Heading Back

In a fitting exit for my time in Tuscany, I was all set to put my luggage under the bus using the pull-and-lift technique some stranger had shown me when I was struggling. As the bus stopped and I lifted the familiar looking handle, I saw the underbelly of a bus engine instead of a cavernous luggage storage cavity... So then I lugged my 20 kilo suitcase up into the main part of the bus where the driver told me something I already knew: there wasn't luggage storage on this bus. I also realized this driver looked familiar to me. You know you've been taking a lot of Italian transportation when you get the same bus driver twice. So then I moseyed back to find a seat and enjoyed the tuscan hillside as we drove toward Grosseto. At one point I saw a man driving a steamroller on newly laid asphalt. It was just like the one I know how to drive!

I bought my train ticket to Milan Malpensa Airport and then ventured into Grosseto to kill a few hours. After meandering around the historic center I camped out in a little (air conditioned) cafe where I had stopped a few weeks earlier for a cappuccino and croissant. The owner may or may not have recognized me. I got another cappuccino and pastry and camped out while writing in my journal. It was really pleasant to order in Italian and feel like a regular. I even ordered a rice salad to take on the train with me, which was one of my favorite dishes I tried at the agriturismo in Tuscany.

Le Marche + Roma

After Tuscany, I headed west to the Adriatic Coast to visit the relatives of my paternal great grandmother. They are a wily bunch and it was an action-packed visit! We went to the beach on bikes, drove to eat dinner by a mountain, visited lots of medieval towns (by day and by night), ate lots of local food, and of course went swimming. The families were really excited to see me again after four years and treated me like a princess. I really loved speaking in Italian the whole time, since this was the first time in my trip to be surrounded by Italians.

After Le Marche I had to go back to Tuscany so I could then go north to Milan, where my flight was departing. I was going to pass through Rome while my cousin was there for work so we met up in the city and saw some sights. After getting carried away and not allowing enough time at the train station I missed my train...and wouldn't be able to make the bus connection in Grosseto if I caught the next one. So I added a surprise night in Rome to my trip! We saw Rome by night and walked along the Transtevere area til late at night. The next day I headed to Grosseto by train and then Montegiovi by bus.

Color into Print

It took me three extra-urban buses to get from Siena to Castel del Piano, a small town west of Grosseto, which was where I was picked up by the organizer of the class I came all the way to Italy to take. One of the great things about Italy is its web of public transportation. You just have to plan ahead and be patient and you can get yourself just about anywhere. Of course, if you have questions some drivers are more helpful than others. But anyway, it was a weary day of traveling that turned into a marvelous beginning of the class.

The main reasons I signed up to take this class through Women's Studio Workshop where the location in Italy and the timing in July. I also asked around about the teacher and checked out her work. But that was it. From those humble pretenses, I got much more than I expected. Color into Print was an AMAZING experience. The very first day I knew it was going to be great after chatting with Shelley, the instructor. I could tell right away she is super down to earth and completely invested in her students as artists and complicated people. After traveling on my own and having minimal interactions with people it was a shock to find myself in a meaningful conversation with someone I had just met. But it was also great.

The age range of the six students was 50 years and everyone had led a really remarkable life. I got to know the group over the 10 day class and it made the experience extra fun to scheme with them about trying to decipher information about the staff at the agriturismo where we stayed. I was the only one who could speak Italian so I acted as liason/diplomat between the two groups. Did I mention it was fun?

The first morning of the class was full of demos. Since they had converted a dining room and living room space into a print studio we were working with low-tech methods, but I learned a great deal. There's a lot you can do with not a lot. The days were set up to have work/demo time in the morning til 1:30. Then lunch. Then a break til 4 at which point work time started up again until 7. And then dinner was always (mostly) promptly at 8 and lasted at least two hours with four very generous courses.

During the break sometimes we went to the pool, sometimes napped, and sometimes we walked in the heat of the day for hours to and from Seggiano, the closest town. The art-making was at times frenzied and intense and at other times relaxing. I worked best when I was printing in the morning and making plates in the afternoon. I had been gathering inspiration in the first week of traveling in Italy from magazine images to images drawn in my sketchbook. So I just dove right in and made things like crazy.

New* things I learned:
Chine colle method that actually makes sense
Shaped drypoint plates with plexiglass
Using foam shapes to create the illusion of screen printing
Collograph with chipboard, metal filings, and spackle
Watercolor monoprint
Viscosity monoprint
A la poupee inking technique
Lots about mixing color

*a few things I saw done in college but had never tried them myself

I paired some tried and true methods like acetate stencils and transparent flats with the aforementioned new techniques and just kept making and printing then making more and printing more. It was the first time for me to play with printmaking in over two years. I jumpstarted my stagnated studio practice and hope to keep up the momentum back in the States.

Italia 2013: Hiking, Tuscan Sun, and Delicious Food

Day 0: airport
My darling sister Josie dropped me off at airport and I was off with a start! Well, actually I had mixed feelings about going to Italy for a month. On the one hand: sounds amazing. On the other hand: I had just finished a colossally exhausting six month project called Insta-tangram where we made interactive 3 foot by 3 foot woodcut tangram prints with a steamroller (video). In the one week leading up to the trip there was lots of chaos and scrambling. Not really any time to feel rested and ready to embark on a month-long sojourn in a foreign country.
Before we even left the ground, I found myself in my second insurance claim situation in the past few months. I was bending forward in my aisle seat to get something out of my carry on at my feet and my head was a few centimeters in the aisle. A flight attendant came flying toward the front and swept my sunglasses off my head and projecting them two rows ahead. Sadly the sunglasses were not made for impromptu air travel and one side became bent beyond repair. I bought new ones at JFK and hoped that would be the worst thing that happened during the plane trip, which it was.
The transatlantic flight was mildly uncomfortable but not horrible. I'm out of practice taking 8+ hour flights. My personalized tv was broken, but I was focusing on trying to sleep anyway. I ended up getting about 4 hours on the plane.

Day 1: Milano
I arrived in MXP at 7 am on July 1 and managed to swap out my US Sim card for a European one. I headed to Milano Centrale on a bus and met up with Sylva, who I hadn't seen in about a year! We chilled in a park and munched on a brioche while catching up. After I got my Milan-legs we headed to the apartment where we were couchsurfing with a really nice Italian couple. I dropped off my bags and then we ventured into the city to see what we could see. Twice we fell asleep on grass, but only once did the police scold us so you could say we're fast learners. We meandered toward the part of the city with canals and then later saw the Castello Sforzesco. Dinner was at Pizza Big with Matia and his colleague Daniele. After delicious pizza Napoletana we drove around and ended up at the canal area again. At night the atmosphere is totally different with lots of people dining outside and enjoying the cool weather. It ended up being a pretty late night, which was difficult but helped flush the jet lag out.

Day 2: Milano
Sylva let me sleep in til almost 10 and then we had to get a move on since we were heading to the Politecnico di Milano to meet up with a lady I met at the Digital Media Leaning Conference in March of this year. She teaches  at the university and gave us a nice introduction to some of the programs. We of course enjoyed a macchiato in true Italian fashion. Afterwards we ate some panini for lunch and then headed back to Milano Centrale. It ended up taking a while to get our train for Chiasso sorted out so we decided to just head directly there instead of squeezing one more thing in. Chiasso is actually just across the border in Switzerland, and it was the next couchsurfing destination. The train ride from Milan was about 30 minutes and then we hung out in the train station until meeting our host. The European sim card that I was using apparently only worked in Italy since I had no service in Switzerland, so that was a fun surprise. But even without a way to make contact we found our host Michael and settled into his apartment. After a light dinner we went out and headed through windy Swiss roads to Lugano, where there was a music festival happening. We walked along the lake and heard great music coming from the band stand. The band performing was called Tuba Skinny and they hailed from New Orleans! It was lots of fun to listen and dance to late into the night. After their set we had a tranquil aperitivo along the water and then headed back where sleeping came very rapidly.

Day 3: Chiasso, Lugano
We woke up reasonably early and meandered to get an Italian style breakfast with cappuccino and brioche. After the leisurely breakfast we started on our hike to Como. Since Chiasso is right on the border, we walked through a nonexistent checkpoint and headed on our merry way. We found out later that they haven't stamped passports there since 2007. As we walked along provincial roads in and out of little towns there was a slight sprinkling of rain, which helped cool us off. The walk was lovely and walking into Como on unusual paths was nice and non-touristy. We walked a bunch around the lake of Como and then took the funicular up to a town called Burate. There, we ate lunch overlooking the lovely vista and then explored the historic town by foot. Back down in Como, we met up with a super nice guy named Tomaso who lives in Como. He and his girlfriend took us on another tour around the lake and town center and then we all went back to his apartment to eat some raspberry cheesecake and hang out for a while. It was really pleasant to meet them. Tomaso studied cinematography in Rome where he met Tim Burton one time. After our early evening snack, they helped us navigate back to Chiasso. We decided to go by bus to save time. Once back in Chiasso, we met up with our couchsurfing host. He wanted to go back to Lugano for the music festival since there were new groups playing. The weather was lovely once more and we stayed out fairly late listening to the different groups.

Day 4: Como, La Spezia
This was Sylva's last day and she wanted to go kayaking on Lake Como so we took all of our luggage on a super crowded bus and made our way to the kayak rental place that Tomaso showed us the day before. We were out on the water before 11 am in a double kayak and the weather was just delightful. We headed away from the coast we had explored by foot the day before and saw lots of awesome architecture along with several water planes flying around. This was my fourth time kayaking and it was lots of fun! We stayed out on the water for two hours and then had to turn back since I had a train to catch. We made our way to the train station and grabbed panini along the way. Sylva and I headed to Milano Centrale where she connected with a train to the airport and I headed to La Spezia to see the Cinque Terre. The train ride was about three hours, during which time I wrote in my Italian journal and tried to eavesdrop on conversations around me. From La Spezia I took a bus to Biassa where the hostel was located. Ostello Tramonti is located in a really cute medieval town with a great view of La Spezia through the mountains. I checked into the hostel and then walked around in the dying light taking as many pictures as I could.

Day 5: Cinque Terre
The hostel offered a shuttle service to Riomaggiore but the earliest left at 8:30 and I really wanted to get an early start. So I woke up at 6 and took a bus into La Spezia where I then took a train to Monterosso, the northern most of the Cinque Terre (Five Lands). I started on the walking trail from the train station toward the next town called Vernazza. The Cinque Terre are famous because they are small villages right on the water and used to only be accessible by boat or by footpaths. Now with the railway it's easier to get between them, but the walking paths are a popular destination. I had my sketchbook with me and picked shaded spots throughout the day to draw. The path from Monterosso to Vernazza was very up and down with some spots of the path only 18" wide right next to a sheer drop. I heard lots of different languages throughout the day. After 11 am the number of tourists increased dramatically. I rested in Vernazza for a bit and then headed to Corniglia. These were the only two paths open and I could completely understand why since the paths are incredibly hard to manage. Some sections I passed were slightly blocked by stones from a crumbling wall. The path to Corniglia was a lot easier than the first one so it went by fairly quickly. The estimation is that it takes 2 hours to walk between each town, but I finished in less than 1.5. So I may be out of shape, but I can certainly hold my own in comparison to middle aged Australians.

Day 6: Biassa
I spent all morning painting around the small town of Biassa. Then in the afternoon I headed into La Spezia to take a train to Firenze. The train ride was pretty pleasant and I arrived in time to enjoy dinner prepared by my former host mother, Maria. We got to catch up during and after dinner and then I watched a documentary about Van Gogh dubbed in Italian on the tv.

Day 7: Firenze, Siena
I woke up before 7 so that could take a bus to Settignano and hike around. My breakfast overlapped with Maria's and Paolo's, which was nice. They are so great! I wish I could live with them again. The bus to Settignano was short and sweet and then I started off on one planned path that then turned into choosing random roads. I did a loop into Vincigliata and Montebelino and then back to Settignano in the early afternoon. I had already packed up my bags and was able to chill at Maria's house for an afternoon caffe and then head out to the bus station. I managed to not get lost heading to the station and caught a bus to Siena. The hostel where I was staying was located outside the city center so I walked around for a bit, but then decided to take a bus into the center and explore there. I saw a poster for a summer movie series at the medieval amphitheater in Siena and found out that they were showing the Great Gatsby tonight! Every day was a different movie, so it was pretty lucky. I hung around the medieval fortress and then got a seat for the movie. It was so great! And since I've seen the movie in English, I was able to understand almost everything and I even picked up some new vocabulary.

Day 8: Siena
After only one week I desperately needed to do some laundry so I went to a laundromat nearby the hostel in between eating breakfast. Then I set off into the city center and walked around all day. I tried to get lost and just absorb the beauty of the city. I of course went to the Piazza del Campo and the Duomo, but I also stopped into the Medieval Torture Museum, which was....interesting... In the Duomo I ended up drawing for three hours on a marble bench, which was nice and cool.

Day 9: Siena, Seggiano
I checked out of the hostel and then took a bus into the city center, then a bus toward Grosseto where I transferred at Paganico to Castel del Piano. There, I waited to be picked up by the director for the Women's Studio Workshop that I'm attending for a week in Tuscany. It was a stressful travel day, but everything worked out and I was able to relax at the agriturismo where the class was happening. And I've been there for a few days and making lots of new stuff.

I'll write more about the workshop later!

Serger Fervor

When in the mood for a classic slasher film, The Texas Serger Massacre probably doesn’t jump to mind. In comparison to a chainsaw, a serger seems inconsequential, a utilitarian creature trained to work in the garment industry, but for those familiar with the wrath of a temperamental serger, PTSD could have a new meaning. Post Traumatic Serger Disorder is sweeping the nation, one costume shop at a time. For some, hiding in fear is the best way to deal with the oppressive serger although the delay tactic only works for so long before the machine-monster grits its tiny yet terrible teeth and demands a human sacrifice.

I’ve lived through it. No scars to show, but memory serves well enough. The room’s pulse lurches to a halt. The hairs on the back of peoples’ necks stand up in fearful anticipation of what comes next. Exclamatory cursing meets its match when this dreaded event transpires. Sailors in paper mache hats run for cover. Perspiration drips. Eye contact hurriedly dons a funeral veil (conveniently, we have quite a few funeral veils in stock at all times, looming less than two feet above your head). I gulp.

For anyone in this situation, it’s important to remember to stay calm. The serger feeds on fear. The only way to fight back against its bellowing is to cobble together some tenacity. The best weapons to keep at the ready are: one standard pair of Garment Center Swing SMT1 tweezers, a tiny brush, grade A canned air, and a 60 watt bulb (preferably attached to a lamp that’s plugged in). The best tip for defeating the serger-dragon is the buddy system, preferably with someone who has gone head to head and lived to tell the tale. Luckily for me, a true serger sergeant showed me the ropes. Where the pressure points are located and which levers to pull. Focus and refraining from blinking are key.

Conquering a behemoth that weighs about as much as a female gorilla comes with a few nonnegotiable conditions. Firstly, as soon as the machine throws another tantrum, you will be drafted to go in and perform your civic duty. Secondly, a whole new range of projects basks in the light of potential assignment. With great power comes endlessly provokable responsibility.

Thus the trade-off between desirable, obscure skills and friendly requests to make and repair things for other people.

Although I tire of being expected to leap at the request of a friend in need of some crafted creation, I also insist on doing a whiz-bang job despite other obligations. Pride propels the vicious cycle.

For better or for worse, mine is the type of existence that treads denial. I exist indirectly through the things that pass through my hands and into the universe. Felt scraps and umbrellas transcend their original purpose as I morph them into handmade monsters and demons, syringe mobiles and puppet show curtains. Even if not directly associated with my name, I labor over projects not only to nurture a friendship, but to keep myself busy and prove my capabilities. The projects that come my way typically provide welcome relief from the rigors and/or tedium of everyday work. Granted, working in a costume shop provides plenty of amusement; however, making miscellaneous props for a rock opera to illustrate the narrative arc of industrial anarchy, picnics with glow sticks, and a man-eating worm monster certainly takes the edge off of normality.

An important part of the creation process is collaborating with the frenetic mastermind and trying to untangle his or her ideas into something feasible. Translating a concept into reality tends to strip it of some whimsy, but bringing something to life that previously only existed as vapors in someone’s mind involves a different kind of magic.

The act of creation, be it a poem, prom dress or pancake, means a great deal. It shows effort and planning and patience and follow-through (the pancake, less so, but how thoughtful is bringing someone breakfast in bed?). Being able to manage a project where someone else is the beneficiary makes the reward greater than if the end result was for oneself. Especially when it comes to something handmade. The time taken to make something imbues the something with preciousness that gives time itself a run for its money.

My mother grew up so poor she sewed her own underwear. Once she was able to buy clothes at her every whim, her practical sewing slowed to a halt. It became a novelty. When her daughters reached a certain age, she brought it out on special occasions like an heirloom silverware set. She made First Communion dresses and other costumes throughout my younger years.

In comparison to my two sisters, I took to sewing much more voraciously. I loved it. I loved the flat patterns that turned into a three dimensional form. I loved the amount of focus needed to stitch fine details. Interfacing, flip n flip hems, putting in zippers, buttons, snaps: it all fascinated me. Time-wise, it was not exactly practical, but I relished the opportunity to learn from my mom who had learned from her mom and aunts. The past time turned into a conversation with my family history that survived in the form of old quilts, clothes, and secret sewing knowledge. To explain how much of an impact sewing had on me, I allude to my handmade prom dress since it illuminates a much different image than handmade throw pillows. Why make something mundane when you can make something beautiful?

Sewing was one of my intermediate forays into the world of creativity (following crayons and preceding ceramics, paint and many other media). I took it upon myself to make challenging projects for myself and others. Reacting to a heaping pile of t-shirts in my basement, I started making t-shirt quilts for family members that over the years became increasingly complicated and refined, not to mention larger. After completing one to two quilts for each of my immediate family members, I branched out to uncles and aunts and then I made two for myself. A couple were for pay, but I mostly made them without planned compensation. These ubiquitous quilts are scattered around the house and act as a record of the time and effort I put into them.

Keep in mind my family had no shortage of blankets in the house. I was not making these t-shirt quilts out of necessity, but rather out of one part boredom, two parts ambition. When life gives you a pile of t-shirts, make t-shirt quilts. Transforming a mundane raw material into a well-made token of appreciation is kind of my thing. Like turning magazine pages into envelopes and paper into handwritten letters. Creation is my strength and my downfall. I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. But the second part of creation is entrusting that creation to someone else. When it comes to family, there’s no question I receive much more than I can give. Close friendships, too, provide ample space to give and give alike.

However, when my time input exceeds a certain amount it’s only fair to receive some sort of compensation. At the most basic level, affirmation through positive feedback is most appreciated. The process of creating puts me in a euphoric state, but the most deleterious response to a handmade gift is apathy, or worse: lackluster praise. It’s different than something store bought because I, as the creator, zapped it into being. If I receive no affirmation, my existence wavers on lapsing into existential paranoia.

I end up using things I make for friends as bargaining devices to combat my fear of inadequacy. Bartering with the fruits of my labor can lead to tension when deciding what denotes a “fair trade,” but mostly there is just an inherent delay for me receiving satisfactory compensation since I take up challenges with such alacrity.

Identifying my own strengths allows me to appreciate the strengths of other people. Not everyone has sewing skills, but some people are skilled at making budgets or devising business plans and schedules. Skills I categorically lack. What better payback for my lovingly-crafted creations than receiving much needed consultation for tasks that give me trouble?

Forging something collaboratively taps into a type of creation more powerful than that of one person working individually. Even though my strength for showing appreciation takes a very physical form, there are plenty of other ways to show appreciation that build on the collective talent in the room. Determining validity is up to the discretion of the people involved in the collaborative exchange.

My desire to be creative, or rather my inescapable habit of being creative, noses its way into all kinds of situations and relationships. Although it inhabits the very central part of my being, it is much less shy than me and I can rely on it to take first step toward instigating or strengthening some sort of bond. Creativity has a way of transcending time and other terrestrial limitations.

From what I can gather from stories, my grandmother loved her serger. She nursed it like a 5th child and lovingly fed it fabric to nibble on on a regular basis. It did not weigh as much as a female gorilla, in fact it more closely resembled a koala bear. In all the years growing up in the same house, my mother never learned to understand it even though she became fluent in the sewing machine. A serger is a whole different animal.

When my grandmother passed away, possessions my grandfather would never use were divvied out and my mother inherited the serger. For over a decade it lived in our basement, never knowing the tender touch of its new owners. My mother occasionally lamented her fear of threading the machine and I took her word that the underbelly of the serger was not to be taken lightly.

It was only after I wrestled the gorilla-sized industrial serger at my workplace, the performing arts department costume shop, gaining confidence with tricky threading maneuvers, that I rode in on a chicken wire frame horse to save the day. As a result of my merit badge wielding, the serger has had a chance to stretch its legs and can now gawk at the dishevelment of a different part of our basement. Sadly, even though I resurrected it from an unglorified, dingy shelf, no one currently living in the house appreciates it for all it can accomplish.

It has so much to give. All it wants to do is finish edges and keep things from fraying and falling apart. It was born to create things that last, but most of its life has been spent being misunderstood and under appreciated.

When I make tracks headed for a new nest, I plan on adopting the little guy. I think we would get along quite nicely.

Regift

I considered giving you my heart but I thought you might regift it.
Like the hollow shell of a heart-shaped candy box once all the chocolate poker chips vanish

Well, let’s see.
I’ve already run out of baby teeth thanks to all those grade school crushes.
My tonsils never got a chance to be a sign of my affection, but
My appendix sure did.

You were the last person I saw before I woke up in agony.
We watched a movie and I pretended you were a pillow
A pillow with hands that massaged the back of my head
Weaving your fingers through my hair like shoelaces

The next morning I couldn’t wash you out of my hair or pluck you out of my head
And my abdomen was on fire

Afterwards, I made a fake appendix made out of old steak and nestled it in a salsa jar
Gifted it at a white elephant and got a lot of horrified laughter
I guess if you’ve never seen something irl before, you might mistake a piece of meat for something that used to be very much alive.
Something that actually had a purpose

So even though you can’t hold my appendix in the palm of your hand like a misshapen strawberry
Go ahead and name it. It’s yours.
Try not to make it embarrassing like Atticus the Appendix. Maybe Felix or Fernando.
Something as exotic or antiquated as his vestigial origins.
Maybe Nero or Caligula
Something poisoned with power and responsible for his own demise.
Treat it like a pet rock or raisin or chia pet.
Totally functionless yet decorative
The result of someone not knowing what to get you or knowing exactly what to get you
Or just a total gag

You Put the Rue in Ruin

If you and I made ravioli, they would sucker punch the stuffing out of Big Bird and his league of cohorts.
We synergize like cosmic Velcro.
Every shared thought another link in the chain link Zoot suit that balloons out with a gas so toxic it turns Teflon into silken lace.
We zip-line from aerated prawns over to mandolin-playing carnies who speak fluent Portuguese without missing a beat.
Moonbouncing upward like an adolescent hero scaling video game chair lifts toward a giant provolone cheese wheel.
If I had a penny for every time I beat you to your own punchline, I would have many pennies.

I can only partially rue the day I met you.
You lured me in like an angler fish playing mariachi music.
My face veiled by sunglasses the first time, mathematical face paint the second time.
The probability you came to the party to check me out: 1
Your slow motion dance moves were surprisingly effective. You even serenaded a plastic bag coyly perched on the dance floor.
I thought I had the upper hand, but the tables mesmerize me with how they have turned in on themselves like whole wheat pasta dough that needs more water.
Crumbled and flaky on the heirloom place mat that never seems to be big enough to contain the mess.

The thing about being brain twins is that you should know what I’m thinking.
You should know how trapped I feel, trying to rationalize a situation over which I have no control.
Pros and cons might as well be dead leaves on the sidewalk.
Some prettier than others but all nonetheless expired
Like moths in a vat of honey.

Summer

So this afternoon, I'm going to an interview at a company that I really have no interest in working for. Is this what adult life is all about? Feigning interest in order to reap unfulfilling employment? I'm being melodramatic, but it seems scary to think that what I want isn't out there so I have to shrink my expectations and accept what's available. I was hoping to gain some meaningful real-world internship experience this summer so I could start to think about how my BFA can translate into something worthwhile. I don't see myself as a studio artist and I think I'm too snarky for teaching in the arts. Then, there's another opportunity that would involve expense-paid world travel to do fun activities with small military children, which seems more fun. However, I just don't know if I'm considering it because it would provide a delay in my entering the real world as an adult or because I am really into it. I'm sure it would be a blast.

Hmmmm...I think I just need to go to the City Museum asap. That will surely solve everything.

Covenant?

Two days ago I accidentally semi-circumcised one of my fingers thanks to an overzealous x-acto knife. The injury is not that inhibiting except that typing without typos is harder than keeping allusions to "the Office" under 5 a day for some people...

This episode of self-hackery is just the latest addition to my accident-prone lifestyle. I'm currently enrolled in a glass class (I've wanted to work with molten glass for a long time. This is the step before that bundle of safety) and recently lodged a tiny shard of glass into the fleshy tip of another one of my fingers. I use my hands for everything yet I seem so careless when it comes to their well-being. I suppose if I was a math major (ha!) I wouldn't have to worry as much about sharp objects (besides pencil tips, that is). But alas, my hands-on approach to the world leaves me with scratches, burns, cuts, and bruises. I'm used to it by now, which is what scares me.

My current primary wound is on my left index finger, which I keep out of the way while typing, washing hands, etc. I'm reminded of one of my most favorite books of all time: A Prayer for Owen Meany because of a major character's loss of a particular digit in order to circumnavigate the draft. Although, the romanticized similarity is slightly glamorous (well, I guess I'm not even left-handed and there is no need to fear being drafted...), I would prefer to keep all my phalanges intact. I hereby make a pact with myself to be less careless and clumsy. My goal is to reduce clutziness by 15% in the current fiscal year.

existential crisis

The internet is so strange. In terms of printmaking, it is the most democratic form of spreading ideas (and art). Take any conglomeration of typeface and imagery. Post it (with or without instructions for printing and distribution). And voila'! The conceptual framework for a democratic revolution.

What makes blogging better than keeping an old-fashioned diary? The former lacks the therapeutic release of handwritten curvilinear scrawls. There is no need for editing when pouring out your unapologetic intestinal ramblings!! Keeping a diary is like spinning a spider web. Have you ever tried it?? Not the easiest thing in the world. But think about it. Individual handwriting says a lot about someone (for instance, how often said person takes pen to paper in lieu of typewritten thought transcriptions). Diaries are sacred. They are locked and swathed in a veil of intimacy that the voyeuristic internet rips apart. So the point then is to share information with others. To share good news, exciting travel updates, post pictures, spread ideas, remove personalization and increase efficiency. Well, I guess it's still personal for the author, but not for the readers.

I know this is a super unradical thought, but I'm still struggling with it. Who am I blogging for now that I'm not traveling? For myself? To feign connections with others? Should I really just keep my incessant cerebral oscillations to myself? Does posting it to the world wide web make me an e-spider? (My secret Greek superhero name is Ariadne) What do old posts collecting e-dust reveal about me that I might not want a stranger to know? Do I care what strangers or people I used to know know about me?

Maybe just purging myself of these toxic hang-ups will help somehow. Here's hoping

Ελλάδα

I was able to remember my second trip to Greece much better than the first, which was 19 years ago. My sister, Josie, and I visited the family of our mother's high school penpal. How obscurely awesome is that? 

I'm getting so spoiled with European generosity. Despina became our endearlingly  overprotective Greek mother for the week (except when we went out at night). We had the best care, food, and lost in translation laughs you can possibly imagine. Our first major outing was to take four different trains to get to a secluded mountain village called Kalavrita. The last train on the journey had only two cars with an engine in between. The ride up was gorgeous with lush forests and swollen rapids on either side of the train tracks. It was truly an unforgettable experience. 

 

Eleni and Despina speak English very well. Eleni's husband Simon and Simon's mother Yia Yia (Greek for grandma) are another story. Simon was our private chauffeur one day and we saw a plethora of important places such as Sounion (the Temple of Neptune) and Marathon (including the large man-made lake of Marathon). We stopped in Marathon for a snack which consisted of Ouzo (to clear our senses) and various animals with tentacles. Keep in mind that we had no idea what had been ordered. I tried everything in order to be polite, but man was that boiled octupus chewwwwy. I would recommend trying grilled octupus, however. It was actually pretty tasty (and the suckers are crunchy). 

I really wish I could understand Simon. I tried speaking in Italian hoping there was some crossover, but that was a grande fallimento. He made a joke about Obama that was later translated by Despina for us to understand. Simon said that when God made Obama he had been drinking too much Ouzo and left Obama in the oven too long... I think the Ouzo in our own systems allowed us to find that horribly racist joke hilarious.

The next few days Josie and I ventured into Athens via public transportation. We spread out the places to see so as not to get too worn out. We saw the Acropolis, the Olympion, the Archeological museum, Ermou avenue for shopping, Plaka neighborhood with lovely neoclassical houses, the changing of the Guards at the Parliament building, the National Art Gallery, and my personal favorite: the Benaki Museum. There was so much to take in! 

We went to Athens at night twice with Despina to get a feel for the Greek night life. One night we watched the sunset from the Acropolis rock and then walked around and tried Souvlaki (sooooo good).

Our last full day Eleni drove us to Delphi aka the center of the world. It was great! We hiked through the ruins (Ancient Greeks were in excellent shape) and then checked out the museum. Our lunch was a 45 min drive outside of Delphi, right next to the water. The owner of the restaurant was a painter so I showed him the watercolor paintings I had with me. 

Here's the Greek I picked up:

ευχαριστώ "eharisto'" (thank you)

παρακαλώ "parakalo'"(please/you're welcome)

μετά "meta" (after)

ναι "neh" (yes)

λίγος "ligo" (little)

καλός "kalo" (good)
πολύ καλά "palli' kalo'" (very good)

εντάξει! "daxsis" (ok)

πάμε! "pame" (let's go)

Foto reflections

We had to write an essay on how Florence has changed us and I wanted to transcribe it here for your viewing pleasure:

Living in Florence has forced me to be less passive. I am constantly active in this city. Be it visually: looking at light, shape, and form; auditorally: listening for snippets of languages coming into focus; or just in general trying to catch buses and be on time. My observation skills have improved. A lot of the time I try to mimic the people who seem to know what they are doing (language and life-wise). 

Overall, I'm learning to be more independent and at the same time fostering meaningful relationships with my peers here. It's funny to think I had never seen some of these people before in St Louis. I realize now that Florence has done wonders for my social life.

I'm starting to achieve a rewarding sense of clarity about my life up to this point and possibly how it may go in the future.

I enjoy incorporating photography into the other things I create. It's an interesting way of generating a new generation of ideas. It's really cool to experiment in the darkroom and then build on the images.

I certainly feel like I've come a long way since the first days of photography when I didn't understand filters per niente... Now I feel totally confident with approximating how much contrast would be complimentary to the composition. Burning and dodging still evade me a bit, but I try to take photos with even light.

I'm pleased to be able to take photos of my relatives and hand develop them as a thoughtful thank you. Manual photography reminds me of growing one's own vegetable garden. In the world of digital cameras and facebook, we have become disconnected from where pictures really come from. I enjoy getting "back to [the] nature" of photography. It's a specialized skill that I am pleased to understand (at least the basics). I hope to keep using photography. For utilitarian gifts as well as artistic exploration.

Taking Photo I in Florence was an incredible opportunity. I'm thrilled to have another level of documentation of my time here. It matches my endearance to snail mail. I love the hand-visibility of manual photography and hand written letters. It makes me think of having more contact with people I can't see very often. 

Pasqua!

This weekend was incredible!! I was completely and satisfactorily exhausted from each day's activities. Friday was spent in the country (campagna, not campania) house Vibeke, Carlo, and Federico are fixing up. The weather was a lovely as the view. I attempted to paint eggs after blowing out the insides. It was a nice tedious task that kept me occupied. After our grand lunch we played some Trivial Pursuit, Italian Edition (with the bambini questions). It was an interesting way to learn some new vocab, however obscure.

Saturday I went to Rome with Federico. We saw a Giotto and the Trecento show (it was funny to see things from Firenze that I hadn't seen yet), the Vatican, a Modern Art Museum, and other things in between. We made spotting tourists into a game and we spoke in English for a bit to play the role of tourists more convincingly ourselves. One of the funniest moments was when a guard at the Vatican told Federico (native Italian with blond hair and blue eyes) that he spoke Italian "molto bene." We didn't get back to Olevano until after 8 after leaving Olevano at 8 in the morning. Lonnnng day. Lots of fun. :] Later Luisa, Luisa's friend, Federico and I went out and ate pizza at a hoppin' pizzeria. It was cool to hang out. The waiters were intrigued/appalled by my inky fingernails so I tried to explain about how I'm an artist and that's how we do. 

Sunday started off with a lovely Pasqua breakfast and just kept getting better. The Carlo clan and I headed to the northeast of Rome to meet up with Danish contacts.  We first stopped in Farfa and poked around the town that dates back to the year 600. There was an abbey stuffed to the gills for Easter mass and a bunch of picturesque shops. At the house, there was a triple-ringed venn diagram of languages. Some people spoke only English or Danish. Some spoke English or Italian. Some spoke Danish, Italian, and English. It was a very unique experience. We played "pallone" aka soccer for a while. Let's just say I shocked the pants off of everyone with my soccer skills. I was the only girl playing; the rest were boys and dads. It was especially bizarre looking because I was wearing a flower cardigan, skirt, pantyhose, and boots. (Eventually I borrowed shoes.) I realized how much I miss soccer! I haven't played since last summer at Interlochen. We played in between the delicious courses of the meal and then after for a while. I was very content. It was a nice way to bridge the language barrier.

Monday I prepared American breakfast for my hosts: "Eggs in a Basket" and bacon. They found the egg incorporated into the bread rather puzzling, but it went over ok. Not only did I take an especially long time cooking, but there were also 20 minutes of taking pictures to document the event! By the time we actually ate breakfast it was practically time for lunch. Before Pasquetta lunch we drove up to the Alti Piani (through a field of rather large cows) to a mountain spring for water. The view was gorgeous. It's amazing to me how drastically altitude varies within a smallish distance in Italy. Lunch was really delicious but waaaaay too much food. I wanted to try everything, but it was simply impossible. After lunch I did a watercolor sketch of the view from Federico's terrace. It was pretty chilly up there. I can't wait to see it in full bloom in summer!

For those who don't have Facebook...

What you've been wishing for...

there's more!

there's still more!

Luckiest [and Craziest] Girls in the World

My first real vacation without parental supervision and the warm fuzzy cloak of my dad planning everything was ahhmaaaaaaaayyyyyyzing against all odds. Leah and I only picked the destination 13 days before our departure after originally scheming to make it to Carthage (which I was kindly reminded several times was destroyed about 2000 years ago...). 

Anyhoo, on Sunday we went first to Napoli and stayed in a s00perd00per sketchy hostel right near the train station, but it was the closest one and we didn't want to be wandering around at night. The next morning we headed off to the hostel we booked for that night and dropped our bags. We tried to map out the next few days since we literally had no specific plans after that point. 

Monday was the National Archeological Museum in Napoli, tasty pizza (I still have a special place in my heart for Chicago deepdish. go figure), MADRE modern art museum (free entrance!), dumpster diving (the trash was so artistic!)

Tuesday was Pompei ruins and lots of confusion with how to get to the top of Mt Vesuvius. We thought we missed the opportunity because of a rather enormous gap in communication between the tourist information office and the actual bus schedules. I'm pretty sure they just like to mess with tourists. Then we were trying to catch a bus back to Napoli but the bus stop was elusive and impossible to find. After wandering around the Orlando-ish new city of Pompei riddled with ghastly tourist traps we came back to the central train station where we were essentially pummeled into joining another party two in a taxi to the top of the Vesuvius. I was so annoyed at the lack of organization I conceded to the scheming of the overly tan and grintastically leathery taxi driver. He turned out to be a nice guy, but the whole scenario was bizarre, especially when he started giving the four young ladies in the car advice about love and relationships while obscure British 80s music was playing in the background...

Wednesday was getting the heck out of Napoli and heading to Sorrento. We had gotten lost on the way back to our hostel and were exhausted from Tuesday's adventures so I fell asleep in my clothes at 9 pm. Leah and I woke up and decided that we should probably look for a place to sleep tonight and there was only one available. A B&B that sounded quaint and promising. Little did we know that we were in for a surprise: a delightfully Italian host named Luigi who was our chauffeur since it was the low season, made freshly squeezed orange juice every morning, gave us the room with the best view of the Sorrento view (we were up pretty high so the panorama was gorgeous). We arrived about midday and unorthodoxly enough, we decided to walk 7 km to Positano and see what there was to see along the way. This turned out to be my favorite day. We took our time along the winding coastal road and just soaked up the beauty with glee. I tallied the cat calls targeted toward us and the total was 21. They ranged from ordinary honking, creative honking rhythms, whistling, winking, a ride invitation, even attention from an ambulance... "I've had it up to here with these horny Italians!" We made it to the beach in Positano where we touched the frigid water and beachcombed for a while. In the spirit of packing light, I gathered some rocks to take back with me. We made dinner in our room (pasta in a cream sauce with gamberetti (shrimp)) while listening to Italian MTV.

Thursday was a glorious breakfast with homemade cappuccini and then off to downtown Sorrento to rent bikes. We headed off with a map of internal roads (no names, though) and stares from people who found our Americanness painfully obvious. (I was wearing shorts in March.) We tried following the map with no names and somehow started off wrong. The road we took was a 30 degree incline (we walked the bikes for a while), but then we got on a main road and "coasted" for a while. The whole day was lots of ups and downs. The biggest downhill was to the beach where we picnic-ed, which consequently lead to the biggest uphill section... I was in lowwww geeeear. Everything was so beautiful; it was a lovely way to see the less touristy part of the peninsula. I miss biking on a regular basis so much! We barely made it back to Sorrento alive, exhausted and weary with satisfaction of a day well spent. Leah and I met up with Sylva and her parents for a Limoncello aperitivo. It was quite strong. We made dinner again in our room (linguine with onions and eggplants in a red sauce + red wine) and then passed out.

Friday was going to Amalfi and Ravello by bus ("pullman"). Since there part of the road was blocked off, we had to walk down to the beach in Praiano and then up again to meet a different bus that took us the rest of the way. Amalfi was choked with touristy things. We took a bus to Ravello and walked around. The view was amazing since it is so high up. We went to Villa Cimbrone and paid full price to see a dormant garden.... It was an exercise in using our imagination. After mistakenly thinking the bus would adhere to the schedule listed, we walked to a nearby paesino called Scala and tried to chase down the bus supposedly headed back to Amalfi. There was no need to run and there was no need to leave Ravello because the bus went to the downtown stop... It was an exercise in futility (and just plain exercise). Making the walk down to the beach in Praiano was infinitely more interesting when it was totally dark outside and we were the only ones trying to make it to the other side. We made it back to Sorrento and stayed the night in a hostel and met a non-narcoleptic Argentinian traveling around Europe.

Saturday was taking a ferry to Capri, and walking around. A lot. We decided that Luigi's hospitality was way worth the 4E difference in price from the hostel so we came crawling back. Leah called us the "prodigal daughters," which I thought was fitting. We made an eclectic dinner (hamburgers and mushroom omelettes) and settled down for the night. Luigi brought us some of his homemade limoncello, which was really tasty. Much better than the other stuff I tried. This morning we were dropped off and said goodbye to Luigi for the 2nd time. He joked that we would call to come back to his B&B tomorrow. The train connections were actually NOT stressful for once in my life and I've been back in Florence for less than two hours. I'm off to do laundry!

Destination: Dirtiest Place Ever

Yesterday I left the marvelously accomodating nest of Olevano and found myself disoriented and chased by cars (the opposite of the Snow Patrol song). Leah and I barely caught our train from Roma to Napoli due to an obnoxious delay. Somehow I am blessed with the skills to catch trains by the skin of my teeth. Today Leah and I dropped our bag at our 2nd hostel and found out that 8 other WashU students happen to be staying at the same one! Che coincidence! Anyhoo, we trapsed around the city and saw the Archeological Museum, ate pizza that puts quella di Firenze to dispicable shame, went to a contemporary art museum that was really impressive, walked around the historical center, went casual dumpster diving, ya know...

This evening the WashU students collaborated for dinner and cooked at the hostel. Now we are watching Moulin Rouge, which I havent seen in a ''coon's age.'' Tomorrow we are headed to Pompeii. The hope of renting bikes has been transferred to Sorrento, but we havent given up yet, dagnabbit. I will be sure to post pretty pictures when I get back. Maybe I'll be able to check in at another hostel along the way. Im scheming to ride a hydrofoil this week! I remember learning about them in junior year physics class. Physics is everywhere :)

Lists

Things I miss (cose che mi mancano)

• carpet - frozen tile abounds in this country
  
• hugs - baci (kisses on the cheek) are nice and intimate, but they can't replace solid human contact
  
• rollerblading - seeing bladers in Valencia reminded me how much I miss looking super cool while sporting wrist guards
  
• peanut butter toast with honey
  
• eggs - they just simply don't exist in their natural form here
  
• cereal - every morning is simply and strictly only 2 pieces of bread and jam
  
• TEA at odd hours of the night and day

Things about me that have changed since I've been in Italy

• I actually drink coffee (ogni tanto)
• I wear scarves (my whiteness is becoming increasingly undeniable)
• These days I rarely wish I was the moon
• I'm seriously considering wearing wigs (think a slightly less eccentric version of the voice of reason in Pretty in Pink
• That last one doesn't really have anything to do with Italy now that I think about it

Carnavale!

This fine settimana was very unique. The train each way was 5 hours. Il mare (the sea) was absolutely stunning. Rita recognized me from the train window and was beaming as she swept me into her arms. I'm really getting spoiled with quasi royal treatment over here. 

The weekend took and unexpected turn when Rita's mother broke her arm on Friday, so a lot of plans changed accordingly. Rita was at the hospital a lot so we didn't get to spend a lot of time together this time. I'm excited to come back in the summer so I can put that sea to some practical use. Rita did shower me with new clothes and a purse, which was quite a surprise. Belated birthday gifts, I suppose.

Leone is something else. I can see why he likes my grandpa so much. They are kindred spirits when it comes to joking and eating. Leo wouldn't stop talking about Zia Marietta and all the great times they had together. Apparently, she only ate figs. (side note: figs and dates have each become an achilles heel for me so if I ever face off with a Dried Fruit supervillain, I won't stand a grapefruit's chance in a chuckee cheese ball pit.) Dinner on Friday night was very elaborate. Everyone ended up with 5 different bicchieri from all the different types of alcohol we tried. (one white spumante, a red one, mistra, one with dessert, one special one from under the counter) It was pretty wild. For dessert we ordered 7 dolci (for 6 people) and then shared them. My favorite was the coffee creme brulee with cream. mmmmmm

Gionata and Leone were great tourguides of Offida, Grottamare, Ascoli Piceno, and Patrignone (even if they didn't recite the cities' histories from memory like Federico). We saw 4 different Carnavale events during the course of the weekend. There were a lot of cute kiddies in costumes (bambini mascherati) running around throwing confetti everywhere. When I come back to the area I'm sure everything will look totally different, cast in another light of enchantment.

48 Hours in Spain

It started with running to beat the bus at the next stop in order to make
it to the train station where we ran through the underground tunnel,
dashed to (i can only think of the word in french...) "compost" the
ticket and sprint to the train on binario 2. Literally right after we
leapt on board the doors beeped and closed and we pulled away amazed by
how unbelievably close we came to missing the train.

At Pisa Centrale station we knew we needed to
transfer to a different train to get to the airport, but by the time we
made it to the biglietteria and back the only train that would work had
just pulled away and we were running out of time to make it to the
check in desk. We hurriedly took a cab and a ran through the airport
only to find out that our flight was delayed THREE HOURS and that there
was no need to rush.

So......we decided to see what Pisa had to offer
since there was no need to mope around the airport. We helped some non
italian speaking forlorn travelers talk to a shop owner about a nearby
hotel and then we had an aperitivo. Let's just say that it helped take
the edge off a little bit. After our adult snack we trapsed around an
obscure part of Pisa for a while, saw the river (it's still the Arno
like in Firenze!), debated whether or not to touch the water just to be
able to say that we did, saw a church downtown, walked around what
could have been an ancient city wall, and meandered back to the
airport. All the gelaterias had closed by the time we thought of
getting gelato so we chilled out with some ice cream at the airport. It
was overpriced but totally worth it. (I guess that's a contradiction.
Oh well.)

Anyhoo, in the airport we met a native Valencian
that studies in Hamburg and was traveling back to Valencia because he
missed warm weather and he gave us some places to check out. We boarded
the flight and then were pleasantly surprised to find out that instead
of an airline, Ryanair is a wannabe game show. The flight attendants
donned in schiffo gold and navy blue outfits try to sell something new
every few minutes while the overhead announcements offer tempting ways
to "be a millionaire with ryanair." It was quite restful. Just what I
needed before what lay ahead...

By the time we arrived the metro had stopped
running so we had to take another cab to the place we were staying.
Fortunately, our host was very sympathetic and helpful. We collapsed
onto the futon and tried to recharge.

We woke up bright and early and headed to the
beach. It was wild to be so warm in February. By wild I mean extremely
wonderful. For our first meal in Spain, we picked a restaurant and
ordered the most expensive thing on the menu (it was only 10 E) having
absolutely no idea what it was. To our language barriered delight, it
was delicious! Steak and veggies. miammm. Afterwards, we walked around
the historic center, saw some lovely fountains and artfully enjoyable
graffiti. It's a very different feel of graffiti. Somewhere between
Florence and Berlin in the time space schema of city graffiti. We went
to the central market and bought some dried and non dried fruit. If you
time your entrance just right, you can snap up the mistakenly labeled
"expired" produce tossed into the aisle at closing time. Basically,
Sylva grabbed a few perfectly decent strawberries with her starving
artist ninja skills. It's a jungle out there.

Later we went up the Bell Tower and then walked
a ways in what used to be the river that runs through Valencia. It was
converted into a beautiful winding park/bike path/playground that seems
more like a futuristic spaceship wonderland than a city in Spain. At
one end there is incredibly fantastical architecture and at the other
end, a BioParc.

Dinner on Friday was quite interesting. We tried
several restaurants and eventually picked one that seemed like it would
be good. The tapas we ended up with was more like a combination of
dim-sum and hush puppies...but now we
can say we had tapas in Spain.

We rented bikes Saturday morning and spent two
hours blissfully riding around the "river" in unbeatable weather. It
was wonderful to bike for the first time in over a month. Lately I've
been following the Giorgio work out plan that includes only running
when you're trying to catch a bus.

Downtown we ate the local dish called Paella and
then found a creperie with a bus that serves as the kitchen cemented
into the restaurant. It was way cool. I think chestnuts are my favorite
sweet crepe ingredient. Afterwards we took our time walking back and
hit up a supermarket and bought some things for dinner. Then we left
for the airport. And of course we had to rush, but at least the plane
was on time.

Once back in Pisa, we had a memorable experience
waiting at the bus stop. The crew at one in the morning is the epitome
of sketch so we waited outside a clean, well-lit hotel. Once we finally
made it back to our homestay, it was immediately lights out. I think I
slept like a metamorphic rock. (Try to figure that simile
out)

All in all it was a great trip and a great
experience. I was very humbled by the fact that none of my language
skills helped very much at all. I would very much like to go back to
Spain. Che bello!

=] =] =] =] =] =]

My 20 birthday was probably my most memorable one to date. I had royal treatment with my relatives who can be called "obscure" in more than one sense. The word of the weekend was most definitely "particolaro" which means peculiar. I went to Roma and saw some tourist sights plus some other lesser known posti. It was a lot of fun. I'm looking forward to going back to Roma sometime. I'm most proud of the fact that I only spoke english for less than 20 minutes the whole weekend. (I didn't talk a lot in general, but still, i tried)

I'm still not sure how I feel about photo. I've developed some decent looking photos, but it doesn't seem to fit me very well. Hopefully it will grow on me.

Gotta run to do the compiti I neglected this weekend!