Summer exodus

When the inhabitants of the big cities overflow the streets heading towards the Italian provinces looking for refreshment and a taste of well living, provincials not employed in turistic activities go to the capitals to finally enjoy,  without the chaos and the everyday inconveniences, the city artistic beauties. Together with tourist of the entire world interested in the 'città d'arte' art's cities we venture in the exploration of some of the treasures of Italian culture in historical-artistic paths focused on the knowledge of the enormous Italian heritage. While the city dwellers crowd into more or less crowded seashores, or between contryside trees and mountain freshness after hours of trafic jams during holiday exodus to enjoy, paying crazy prices, some moments of the pleasures inherently part of living in the provincia, the naive provincials wander in wonderful streets and squares, brought back to a human dimension, in churches and archeological paths emptied from the ear-splitting and  rinky trafic to enjoy, with really cheap prices, the treasures of big capitals freed from, what for the province dwellers is unbearable chaos and for those who live in the cities is the electrifying heart-beat of the city. And then here we are brushing up history of art books, crossing ages and places looking for moments of pure intellectual joy. One of the many possible paths is the one on the traces of great painters, such as Caravaggio, whose works are literally spread around the Roman urban texture in churches that really deserve to be seen, or the ones in historically relevant 'quartieri', nieghbourhoods, where you can walk nose-up without fearing to be hit by a car while observing architectures and frescos, suddenly discovering a silent XVth century cloister in the chaotic Piazza Venezia, or following the footsteps of the ancient Romans in the extraordinary markets, forums, domus. True is that some of the most delicious 'pasticceria's (confectioners), 'gelateria's (ice-cream shops) and urban refreshment bars might be closed for holidays but a mental map of the places of gusto not to get knocked back by the summer heat or the mild winter cold might be of great help. So, ready to re-open the arts history books, wear confortable shoes and clothes, hats, a city map and a backpack with fruit and a bottle of water, ready to discover the Italian capitals of art and culture provincia style.

©2010.2020

The 'cunto', UNESCO world heritage

A relevant part of Western culture was handed down to our times thanks to the storytellers. Charachters wandering through the provinces and the cities, telling the romanticized deeds of great warriors and  leaders, the heart-beats of troubled loves and what was going on in the neighbouring towns and provinces.  During Internet and mass-media age the role of the storytellers slimmed down, to the point of becoming a treasure to be preserved and put under the wing of UNESCO. Well, at least that's what happened to a great storyteller, best said 'cuntista' rather than 'cantastorie', and puppeteer of the Sicilian  'Opra dei Pupi' (Pupi puppets theatre, note that it's not 'opera' as for the opera houses, but 'opra', more likely to resound the adventures of the heroes), Mimmo Cuticchio, an artist that can enchant and make the deeds of the chansons de geste come alive in pure Sicilian dialect incredibly absolutely comprehensible thanks to the ancient knowledge of the cuntisti. In 'cunto' there is the epic poem, the singing and a syncopated musical rythm similar to modern rap that make it an extraordinary instrument of artistic communication that can cross borders and barriers as it includes the most ancestral element of tales and of Western culture,  the narrative storytelling.

©2009.2022

Viva l'Italia and the giubbe rosse

"Viva l'Italia, l'Italia liberata,
l'Italia del valzer e l'Italia del caffè...            
viva l'Italia, l'Italia che resiste".  De Gregori

Songs can sometimes make us see more than words can say, sometimes we have the impression to find in musical synthesis of the great singer-songwriters, the pure essence of an emotion and of the popular sentiment. Sung, whistled, listened for hours or for just a minute, danced and imagined. Memories, come to the surface when one least expect.

De Gregori's song came back to my mind, immediate, when I took a walk in the centre of Mentana, Rome Province, and I bumped in the Garibaldi Museum. Mentana is one of those town you can find in dusty history books, flipping through the epochs from the bronze age to  the Italic history, from Roman kings and emperors to the prelates and the Hero of the Two Worlds, Garibaldi, who there struggled an uneven battle against French and their most technologically advanced weapons to defend the Papacy and the secular power of the highest Catholic religious authority. The red coats, attracted in a trap and armed with Prussian needle guns, had to fight against the fearful chassepot. Garibaldi and his soldiers remebered the day bitterly, so that the ossuary was later built in Mentana, for future reference. 

The museum was opened in the early XXth century. Forget a majestic celebration place for the people who unified Italy, creating a country from scratch.

But probably in Italy memory has a future only when it can keep intact the true and deep meaning of ideas and realities that inspired the great ideals of freedom. 

The ossuary is the 'monument', the little park where young twin and teen agers promise each other ethernal loves, almost looking for a confirmation to their first passions in the solemnity of the place, where youngsters  hide while learning how to smoke a sigarette far from their parent's eyes, probably trying to find there the courage to become grown-up teen-agers. On one side there's the citizen's band association, offices of the municipality and round the corner, in a square where from time to time some car pass trying not to bother and the drying racks are on the streets in front of the doors, there is a narrow iron gate, almost safe from prying eyes, that leads to a wooden portal shadowed by cypresses. 

When you enter that museum all of sudden everything  becomes visible to your eyes and  heart.

The small room, the stubborn stoutness of the attendant, kids playing around and the red coats, poignant beauty.

Shirts and jackets with the most diverse styles, varieties of reds that tell of young hearts, of hopes and freedoms. Those jackets, those so unequal coats and the rifles, the Garibaldi's and the French, make understand more than any history book.

It is possible to read simple emotions and purity of ideals in the pieces of textures wangled somehow, hidden in the markets booths, tables or stands and then hand-sewed, without being noticed, with a design that should approximately be that one but who knows, the trimmings obtained from curtain tiebacks hoping well, that some Bible's god or the spirit of a libertarian might protect and wanting to bring back that red wool coat and the skin of the brave risking for the creation of Italy.

Visiting the Garibaldi's museum is a balm for the heart, for the mind and for the ideas, especially to understand that Italy is a small country with many wonderful stories to tell, a country that resist.

©2010.2020

Cultural provincialism? Yes, please!

Paris, London, New York, New Dehli, Berlin, Rome or Milan are the big cultural capitals of the world,  cities that deserve a visit if one is interested in innovative and newsworthy artistic production. That's where culture is made.

This is a false statement. Actually this couldn't be more false. It is true, indeed, that capitals offer a varied cultural program and following all the events is almost impossible, but if one is really interested in research, innovation, culture and art, willing or not, after the ritual tour of the capitals, well there's no other place as the province.

I've heard so many times that Italian culture is 'provincial'. Thank goodness, I'd say! If I have to count on the fingertips the most beautiful books, movies, performances province wins over capitals.

Most of the greatest artists of all times were born and raised in the  provinces, not in London, nor in New York, they have nurtured their inspiration with that unique mix of practicality and imagination that in the case of Italy is spiced also with history: in Medieval burgs and in Reinassance villages one che actually 'dance on the world' and time-wise.

Those are the  dances, real incursions in contemporary culture, that we want to write about in this blog.

©2010.2022
Special thanks to WR community and WP