Month: August 2017

Interactions

Near closing time at my local supermercato, I found myself alone in the checkout line. I have no idea how they do it, but the clerks there usually guess that I am an American and ask in English if I would like a bag. Perhaps it’s my way of dressing, the food I toss in my basket, or the way I carry myself, but they always seem to know. In this instance, whether from fatigue, indifference, or ignorance, the clerk asked me – in Italian – if I would like una busta. I replied excitedly, in Italian, that I would indeed. When it came time for the customary transaction of the credit card for the pen to sign, she noticed that the one she presented to me was out of ink. In frustration, she threw it in the trash and stomped over to the next till – muttering exasperatedly about her long, boring, and tiring day – to find a functional one. As she walked, I said after her, “posso firmare in sangue” “I can sign in blood”. She returned chuckling with the pen, and when I left with my busta, she wished me a good day with a smile on her face.

To have the words immediately available to respond with empathy and effect the timing of comedy is a testament to my small degree of linguistic achievement.

Art

Before visiting the Uffizi and the Accademia in Florence, our culture class professor asked us to read an essay by Walter Benjamin titled “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” (1936). It made me consider the notion that viewing art in person is a superior experience than viewing a reproduction. Until reading Benjamin’s essay, I had accepted the former as true with little consideration. I had visited art galleries in America from a young age and been taught to marvel at the presence of something original. More so during my time in Italy than ever in my life, however, I was confronted by art in its original form, if not in its original condition of presentation, and I began to consider why our society values originality and why I had never bothered to consider the questions Benjamin raises. While I don’t, perhaps, understand his underlying commentary on Fascism, Capitalism, and Marxism, I do have these reflections in light of one trip to Florence:

Despite the advent of exact reproducibility, art suffers from a secondhand experience. Whether the casual observer appreciates what Walter Benjamin called the unique condition of its presence in time and space, or they are merely drawn to famous works such as Michelangelo’s David by their rarity and popularity, most people today recognize the value of viewing art in person. The advent of modern technology including reproducibility does, however, provide new and profound ways to experience art.

There are two main reasons for which modern observers journey and pay to see art. One is to appreciate the work’s unique presence in time and space, and the other is to participate in the ritual of observing something rare – and in the modern style, share this experience with others through social media. Though one reason might be seen as more valid or noble than the other, the necessity of a first hand experience and an understanding of the work’s historical and artistic significance underlies both rationales.

The masses that Benjamin references desire “to bring things ‘closer’ spatially and humanly, which is just as ardent as their bent toward overcoming the uniqueness of every reality by accepting its reproduction” (Benjamin, The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction). The masses of his time desired to overcome the privileged uniqueness of art by participating in an exciting and new estimation of it, namely photographical reproduction. The masses of the current time, however, are familiar with reproduction to the point of disillusionment; they seek out authenticity because today it is something rare (there are, of course, people of Benjamin’s and the current time who would view the firsthand experience of art as an unnecessary privilege). Anyone with Internet access can see any work of art, but only the privileged few are able to see the same in person. In a culture that values the portrayal of only the grandest moments in one’s life, through social media, viewing The David in Florence is much akin to having court side seats at Wimbledon; it is the rarity that counts more than the content.

In Benjamin’s framework, The David can be thought of as created with explicit exhibition value rather than ritual value. Though David is an important Christian figure from the Old Testament, the statue was not meant to be reverenced, but rather admired as he gazed out over the Florentine skyline (possibly aiming his sling at Siena). Today, the statue has gained something of a ritual value. Tourists stream into the Academia, rush past the Prisoners, and make a lap around The David to photograph him from every angle.

The other main reason for viewing art in person is to appreciate its unique condition of presentation. Benjamin writes that with a mechanical reproduction of art, “the quality of its presence is always depreciated”. “Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be” (Benjamin, The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction).  Benjamin elaborates that the unique condition of art includes its changes in physical appearance and changes in ownership – both create a “testimony to the history which it has experienced”. Each great work of art has an aura constituted by and exists in the domain of tradition. Michelangelo’s David provides an interesting case because it was originally meant to be displayed atop the Duomo and was subsequently displayed in Palazzo della Signora. Today, its aura has evolved and its placement under a skylight in a well-lit room, flanked by the Prisoner sculptures, has become authentic. For this reason, the same tourists who flock to Florence to see The David are less likely to stop and photograph the replica in Palazzo della Signora.

While the firsthand experience of art is vital, modern technology – including reproduction – offers some viewing benefits. When discussing mechanical reproduction, specifically photography, Benjamin writes, “process reproduction can bring out those aspects of the original that are unattainable to the naked eye yet accessible to the lens”. Later in his discussion of film, Benjamin observes, “the enlargement of a snapshot does not simply render more precise what in any case was visible, though unclear: it reveals entirely new structural formations of the subject” (Benjamin, The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction). For this reason, art is able to be experienced in new and profound ways with the amplification of technical reproduction.

In the example of The David, a wise professor was able to show me the details of the veins on his right hand and explain the reason for his distinct proportions before I ever set foot in the Academia. Similarly, I saw close up images of David’s hair and learned Michelangelo’s reason for leaving it relatively unfinished; had I seen the statue only in the Academia, I would not have fully appreciated the contrast between David’s detailed sideburns and stony hair – due to his height. While modern technology cannot replace the human experience, its conscientious use can enhance the latter.

 

Walter Benjamin, translated by Harry Zohn, edited by Hannah Arendt. The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. Schocken/Random House. https://www.marxists.org/reference/subject/philosophy/works/ge/benjamin.htm

Un Sogno della Puntualità 

On my morning walk from Casa di Alfredo to the Dante Alighieri School, I pass through five unique zones of the city, discernible by my five senses. I observe different activities in various parts of the city by tasting, touching, hearing, smelling, and seeing.

First, I wake up in the residential neighborhood outside the city’s north gate. I become aware of nonna and Antonella chatting excitedly in their thick Sienese accents. Outside my window, I hear the other guests conversing in rapid Korean. Already, I am immersed in a foreign sea of sound (for an American, most any European city offers greater diversity than at home. In the Bed and Breakfast alone, I have met people from Japan and Mexico, and at school, I have met people from Australia, England, Switzerland, France, Canada, and Austria). As I walk into the dining room, my nose is all but overwhelmed with the aroma of fresh sausage, espresso, Parmesan, warm milk, Nutella torte, and poorly made Americano coffee. The familiar tastes of nonna’s fresh bruschetta, plums, and salami excite my taste buds and draw from me the last visages of sleep.

I can tell I have left the residential quarter as soon as I step out of the wrought iron gate of Casa di Alfredo. Busses, cars, and Vespas roar up and down the hill traversed by Viale Don Giovanni Minzoni as the drivers honk their horns and make some of the rude gesticulations I have learned about in class. As I timidly stand on the curb waiting for a traversable gap in traffic, I inhale the exhaust from cars and feel the heat from their tail pipes. Alternatively, in situations where I am late for school, I sprint wildly across the congested street as eager tourists in busses and yawning, suited Italians on Vespas alike watch with respective horror and approval. In either case, when I reach Via Camollia, I know immediately I have reached the third stage of my journey.

I pass a shop that sells bikes, one with fresh wild boar in the window, one with overflowing boxes of fruit stacked outside, and one that sells swords, maces, and armor. The proprietor of the tobacco store wearing – what I have observed over the past five weeks to be – his favorite white dress shirt and cargo shorts sits sipping a café across the street from his shop. In this zone, life seems more naturally organized: the pedestrians, Vespas, and few cars weave in between each other in an unregulated but sensible pattern, without silly contrivances like traffic lights and stop signs. A car rolls around a corner then gently inches forward to avoid a woman crossing the intersection – but just barley. Vespas, garbage trucks, street cleaners, and all manner of automobiles and mounted police somehow navigate a street built for less activity. I comprehend snatches of conversation and odd words spoken by the Italians opening their shops or rushing to work while chattering on the phone, and easily recognize the tourists already blindfolded by their maps, weighed down by backpacks, and speaking in their vulgar, grating American English. As I enter Piazza Salimbeni, to my left I hear the jangle of the beggar’s first or last few coins as he twirls them back and forth with his calloused hands and sits on a ledge outside a shop. To my right, I see the newest street art edition: a rather emotive rendition of Vermeer’s “Girl with a Pearl Earring”.

Suddenly, a shop owner throws a bucket of water into the street that nearly misses my shoes. As she begins to sweep the street clean I realize that I have now begun the fourth more metropolitan segment of my journey. It is almost a surprise, still, that as a truck rumbles behind me waiting to pass a large crowd of pedestrians, I look to the left and above the arches of the Palazzo soars the iconic tower. My calves strain and my shirt becomes damp with sweat as I climb the hill with Accademia Musicale Chigiana on my left. An owl hoots as I recall the baroque theater in the Chigiana in which I heard string quartets from France, Japan, and Italy play a concert the other night.

Finally, walking under the Virgin Mary enthroned next to the street sign above the Trattorias and tourist traps in Pantera territory, I reach the fifth and final leg of my journey. This residential quarter is quiet at all hours of the day and the parked cars and Vespas look almost out of place between the narrow medieval walls. A family sits smoking on their steps and I greet them with a friendly “buona giornata”.

As I approach the School, I think of the heated debate Christophero and I have carried on since the first day of class about the fastest route from Casa di Alfredo to Dante Alighieri. Perhaps my route following Via di Città is longer than his that snakes behind the Duomo. I take my path everyday, however, not because it’s familiar and straightforward, but because it is never exactly the same. The shopkeepers I recognize will always have different expressions and the students and professionals on their way to work (some of whom pass and greet me in the street everyday) will never be dressed in the same way or thinking the same thoughts. The fruit store will never have the same selection of fruit it does today, and the water the shopkeepers use to clean the street in front of their businesses will never run down the street and dry in the same pattern. When one follows the same path everyday, he begins to see Siena as more than a compilation of buildings, museums, and churches, but rather as a living body – of citizens, tourists, and students – constantly growing, changing, and thriving.

Arrivo alla scuola presto e poi, mi sveglio nella Casa di Alfredo.

Palio

On Tuesday when Rebecca, the teaching assistant in my language class, returned after an absence of a few days and I asked her where she had been, she replied simply: “il Palio”. For the Sienese, it is obvious that the four days of the Palio are a culmination of year long preparation and something never to be missed. For a foreigner, it is impossible to understand the exuberance of victory, the crushing pain of defeat, and the centrality of the Palio to the lives of those deeply involved in contrada life.

The two horse races per year are the pinnacle of excitement and surrounded by parades, passionate (inebriated) singing, and festive meals, but there is much more to contrada life than these spectacles. Originally created by the guilds and for military purposes, the contrade are social and family units. Children grow up and learn together, young adults socialize, and adults share a profound connection with their contrada brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews.

While visiting the Torre (the best contrada), a wise Professor told us that the contrada organizes programming for the children whose parents work during the Palio. During a visit to Pantera with Professore Andrea, I learned that it is not just during the quattro giorni, but all year long that adults in the contrada care for and pass down knowledge and traditions to the younger members.

My host brother, Alfredo, told me about the special bond that forms between young adults of the same contrada. They form very tightly knit social groups which, in his opinion, create negative social divisions. From his perspective, heavily participating in contrada life limits one’s social circle and experiences. For example, his ragazza is of the rival contrada to his own and they both choose to limit their participation in their respective contrade. The youth who decide to participate in this lifestyle, however, have an unparalleled community.

The Palio and the contrade are examples of living history. From the centuries old costumes worn during parades with drumming and flag twirling to the communal dinners that fill the narrow medieval streets to their capacity with tables of revelers, those who participate in contrade life embody tradition and create a family.

Briccone

One morning in the dinning room at Casa di Alfredo, I was was attempting to transport a rather large piece of mille foglie from the buffet table to my already brimming plate. As it slipped from the tongs, landing in a poof of powdered sugar and leaving a chocolate blob on the pristine

Playing chess outside Casa di Alfredo

table cloth, my host grandmother (nonna) tottered into the kitchen and quipped “tu sei un briccone!” Thus I learned my new favorite Italian word.

As my friend Alex – who spent the last 6 months attending classes at the University of Bologna – told me, it is when we are mortified or hilarified, or both, when memories and bits of the language stick in our minds.

In this context and with her voice inflection, briccone was a light hearted admonition from an elder to a younger – “tu sei un briccone” roughly meant “oh you knave, you” . When I got to school that same morning and asked Giuseppe, a native Sienese and the student assistant in my class, what kind of word briccone is, he told me it would be a bad idea to call our professor, Enzo, a briccone.

Later when my roommate here in Siena, Alex, forked my king and rook and I exclaimed “tu sei un proprio briccone”, the Italian students watching our game laughed and nodded in agreement.

The next morning, I asked nonna if she would kindly indulge my crippling espresso addiction and make me un café per favore. When she asked if I would like any milk – or maybe even a macchiato, I replied that perhaps a café corretto – espresso and rum or grappa combined in a 1:1 ratio – would be appropriate at this hour. When she slapped my arm in mock horror and replied “no, no è sbagliato nella mattina,” I told her that all bricconi drink café corretto in the morning. She chuckled, and complimented my small, but important, linguistic achievement.

Making Art in Japan

In search of local experiences, I took a sequential pottery class during my time in Kanazawa. I luckily learned pottery-making with an experienced pottery master, Lida Sensei, at a beautiful wooden house located at a serene garden dedicated to a Zen philosopher.

Our first class included a brief introduction to pottery-making, and shaping clay into a bowl shape. Even though this seemed to be an easy step, it involved many techniques and procedures to define and refine the shape. We started off with pressing the clay multiple times to soften it, and then molding it into a circular bowl-shaped by using a rotating tool. Following that, we carved out the inner parts to make the bowl thinner and lighter.

In the second class, we worked on refining the bowls by making them even lighter and adding patterns. I went for a simpler style and carved a few lines that resembled tree branches, and wrote down my name in Chinese at the bottom.

In the third class, I colored the dried bowl into a lighter blue on the top part and a darker blue on the lower part. It turned out to be really fascinating one.

Unluckily, I dropped the bowl on the way to Tokyo, but this experience was definitely a memorable one. The seemingly-easy pottery making involved much care for details and sense of art and design. It was also one of the very few times where I had a hands-on experience with Japanese art. I will definitely go back to visit the sensei, and hopefully, will make a better bowl to carry home in the future 🙂

Non un addio, ma un arrivederci

Looking back at my time in Italy, and particularly at my time in Siena, I can say that I definitely got the full-immersion experience. Second language acquisition is much more than classroom learning. Even in Italy, where I was at a school solely dedicated to Italian language learning at the hands of Italian instructors, I experienced the most growth when I was out and about interacting with locals and other university students. I also realized just how helpful it is to know Spanish, especially for the comprehension aspect of learning Italian. I was pleasantly surprised to find that many Italian idiomatic expressions exist in Spanish as well. These similarities made it easier for me to pick up on the nuances of Italian.

My favorite part and the thing that most helped me grow was developing friendships with Italian university students.

One of my Italian professors at Notre Dame once told the class that she wished everyone could experience an Italian friendship. At the time I wasn’t really sure why she said that. I wondered how an Italian friendship could be so different from an American friendship. Now I know exactly what she meant. I don’t mean to say that Italians are superior to others, nor that the friendships I’ve developed in Italy are objectively better than all those I’ve developed at Notre Dame, but I can’t deny that there is something beautifully different about them. Two of the people who made this clear for me were Betta from Bolzano and Giacomo from La Spezia.

It was a shared love for languages that allowed my friendship with Giacomo to grow. He helped me with Italian, and I helped him with English and Spanish.

Betta is one of the most energetic, life-loving people I have ever met, and also one of the most genuinely caring people I know. She was always very patient with me, explaining words or expressions I didn’t understand, and her sense of humor is “top.”

I feel that I did meet my goals for the summer, which included being able to hold a fluent conversation on simple topics and improving my overall understanding of the language.

My worldview has definitely been broadened by my experiences in Italy. I have a better idea of the way people in other parts of the world perceive the US and other countries.

The only piece of advice I would give to anyone preparing to start a summer language program is to not be afraid to take some risks and make friends, because the people one shares these experiences with make all the difference. Without the friends that I met, Italy would have been just another place, devoid of meaning beyond academic endeavors; instead, it has become a place I am eager to come back to, a place of beauty and friendship.

I will continue my study of Italian at Notre Dame, pursuing a double major in political science and Italian, and I am looking forward to studying at the University of Bologna during the upcoming spring semester.

Il Palio

I was fortunate enough to be in Siena for il Palio, a medieval tradition that is still alive today and around which much of Senese life revolves. On July 2nd, ten of the seventeen contrade (something like districts) of Siena face each other in a 3-lap horse race around Piazza del Campo at the town’s center.

This year the winning contrada was girafa.

It was fascinating to see how quickly Siena transformed in the weeks leading up to il palio. The dark streets were lit up by the lamps and banners of the different contrade, the “contradaioli” (important members of the contrade) walked around town with their contrada’s banners tied around their necks, and piazza del campo was turned into an arena transporting one back to medieval times.

Another interesting thing was hearing about different people’s perceptions of the palio. From a touristic point of view, the palio is simply a horse race, a sporting event, something like the super bowl. You go to it, it’s over, that’s it, until next year. But for the people of Siena, il Palio is so much more. It doesn’t end when the horse crosses the finish line, when the crowds rush to surround the “fantino.” No, il palio is what brings life and meaning to Siena. My language instructor, Andrea, always talked about the palio with so much emotion, saying how the advance of technology has tainted it in a way. Andrea is very much an open and welcoming person, but he expressed a bit of disappointment at the way the palio had become such a tourist attraction. He was so eager to help people understand the true significance of the event. A very beautiful description he gave to me of the way life in Siena works was that during the palio, the people from the various contrade are divided, each contrada trying to best the others, but that throughout the rest of the year, the people of Siena look out for one another, regardless of the contrada.

Without this full-immersion experience, I never would have gotten these insights into the true meaning of il palio.

How do you say, “No, I don’t want you to cut my hair, thank you.”??

This week was life-changing, to say the least. I got some great feedback with respect to my ability (or in this case, inability) to express myself in Italian.

A few weeks ago at San Cristoforo, a beautiful church where I like to attend Mass and pray the rosary with some elderly nuns, I met a 68-year-old Italian woman, Pierluisa, who was fascinated by the fact that a Californian was studying Italian in Siena. At least, that’s what I think she was struck by. Anyway, she immediately invited me to her house for lunch the following day, and since all I wanted was to talk to the locals to start improving my conversational skills, I accepted the invitation.

Pierluisa turned out to be a great friend. She introduced me to her husband, son, and daughter, and has had me over several times for dinner and good conversation.

So anyway, a few days ago, she said that I would look great with short hair, and I immediately argued that I would not. But she insisted and offered to give me a cool new hairstyle. My first thought was absolutely not. I would never cut my hair shorter than shoulder-length, but after thinking about it for a while, I decided that it might not be so bad, so I went back to Pierluisas’s house. She then proceeded to give me 3 options for my haircut. I didn’t quite understand what the different descriptions included, but it sounded like the first option was the longest length, so I went with that one. I explained as best as I could that I did not want much shorter than shoulder-length hair, she seemed to understand, so I trusted her.

What felt like an hour later of her snipping away at my hair, she handed me a mirror with a completely different person looking back at me.

That’s right, she had cut it all off. I was in shock, and the next 2 days were horribly traumatic. I was embarrassed to go to school and decided to go to a professional hairstylist to get my hair fixed (how, I had no idea). So the next morning, I went to a salon that one of my instructors had recommended and with fumbling words begged the stylist to fix my hair. Of course she was confused as to what I wanted, and I couldn’t exactly explain in Italian, as my vocabulary regarding hairstyles was still rather limited. So of course, she just sheared off another ton of my hair.

I would say that being put in difficult situations like this one is a great motivator to build up my vocabulary. My consolation is that the summer heat has now become more bearable, and showering takes about half the time it used to.

Pilgrimages and Slang

Last weekend I had the wonderful and completely unexpected opportunity to go on a pilgrimage with my new Italian friends. We walked all night from Macerata to Loreto, about 30 kilometers, praying and singing in Italian. I finally cemented the Italian Our Father, Hail Mary, and Glory Be in my brain (how could I not after saying 100,000 rosaries?). It was a beautiful experience. Before the walk, thousands of people met at a stadium in Macerata for Mass, at the end of which Pope Francis called and gave us his blessing, telling us to meditate on the question Jesus posed to Peter: “Mi ami tu?” “Do you love me?” and encouraging us to always keep walking, to never stop moving forward.

I am happy to note that I understood 95% of what was said during the pilgrimage. It has been tremendously helpful to spend time talking with Italian students that are my age. I do still struggle forming sentences quickly and expressing my thoughts with precision, but I trust that with more time, even that will improve.

The other day in one of my tutoring sessions, I asked my instructor, Andrea, if he had any tips to help me become more comfortable and natural in holding conversations. He said that one of the biggest problems he noticed I had was with self-confidence. I have been rather quiet the last few weeks in class, and I have noticed that I speak very deliberately in order to avoid making mistakes, but this slows me down and impedes my ability to hold a fluent conversation. My goal now is to just talk. Don’t think too much. Just talk.

One of my favorite parts of learning Italian in Italy is the slang that you don’t learn at Notre Dame. My friend Giacomo taught me several slang terms in exchange for some American slang. (His favorites were “So sick! and “You’re bananas,” which I thereafter heard a lot.) Here are a few of the things I learned:

“Bella zio/a!” can be translated as “Bro!” For example, I see my friend and to greet him say “Bella zio!” with a sort of exaggerated hand gesture and an excited tone of voice. Apparently it’s what the cool kids are saying these days.

“Tanta roba!” is a favorite of mine. It’s one of the many ways to say “So cool!” For example, if I see a really beautiful mountain or some guy do a cool backflip, I can (and should) say “Tanta roba!”

“Cavolo!” literally means cabbage. However, it is used as an interjection to express surprise, usually about something negative. For example, I realize I forgot to turn in my homework, so I exclaim, “Cavolo!” It’s almost like saying “darn it!”