brothers, too. Coulda been a -Roman- princesssss. We're really all the same, 1520 or 2012, royal or not.
By 6 pm, the last church was closing but our professor just talked her way into it like, "mmm, no...no you're actually not going to close yet" while we all scooted in. I don't even think she got permission, she just kept talking to the custodian until we were all in and then he couldn't do anything about it. Haha poor guy. Then off we went to explore one more cathedral.
Sometimes I would just look at a crucifix and think I might die if I had to hear about why in this one, he's wearing clothes. He, sorry. It's not like we went specifically to see all the religious stuff, it just happens to be that all the art in these ancient cities is religious. It's just what people were inspired by back then. Religion was life, literally. Someone must have started telling the bad people they'd go to this place called hell if they kept it up. It's a nice idea, really. Just wanting peace and love. Too bad politics got in the way of that one.
So anyway, I think it's important to see the human side of it all, not just the biblical side. But all in all, it was so worth it. I felt like we got a VIP tour of all the ancient treasures of these towns. Our professor also treated us all to local St. Zita cake at the end of the day, which was heavenly. Ha, that might be a cute pun if I didn't use that word to describe every meal I eat here.
Ok so that's mostly what I got from it. Along with a really good reason to go out last night. Which was being home finally, 14 hours later. Home! In Florence.
Convinced we belong here.
Convinced we belong here.
Friday
The apartment they sell at Urban Outfitters
You know, the one with quilt comforters and the sassy post-it notes on the fridge? And you make tea out of a tin kettle on the stove in the mornings while you have dirty conversations with your co-ed roommates? For all the times I've wished for that apartment, I think I have it now, without having any of it. It's worth every penny it doesn't cost. Cupboards filled with mismatched pint glasses and all. Taken home from bars. Accidentally.
And the Manchester Sound roommate bought a guitar, so.
And the Manchester Sound roommate bought a guitar, so.
Wednesday
"She played her favorite game, figuring out about people."
-A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
My Italian teacher giggles so much now that we got a boy in our class. I just smile and watch her like she's the cutest thing I've ever seen and sometimes I start laughing too. I like her so much and I've been trying to figure out why. I think it's because she reminds me of my mom. She's short and teeny and wears light pink shirts every day. She's very kind and patient with all of us, a bunch of twenty-something girls who just want to go have a glass of wine instead of trying to say "I am happy and tall" in some variation of Italian that sounds so bad she just makes this face and smiles, like oh god this is hopeless. I have a quiz tomorrow and she has the kind of voice that you can hear while you study. I know they say knowing one romance language helps you learn another, but I just want lungo to be longo and molto to be multo. So..idk maybe writing it in this post will make me remember. Thanks blog.
My fresco professor is Mario. Like I meant Super Mario, but yea his name is actually Mario too. He's old and wheezy but not in a sick way, in an old Italian man way and you can't really understand him sometimes but he can say "you know what I mean?" in perfect English, and does, every so often between mumbles of Italian. This morning I asked him what an article from the newspaper was about because the picture was so scary, and he just looked at me and walked away. And then 15 minutes later he came back and told me a 20-year-old woman was raped, but he didn't know in English "how to tell a lady." They don't make him like him no more.
My painting professor reminds me so much of my one at UNC because they're both so American, their Levi's and midwest accents make you want to go home and watch Casablanca with your wife. I don't have a wife but once I ran into my UNC painting professor at a thrift shop buying old romance movies on VHS, so I figured that's what he was going home to do. Anyway, they both teach the painting and drawing courses in a row so I was used to those same 6 hour afternoons before class even started.
Batik lady is just that. She's 65 with a relaxing, open-air, tropical studio tucked away off campus. She did her masters of a life-size VW bug she Batik'd, quilted and constructed with metal supports. She showed us her photo album of when she completed it and when VW casually bought it from her, but I was more struck by this young, glowing beauty in a sixty's dress to die for smiling, so proud of what she had done than her actual masterpiece. Age is so amazing.
My Illustration professor is a crazy college girl at heart. When she laughs you can tell she means it and then she keeps talking with the smile leftover from the laugh still on her face, so she always seems like she's having a great time. She tells us stories of when she went to work in NYC after she graduated college and it's so funny to hear the reverse experience of an Italian living in America. It's like you flip a shirt inside out and put it on backwards so it's basically the same thing, but opposite. I don't know where that metaphor was going. Maybe I'll illustrate it tomorrow.... But that's all for now, I just wanted to remember my professors before they grade me AHH
My Italian teacher giggles so much now that we got a boy in our class. I just smile and watch her like she's the cutest thing I've ever seen and sometimes I start laughing too. I like her so much and I've been trying to figure out why. I think it's because she reminds me of my mom. She's short and teeny and wears light pink shirts every day. She's very kind and patient with all of us, a bunch of twenty-something girls who just want to go have a glass of wine instead of trying to say "I am happy and tall" in some variation of Italian that sounds so bad she just makes this face and smiles, like oh god this is hopeless. I have a quiz tomorrow and she has the kind of voice that you can hear while you study. I know they say knowing one romance language helps you learn another, but I just want lungo to be longo and molto to be multo. So..idk maybe writing it in this post will make me remember. Thanks blog.
My fresco professor is Mario. Like I meant Super Mario, but yea his name is actually Mario too. He's old and wheezy but not in a sick way, in an old Italian man way and you can't really understand him sometimes but he can say "you know what I mean?" in perfect English, and does, every so often between mumbles of Italian. This morning I asked him what an article from the newspaper was about because the picture was so scary, and he just looked at me and walked away. And then 15 minutes later he came back and told me a 20-year-old woman was raped, but he didn't know in English "how to tell a lady." They don't make him like him no more.
My painting professor reminds me so much of my one at UNC because they're both so American, their Levi's and midwest accents make you want to go home and watch Casablanca with your wife. I don't have a wife but once I ran into my UNC painting professor at a thrift shop buying old romance movies on VHS, so I figured that's what he was going home to do. Anyway, they both teach the painting and drawing courses in a row so I was used to those same 6 hour afternoons before class even started.
Batik lady is just that. She's 65 with a relaxing, open-air, tropical studio tucked away off campus. She did her masters of a life-size VW bug she Batik'd, quilted and constructed with metal supports. She showed us her photo album of when she completed it and when VW casually bought it from her, but I was more struck by this young, glowing beauty in a sixty's dress to die for smiling, so proud of what she had done than her actual masterpiece. Age is so amazing.
My Illustration professor is a crazy college girl at heart. When she laughs you can tell she means it and then she keeps talking with the smile leftover from the laugh still on her face, so she always seems like she's having a great time. She tells us stories of when she went to work in NYC after she graduated college and it's so funny to hear the reverse experience of an Italian living in America. It's like you flip a shirt inside out and put it on backwards so it's basically the same thing, but opposite. I don't know where that metaphor was going. Maybe I'll illustrate it tomorrow.... But that's all for now, I just wanted to remember my professors before they grade me AHH
Sunday
The good, the bad and the awkward
The good
-The way our kitchen smells like butter at night when everyone's home making dinner.
-Discovering one of the roommate's band Manchester Sound. Dude can sing.
-New Gucci perfume. It's new and perfect and sexy and takes all of me not to spray myself down every morning and choke up the roommates.
-The restaurant we ate at in Cinque Terre. And the waiter who came over and whispered in my ear "you stole my heart." You stole mine, Pablo. Or Paolo. Couldn't really understand you.
-"Daddy Knows Best" videos at the kitchen table. That's all.
-The boy roommate who always does the dishes without ever saying anything about it. The girls in this apartment are usually too busy eating Nutella out of the jar anyways.
The bad
-the seat design of public transportation. They curve over at the headrest so your head is being forced down to your chest as if they want you to have bad posture and be highly uncomfortable for the ride and I don't know if it's just me who feels like I'm in a torture chamber sitting in them but they're awful. Just awful.
-Our tiny washing machine that washes like 2 pairs of jeans at a time. Also, everyone has to unplug their laptop chargers for it to work. Oh, the quirks..
-Craving ice water like a crazy person but Italians don't believe in ice.
The awkward
-When everyone comes over to pregame and one of the boys breaks a full bottle of Smirnoff on the ground..
-Roommates flirting with roommates having crushes on other roommates. This is the Real World.
-Using a drawing pencil sharpener to sharpen an eyeliner pencil and later having slight suspicions you'll have lead in your eye forever and go blind and die.
-Wanting a normal sized coffee I can sip on, so trying to order a "caffe lungo" and ending up with a regular shot of espresso in a huge mug. What? ~Apparently ordering a whole cup of coffee is an American thing. In Europe you either get a shot of espresso or a frothy cappuccino.. neither deliver the satisfaction of a medium DD iced coffee.~
-Facetiming in the bathroom because it's the best connection in the apartment without being in the kitchen where everyone else usually is. *someone walks by* *sup*
-Not understanding how to purchase produce at the grocery store and having to leave the register mid-checkout to go figure out how to weigh your bananas to get a sticker with a bar code. Yes, everything is written in Italian. Yes, there are 26 people in line behind you waiting.
Call it what you want, honeymoon's over. This is life in Firenze.
-The way our kitchen smells like butter at night when everyone's home making dinner.
-Discovering one of the roommate's band Manchester Sound. Dude can sing.
-New Gucci perfume. It's new and perfect and sexy and takes all of me not to spray myself down every morning and choke up the roommates.
-The restaurant we ate at in Cinque Terre. And the waiter who came over and whispered in my ear "you stole my heart." You stole mine, Pablo. Or Paolo. Couldn't really understand you.
-"Daddy Knows Best" videos at the kitchen table. That's all.
-The boy roommate who always does the dishes without ever saying anything about it. The girls in this apartment are usually too busy eating Nutella out of the jar anyways.
The bad
-the seat design of public transportation. They curve over at the head
-Our tiny washing machine that washes like 2 pairs of jeans at a time. Also, everyone has to unplug their laptop chargers for it to work. Oh, the quirks..
-Craving ice water like a crazy person but Italians don't believe in ice.
The awkward
-When everyone comes over to pregame and one of the boys breaks a full bottle of Smirnoff on the ground..
-Roommates flirting with roommates having crushes on other roommates. This is the Real World.
-Using a drawing pencil sharpener to sharpen an eyeliner pencil and later having slight suspicions you'll have lead in your eye forever and go blind and die.
-Wanting a normal sized coffee I can sip on, so trying to order a "caffe lungo" and ending up with a regular shot of espresso in a huge mug. What? ~Apparently ordering a whole cup of coffee is an American thing. In Europe you either get a shot of espresso or a frothy cappuccino.. neither deliver the satisfaction of a medium DD iced coffee.~
-Facetiming in the bathroom because it's the best connection in the apartment without being in the kitchen where everyone else usually is. *someone walks by* *sup*
-Not understanding how to purchase produce at the grocery store and having to leave the register mid-checkout to go figure out how to weigh your bananas to get a sticker with a bar code. Yes, everything is written in Italian. Yes, there are 26 people in line behind you waiting.
Call it what you want, honeymoon's over. This is life in Firenze.
Friday
"Art is not an intention, good work is an intention. Art happens when you're lucky."
I love it here [at SACI] and not just for my painting class in the garden or for my late afternoons at the Fuji studio, but I think mostly for the people. It's like everyone here wants the same thing. Not to make art but to find art in what we make. Not to travel, but to explore. To learn other people's passions and be inspired and share this love of life we all have. Being from a liberal arts school, I never got to experience this aspect of "art school." It's such a community. The people around you are like you without being anything like you.
And that doesn't even just translate to appreciating the David or complaining about expensive supplies. We go out together, we tell locations of hidden grocery stores that sell American brands, we make friends with store owners, we separate at times and find our own adventures but only to commune again to share stories of favorite bartenders or married Canadians or wonder about the missing kid no one's heard from since last night. It's never the place, it's the people.
We just finished our first full week of classes and this cool, sunny Friday afternoon has all our windows opened with a breeze dancing through the apartment........
I decided that since this post is already drowning in cheesiness, I'd add that last little part in. Basically, I like my classmates, and I'm high on Friday Happiness. That's not a drug, but it should be.
Ciao for now, you happy little weekenders.
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