smokingboot

Struggling with an ensuing sense of the grimness, I return to record more of Italy, the last before I have to face life, work, all that stuff...

Pisa,mmm. I didn't want to see Pisa at all really, a tourist trap built around a medieval cock up. Who cares if a tower leans? But the lean is the least important thing about the piazza del miracoli; Truth is, after 900 years the whole square is full of stone lace buildings gorgeous and improbable, and in the Camposanto lies treasure.

There are huge frescoes there, often attributed to Buffalmacco, a larger than life figure around at the right time (14th century). No-one knows who painted these frescoes, and none of Buffalmacco's work remains, so one can see how the poetic imagination might pair the two up, but beyond wishing, I don't know if there's any real evidence.

Il Maestro Di Triomfo Della Morte remains anonymous, and that's a real shame,* because these frescos have as much vitality and imagination as anything I saw in the Uffizi.

Knights and ladies come across open coffins, worms slithering out among the fat fresh bodies of the dead; one knight holds his hanky to his nose; horses prick their ears in alarm at the sight and smell, one horse curls its lip, and the hunting dogs creep forward; each and all so expressive! Unconcerned, a man milks a goat in the corner - the Mastro is not creating realism, but all his characters are so vibrant, so alive! Then follows a scene where demons and angels wrestle for the souls of mortals - and we see some paradisical gardens where happy souls sit under fruit trees guarded by cherubs; one nurses her little dog (first depiction I've seen of an animal soul in heaven) while a would be lover smiles at her, and the musician plays his lute. Clearly, Heaven is Earth without bitterness...

There is also hell, and the Maestro allows his imagination to explode. It is a powerful depiction, the strongest I have seen of the devil, a mad-eyed thing, an eidolon to fear as he stares at us. Brrr! Disturbing!

On an almost unrelated note, another artistic amazement awaited us - an effigy of

philoko as part of a sculpture in the Cathedral. I can't find a picture of it, but it's definitely him. He looks surprised, but not as surprised as we were;-)

And so then; where are the best bits, the fondest memories? I have spoken of the big cities, but the tiny places had as much charm; hippocras drunk at the fair in Serre De Rapolano, along with the sweetest cherries I have ever tasted,time standing still for a moment by the tall tower of Rigomagno, the San Luciano vineyard where a man introduced us to his award winning red, named after his father, and the almost entirely mythical bastion of Gargonza, cursed with a name too big for it.

But most of all, where we stayed, La Colonica, a beautifull restful place. Bye Bye for now Italy. I write one more piece, for

eating_out and then I put you aside. Time to begin work again...any minute now...

*sort of. I can't resist a mystery...