not assisi.

the wrong way: approach strange Orvietian cats. It hisses them off.
the Wright way: go explore around Italy on weekends off. If you miss your train, there will always be another one leaving the station going SOMEWHERE.

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Today was our day-trip to Assisi. After waking up at the "ass-crack of dawn," Lisa, Emily, Corin, Andrew, and I got to Roma Termini at about 7:36. We ran with backpacks (and if you've ever seen anyone try to run with a full jansport backpack on, I welcome you to visualize.), Assisi tickets in hand, down the FURTHEST set of tracks from the station.

The train sadistically crawled away from the platform as the ugly teal thing was in full view at last. We missed it.

We decided to trade the tickets in, not for a later train, but for a train leaving in about 20 minutes for a city called "Ovieto." An hour long ride got us to the bottom of a series of tall cliffs, where we followed the advice of a professor from California and his art students, and hopped on a tram that led up the face to the city.


The first thing I saw was the view. For a few minutes, the freezing volcanic air completely drew out my breath. I've never seen an actual snow-capped mountain before, but they were abundant in the distance, the fog blending the heights into the overcast sky.

Ovieto is a bit north of Rome, on the same train line you'd take to reach Florence. It's very high up (surprised I didn't get a nosebleed; those have been happening recently) so the wind finds it's way to your bones. The architecture there is amazing; residences weave into and out of each other and the landscape, flowing into vast fields of green. Every edge holds a breathtaking view, helping you maintain a perspective on where you actually are with help from the mist.

This place is built on volcanic rock, and some sections of it have weight limits for cars. The community has a thing for pork and boars, and is extremely well-known for their white wine and ceramic artisans. We sat down to lunch at a small restaurant and shared a liter of their house-wine. It was magnificent, cool, and refreshing.



Padding around the city took around three hours, but I could've stayed a lot longer. It's definitely one of the quieter, older cities, telling from the friendliness of the residents and the crazy amount of ruins, secret underground portions of the city, and beautiful history surrounding the landscape. The Pozzo di S Patrizio is located there (they charge admission to that, so we didn't bite), as well as the Orvieto Cathedral, The Duomo. It has stripes of white travertine and black basalt that is reflected in some of the portals in the towns around the piazza. The bands are narrow, so the vision is extremely striking. It bears a little resemblance to the Siena Cathedral. We first approached from the left elevation, but as we rounded to the front (after being shooed out because of the mass going on), an entirely different and magnificent facade stood poised in front of us. The scale of the massing was huge, and the attention to detail was similar to only what I've seen in Italy so far. The facade was supposedly designed by Lorenzo Maitani, who was also a sculptor, which I absolutely believe. He improved upon the original masonry of a monk named Fra Bevignate. Inside the church, besides the indescribable columns, frescoes, and various sculptures, are the Corporal of Bolsena, and Luca Signorelli's "Last Judgement."

And I found a cat, too ["i'll call you... little blackie."]



All in all, I don't feel like I missed out on anything. I can't wait for the underground portion of the city to open up in February, though. I think this city is worth a revisit. I didn't get much crossed off on my "list of things to do" today, but that just means I'll have to maintain my adventurous composure and soldier on.

We'll make it to Assisi.

all'isola.

The wrong way: get lost in your hometown of Trastevere and end up at the city dump. There is no architectural excellence there-- well, unless you count the manner in which they stack their recycling (whether or not you find that intriguing may define you as a person).

The Wright way: follow the river. It's your Lynchian landmark! The Tevere symbolizes a constant direction. As a point of reference, it is "increasingly relied upon as [your] journey becomes more and more familiar."
Frequenting the water's edge during the day has familiarized you with where you are. As long as the river keeps running South, you're fine. Oh and don't fall in. It's uncomfortably cold.


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Project_One has been underway for almost a week, now. Andrew, Chrissy, && I have been researching a piazza on Tiber Island, Piazza di San Bartolomeo All'Isola. The history behind the island and its importance to the mythology of the beginning of Rome makes this project so much more than an architectural analysis.

Right off the boat, I was inspired [get it? it's a pun! Did Eric hear that one? If he didn't, we better column and tell him. Oh lord. Did I just do it again?] That was lucky:

I think islands are incredible for a myriad of reasons, maybe because I've never been on one. I'm a fan of the television series "Lost," Darwin's theories of adaptation, and any concept dealing with a variable of isolation which alters characteristics of a known subject.
Example: In the Lost series, there are ridiculous amounts of changes within the people and their strategies for survival compared to what they were before. Read up on NatGeo if you want to know to what extent Darwin was able to compare and contrast species of finches and propose hypotheses based upon a Sherlock Holmes type of deduction. Finding the bones of modern animals' ancestors through the evolution process gave him an idea; a small amount of proof for the conclusions he drew.

Similar to this type of deduction, my group and I have been deeply analyzing the island and certain qualities that have evolved over time. There are temples of Jupiter and Aesculapius, whose foundations were salvaged for the present-day churches of San Giovanni in Calibita and San Bartolomeo. I love how Rome is built inside and out of itself.



There's also the imago mundi in the center of the piazza. The history behind that is interesting because no matter how many times it was knocked down, destroyed, whatnot.. it was ALWAYS rebuilt.
Eliade would like us to believe that it is this imago mundi that kept the space as a balanced composition. Borrowing from his opinion on how religion and the sacred effects our percept on life, we can parallel this "life" of religion and "death" of homogeneity with the "life" of a balanced composition and "death" by lack of an artist's eye.

What is architecture without art?
What is the purpose of all these numbers, lines, measurements... without diagrams, concepts, and formulas created in order to understand what makes something beautiful?
Everything is integrated. Numbers are static. All is needed.

minor threat.

The wrong way: Don’t go out at night, there are strangers! And pubs! And people trying to sell you roses! Stay inside and go to bed early; maybe you’ll be the first one at the espresso counter Saturday morning.

The Wright way: Explore your new hometown of Trastevere. Walk into every and all stores if they are open, but make sure you greet the owner. They appreciate a “ciao” or “buon giorno,” even if it’s dark outside. Also, if you see a church that is open, GO IN. There is a chance you’ll never see it open again.

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Adventuring in the land of Trastevere this week, I came upon a bookstore called “M______.” It was open, surrounded by graffiti walls, and I was looking for a blank book to use for field sketching, so I went in. The shop was filled with rad novels, most in which the visage of the tragic artist was staring me in the face. But there was no English section, and the reading level was advanced. There were a few Moleskins I considered grabbing, but leaving felt more comfortable.

The pitch that was playing through the store caught my attention at a louder refrain before I left, and I entertained the new sound as the owner fumbled with a Dell mouse to lower the volume. The music sounded a bit folksy with a dark twist riding on an abstract story-telling style of lyricism. But the singer was new to me. I walked up to the guy behind the Dell to ask what artist it was.

I didn’t think they made them like this in Italia: looked about 28 with thick black framed glasses, a tragus piercing, striped sweater, tight black jeans, some kind of Italian leather sneaker, a black beard, and a tattered bridge of English. After shooting the breeze for a bit, he asked where I was from. D.C. The kid then indulged me with a full, enthusiasm-driven knowledge of the evolution of the punk rock scene into the emo subgenre in D.C. in the ‘80s. In Italian. He knew where it all began. He knew what was up. He knew the influences of Minor Threat.

It makes me wonder what kind of music the people around here really listen to. It’s easy to pick up a random misplaced “Italian” genre CD from the record store here. It’s another thing to realize the importance of the type of music to different demographics in Rome.

I need to know what this music scene is. When in Rome... become a street performer.

mi dispiace.

The wrong way: dismiss all the conversational skills you just learned in Italian class and speak only in English to avoid the chore of internally reinforcing the Italian culture. Tourist.

The Wright way: use what you've learned. Find other resources to create relationships with your Italian neighbors, each day shattering another window of the language barrier.

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Speaking Italian outside of class has helped us out, not only with finding out how to get from place to place [there's this magical word called "dov'e"], but with saving a few euro here and there. It's amazing how funds seem to go through your hands. This is the first time I've had to buy and prepare my own food. No cafeteria here. The realization of the "cost of living" has gotta be some milestone on the way to complete independence.

There are a few places you can get produce from. Veggies, fruit, and spices are all over Campo, morning espresso from a bar is a convenience, and the supermarket has sales....
... and rude rude rude rude cashiers named Paolo who chuck your bottles of wine and anything else fragile or delicately, flakely baked AT you. And he sighs dramatically when you don't have exact change. Do yourself a favor; go to the longer line and avoid the Paolo in your life. Everybody has one. Chances are, he'll make your life crumby.

At Campo, I frequent one certain fruit and vegetable stand [it's a strategy]. I've been speaking my best broken Italian to the guy in charge, and I think he appreciates that I try. At 1,79/kg for apples, the price matches all the other stands, but when he rings me up for weight, he always shaves off about 0,40E.
This morning before class, Lisa and I visited the same bar we had once before and introduced ourselves to the baristo, whose name is Sergio. We started teaching him English. I'm hoping our loyalty will buy us discounted caffeine. This is an experiment.

jet lag.

The wrong way: I'm tired and it's 3pm. Goodnight.

The Wright way: stay awake through the jet lag and drink lots of espresso/water. It will go away sooner, I promise.

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I'm new to this "blogging" business and a bit disoriented, but here you go.



This Italian lifestyle takes a lot of adjusting. Late to bed, early to rise, resting in the afternoon, and standing at counters to eat lunch to save a few euro. After getting lost and coming upon ridiculously well-known structures while sipping espresso (there's no such thing as coffee here), we've all experienced the common tendency to walk by something like Sant' Ivo by simply watching the treacherous cobblestones instead of looking up.












Although it was recommended, it seems like "getting lost" is also unavoidable. I think that the sooner we become more familiar with the layout of the city, the more we'll be able to appreciate.

First day of studio was exciting. We have new tables; the board portion was shrink wrapped in plastic. Half of our orientation had to do with the creepy man on the second floor who hangs out in Magnolia and wears orange sunglasses and a baseball cap. I hope we get to meet him. I hear he gives out warm candy.