Just arrived this morning after complex travel prep due to Covid-19, two days of almost no sleep, and 24 hours of travel. Door-to-door.
But so content as I sit here in my canal-side appartamento, hearing the apperitivo hub-bub along the Naviglio Grande (Grand Canal) through the double-pane windows. The Christmas light decorations illuminate my apartment.
I’m on the third floor, as Americans would call it. “Secondo Piano” as Italians would say. What we call the first floor is the “terra piano“, the ground floor. The “first floor” is the floor up from that.
“Ho messo tutto a posto. Tutto in ordine. Sistemato. Organizzato.” I put everything just right. Everything in order. Systematized. Organized.
A great flat with a quite ample kitchen, dining table (desk), living room, and non-scary stairs that go up to the loft bedroom and bathroom. (Going up the stairs during the day to use the bathroom is better than having to navigate the stairs down…and back up…in the dark middle of the night.)
I’m on the north side of the canal, so I will get morning and daylight sun streaming in from the canal-side, tall, balcony doors. That thrills me.
And I’m in my traditional neighborhood: “Zona Navigli“. The Canal Zone. I’ve always been in this area and it feels like home. Only a couple of times smack ON the canal, but this has become my default spot. I have friends, favorite restaurants, grocery stores, little shops that I frequent.
Two years have passed since I was last here. It feels like ages, but also like no time at all. Feels like almost yesterday as I move through town to get “home” to my apartment.
But also, the world has changed. Milano has changed. I’ve changed. Italy… and the whole world, bore horrible onslaught from the Covid pandemic… and we still bear it, and likely will for who knows how long.
Italy has “strict regulations” in place, not wanting to endure the loss they bore when the pandemic began. But I do see caution being set aside more than I imagined. So I have to navigate and create my own personal safety as I am comfortable.
I am so glad to be here. This place…Milano…Italia…has been feeding my heart, my brain, my soul, since 2008, every year adding to the bank of inspiration, reference and memory.
I just couldn’t imagine staying away another year. My time here feeds me. Feeds my being.
My Apartment Along the Grand Canal
My “block” along the canal
My apartment along the canal, with it’s bedroom dormer
Entering my apartment, into the kitchen
My living room with high doors that open to a balcony with the canal view
My loft bedroom
My bathroom, with a big shower
Classic “ringhiera” courtyard, outside my apartment
The stairway up to my apartment
My Neighborhood in the “Zona Navigli”, Canal Zone
The view from my balcony, looking out along the “Naviglio Grande”, the Grand Canal.
Looking west along the canal, past my apartment
Auguri and Vativision
“Auguri”. Best Wishes
Piazza 24 Maggio
San Gottardo
Market stalls at La Darsena.
Looking south down the Naviglio Pavese.
I know how to eat!
Linguine with teeny, tiny “seppiolini”, little squid
Bread platter at Al Pont de Ferr
Cauliflower. Foamy, and neither soup
Gnocchi with black truffle
Warm “salad” of octopus, potato and taggiasche olives. My favorite
Mussels
Shrimp, tomatoes, pane carasau
“Alici”, fresh anchovies with lemon juice and EVOO
Smoked tuna
Pane carasau, octopus and potato, smoked tuna, scallop
8:15 P.M. and someone out there is playing the violin. There are also sounds of dogs, kids and dinner dishes. Occasionally a baby’s cry and people sneezing. This inner courtyard is a neighborhood unto itself, and very typically Milanese.
As you walk around Milan, the sidewalks are all faced with storefronts and “portoni”, great big gates sized for car entry, with small person-sized doors included. Behind those gates, one finds a courtyard, a garden, a mini-paradise sometimes. Bikes have their spots. There’s a patch of grass, or more. Some trees. Parking stalls for those that venture having cars. But none of this would you know from out on the sidewalk.
I’ve never been in an apartment with such a grand, expansive inner “courtyard”. That word seems hardly descriptive enough of the number of neighbors that must look out into this inner square of peace in the city. The multi-use buildings surrounding this enclosed space are 8 floors high. Out on the street around me, one finds a very large book store, cafés, bakeries, a kebab restaurant, a natural foods store, and a large grocery store, along with other smaller businesses. So much is all right here.
And my terrace! “La mia terrazza!” It’s bigger than my whole apartment! I could have a party with 50 or more out there enjoying the evening balm. (When I lived here for a year, my “terrace” was so small we called it “the shelf”.)
This really is a fabulous location. Because it’s encircled within this “courtyard”, it’s mostly shielded from city traffic sounds. For the most part, I hear the “neighbors”. Yet, in two blocks’ walk, I can be at the grocery store, or an even shorter walk to the metro. I can walk on the paths through two green parks to arrive at Leonardo’s Grand Canal, the Naviglio Grande, lined with restaurants, shops, artists’ studios and nightlife. I can easily hop onto the metro subway and get into the heart of town within 15 minutes, or rather choose to stroll and enjoy the sights along the way.
Che divino! How divine. Oh yes, it’s city life, but I did my stint on The Farm for 2 decades, so I’m not interested in “Under the Tuscan Sun”, renovating a dilapidated farm house. I want the hubbub and offerings of this big, international city. I want easy access to it all. I want the buzz and energy of it. But I also appreciate the peace offered to me by this giant terrace, jutting out into this enclosed space, private and yet oh so visible by all the other “neighbors”.
Journal Entry: Wednesday, 12 September 2018 – Milan
Did I really just arrive in my home-away-from-home, Milan, this morning?! Here I am again. And it all feels so easy and familiar. Not that there is nothing new or no challenge. There is still much to see, explore, discover, learn. This place stretches me differently than Burien and Seattle. AND it’s a time entirely for me. (This is my 11th year of coming here.)
My apartment on the 5th floor, (circled), above the Naviglio night life.
I’m in a 5th floor walkup apartment*, no elevator. 90 Steps up to the front door. The entrance looks out over inner courtyards, gold-hued stucco, tile rooftops. Inside, there is an opening window from floor to ceiling that looks directly down onto the Naviglio Grande (the Grand Canal) and it’s changing bustle. The white noise of wine-fueled conversation during the evening aperitivo is oddly comfortable. *(The Italians call it the 4th floor; the ground floor is floor zero.)
The view to the south from the apartment entry door.
The view to the north from the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Naviglio Grande.
Other than celebrating my birthday in 3 days, and honoring Patti on the 2nd anniversary of her death, and having 2 girlfriends come here for 2 weeks… I don’t have a big, new goal or purpose for this trip. It’s just that I can’t not have my time in Italia, for whatever it is to me.
Journal Entry: Friday, 14 September 2018 – Milan, 8:30 a.m.
Sitting canalside, way up high, listening to morning sounds of church and cyclists’ bells, deliveries on cobblestone, traffic, sidewalk conversations. The city awakens.
Yesterday, I made my pilgrimage into the center of town to the Duomo (Cathedral) di Milano – which I love – and then strolled around through the adjacent Galleria and to Luini’s for a Panzerotto. Just being here with ease and familiarity… Feeling nestled in as much as a foreigner can.
The Duomo di Milano
Near the southeast corner of the Duomo, there is a sculpture of a disemboweled man. I suppose the sculptures and paintings were meant to inspire the illiterate masses to live according to the Church’s tenets… or suffer the consequences.
The domed, glass roof of the Galleria.
One of the Louis Vuitton window displays in the Galleria.
Luini’s was established in 1888 and is a popular spot with locals and those that stumble upon it, tucked onto a side street just north of the Duomo. They sell Panzerotti: stuffed, deep-fried (or baked) hot pockets. Lots of filling options!
Along the Naviglio Grande (Grand Canal) the San Cristoforo dragon boats and kayaks cruise through every day, to the beat of a drummer to keep time, occasionally accompanied by the church bells. (CanottieriSanCristoforo.it)
Journal Entry: Thursday, 20 September 2018 – Milan
Days have been hot and humid, but have turned delicious, from 75 – 80 degrees and a freshness from a few nighttime showers.
View from the sleeping loft, down into the living room and beyond, to the Naviglio night life.
It is rather dreamy that I “get” to do this. But really, there’s no “getting” involved. I have made and do make different choices and I’ve structured my life so that I can spend some of it here in an entirely different place and mode.
My Farmer’s Market Purchases: Clockwise, from upper left: Taralli with black pepper, produce bag with the Duomo on it, Borlotti beans, castelvetrano olives, pickled onions, turkish figs, yellow peaches, onions, tuna stuffed red peppers, green string beans.
This feeds me, and it pushes me. Foreign country, language, customs. And Milan. An international seat of design, which gives it such contrast and stark visual appeal. The old history, side-by-side with clean, high design, honed and spare. I thrill at Milan. Every city could take a lesson from its well-defined branding and identity.
The recycling trucks start along the Naviglio Grande at about 6:00 in the morning. Since the Naviglio is such a restaurant and drinking hot spot, there are thousands of bottles to be collected. The sound they make when dumped is such a crashing clamor to wake up to!
Journal Entry: Saturday, 22 September 2018 – Milan
Warm day. The Naviglio is in a relaxed stroll. A street musician is playing his guitar along the canal, out in front of the elementary school. The white noise of conversation at outdoor, umbrella-covered cafè tables drifts up to my open window, high above. I marvel that this is possible. That I can pack my bags, bring my work and step into this life for a period. Remarkable.
Journal Entry. 1 Gennaio 2017 (January 1, 2017) – Milano
Day 3 of a cold that has kept me layin’ low. Enforced rest. Certainly no kicking-up-my-heels last night. By 8:30 p.m. I was yearning for sleep.
New Year’s Eve, 2009/2010 I stayed at home here, writing, as I generally do. I could have gone to the Piazza del Duomo then, for the Italian New Year’s festivities. Instead, I listened to the fireworks outside, while seated at the long table in my home on Via Bordighera.
The opportunity for a carefree, celebratory hurrah in front of the Duomo has passed. The reports I see from last night show the beloved cathedral and its perimeter barricaded, armored, protected by police and military with machine guns. All holiday revelers faced searches and long lines to proceed through to the New Year’s concert. The metro stops to the Duomo were closed completely.
It was, in fact, leading up to this as Christmas approached, too. Feeling spirited and festive, Piazza del Duomo visitors enjoyed the advent concerts amidst heavily armed military and barricades.
Last night, lying in bed as midnight approached, I listened to fireworks, but also sounds that could have easily been real bombs. How would I have known? After each explosion, sometimes feeling my bed shake, I listened for sirens – or their absence – and took the pulse by the tone of voices I heard out in the courtyard. I figured that if there were true danger, then sirens and voices would speak of such urgency.
This morning I read in the news reports of mayhem along the Naviglio Pavese, just two blocks away. I guess that some of those ka-booms may have, indeed, been bombs.
It’s come to this: proactive protection of beloved, sacred places; the thought that a loud “bang” could indeed be a bomb; The adjustment to and acceptance of bodily searches; the anticipation of attacks; the realization that every conspicuous, large gathering is potentially a vulnerable target and, therefore, a gut-driven avoidance of such crowds.
Does that mean the terrorists have won? They, who have no regard of life, cultural treasure or community well-being have changed us. They have changed how we think and what we do. Whether they kill any more people or destroy any more cultural heritage sites, or not, they have gotten into our heads.
I looked at New Year’s Eve reports in the Seattle Times and only found beautiful pictures of fireworks emanating from the Space Needle. There was no mention of machine guns or barricades. I guess we still enjoy being in an imaginary bubble there. (We’re more visibly armed against each other than we are against outside threats.)
When here in Europe, sitting so close to the center of a major, international city, I suppose I’m closer to genuine danger than when I’m sitting in my lovely home in Burien, looking out over the water. But I still chose to come. This is the first year (of 9 in a row) when the suspicion of danger, and the armament against it, has been so evident. Much has changed in the world in 9 years.
Many years ago in an Adult-Ed program, a particular exercise guided me in seeing when and how I was influenced by my fears, from the smallest hesitations to the largest decisions. It was eye-opening and a jolt to my view of myself. Since then, I have tried to at least recognize when it’s been fear that’s been constraining my choices. I don’t like to think of my decisions and outlook as being fear-based.
How do we reconcile it all? How do we balance fear and openness? How do we listen to the daily, world news reports and not develop protective callouses? How do we see machine guns and not succumb to the fear they arouse? (And that’s not even talking about the places in the midst of outright war!)
Being right here, right now, has made the world situation undeniable and right-up-in-my-face. The challenge then, is to acknowledge the terrors that exist, be prudently alert, choose openness anyway, then seek out and marvel at the kindnesses that reveal themselves at an individual level. It’s what I must do to keep from cowering, afraid.
When friends start planning their trips to Italy, they immediately think of going to Tuscany – Toscana. And when they ask me about my time in Italy, they often say, “Oh! Like Under the Tuscan Sun! Or Eat, Pray, Love!” No… and no.
I think that the notoriety of those films/books, coupled with the publicity generated by a particular Pacific Northwest local that has made a name for himself through travel, have swayed the perception of Italy and the “right” location of treasures to experience. Thus, Tuscany gets all the attention.
I’ve now been in and through 19 of the 20 regions of Italy and I can tell you that each one is its own sort of gem. Each region has its own food culture, its own medieval, hilltop towns, and its own swoon-inducing beauty. (Sardegna is the last hold-out of the 20 regions. On the list for next year.)
The central piazza in Città di Castello.
So many have said to me, “We ‘did‘ Florence. We ‘did‘ Rome. We ‘did‘ Venice. We ‘did‘ Cinque Terre…” (And only one of those is in Tuscany, by the way.) Each of those places is marvelous beyond belief. Each of those will make you head-over-heels in love with Italy. Yet you can come to Italy, never go to any of those Big Four, and if you’re willing to nestle in and root around, you can come away as enthralled as ever. You can meet people not yet weary of tourist throngs, eat foods specific to a 50 kilometer radius, find lodging in buildings from the 1400s. History, Art, Culture, Foods… and open-hearted folks are scattered from the heel and toe of The Boot in the south, all the way up to the mountainous top of The Boot in the north, (where you have to remind yourself that you’re still in Italy).
Fresh tagliatelle with shaved black truffles in Umbria.
I keep coming back here and to all that Italy offers of itself to me. I have nestled in. I have rooted around. And now this place has roots in me and a part of me is at home here. Now I can’t stay away. I crave the hearts of those that have become dear to me. I crave the foods I can’t find in Seattle. I yearn for the visual details that ignite my artist/designer’s eye. This is the eighth year that I have made this trek and long pause in this foreign country (including one 14 month stint). It has become hardly “foreign” anymore, and more familiar. I’ve “gone deep” and it pleases me.
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From Milano, eastward almost to the coast of the Adriatic Sea, then south to Città di Castello, Assisi, Bevagna and Orvieto in Umbria, then west to Follónica on the opposite coast, then back up north past Pisa, the exit for le Cinque Terre and back to Milano.
Last week I ventured into the land-locked center of the country to the region of Umbria, with my friend and incredible painter, Loredano Rizzotti. Umbria was region number 19 on my list and we had an itinerary that included Città di Castello, Assisi, Bevagna and Orvieto, ending in the seaside town of Follónica. All I can say is “Go to Umbria!” It’s lovely. There’s MUCH to see and many flavors to savor.
Today was a clear-sky day in Milano after a day, yesterday, of downpours. It’s on the brink of autumn. All was right with the world as I went out to do my grocery shopping one block up the road toward the Duomo. I continue to marvel at my being here, and count my blessings.
Stormy, wild wind and rain last night here in Milano. End of summer, early fall. But I arrived four days ago to a day that was fresh and bright and comfortable. The kind of day that makes one relax into the perfection of the moment. I had returned to my home-away-from-home.
This is the eighth year that I’ve made this “pilgrimage”, here to fill myself up with inspiration through a life so very much unlike that which I lead the rest of the year. Everything is different: my pace, my friends, my menu choices. Milano’s very urban surroundings yield proximity to everything, both an historic and contemporary built environment, the contrast of chaos and beauty. As a visual person, artist and designer, my eyes just can’t get enough of this place, this Italy. Details at every turn spark me. My time here in Italy, making Milano my home, adds to my perspective, shapes me and gives me something to take back to my Burien. I am so well-fed here, in all ways.
Eating Well
“Un caffè normale” – This is what you get if you order coffee. It’s the beginning of each day and the end of every meal.
Un caffè in an 1850’s cup.
Carlotta Cafè
The Carlotta Cafè has been a favorite of mine for the last 8 years.
They are dear people that I rush to see when I arrive.
Son, Erik, has learned the family recipes at the Carlotta Cafè, (named after his sister), and carves a whole, roasted pig for a large dinner party. Ninni, Erik’s father, stands in the background.
Insalata Tiepida di Piovra e Patate – Warm Salad of Octopus and Potatoes. My favorite! Fresh, marinated anchovies in the background.
Al Coniglio Bianco – The White Rabbit
A favorite, wonderful place along the Grand Canal – Naviglio Grande – owned by friend, Giampiero, and serving great food and wine: Al Coniglio Bianco.
Al Coniglio Bianco offers seating outside, along the canal, as well as within its intimate, cozy interior.
Foodstuffs gathered at Al Coniglio Bianco.
A large skillet of mussels, clams and scampi on paccheri pasta with a simple, fresh tomato sauce. (Frankie’s, in Burien, should take a lesson…)
After plucking shellfish and crustaceans in their lovely sauce, the napkin was rather soiled.
Al Pont de Ferr – “At the Iron Bridge”
A wonderful, and unusual, selection of breads on the table at Pont de Ferr.
Appetizers of a slider, stuff olive and patè morsel.
Risotto with pesto and green beans.
Tortelli with zabaglione and fresh peas.
Part of a mid-day snack: “Nervetti”, a pressed loaf of beef tendons, nerves and cartilage, prepared with onions. (I think it’d be good on pizza.)
Time with Friends
Painter friends along the canal: Luigi Marchesi, Loredano Rizzotti and Renato Giananti.
For the record, “Italian Food” is SO much more than pizza, spaghetti, ravioli and fettucine alfredo. In fact, “fettucine alfredo” doesn’t exist except in the restaurants catering to tourists away from home looking for their favorite edible myth.
Hold your hand up in front of you with your thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. That measures the typical range Americans imagine of the variety of food in Italy. Now, stick your arms straight out to your sides. That’s the REAL measure of the bountiful range of edible deliciousness you’ll encounter in Italy. And that bounty is not at all spread uniformly throughout “the boot”. You can go 50 kilometers and find a completely different food culture. There are some foods you’ll find in one town only.
I urge you. When you answer that call to go explore Italy, please don’t fall back on ordering pizza, spaghetti and ravioli. Sure, they will be good, and not like what you’ve had in America. Rather, find out what the local specialty is and eat it with gusto. And please, whatever you do, don’t seek out that well-known, international hamburger chain. You’ll be in the land of good food! Eat well! You might just find your next, new favorite dish.
In the last month, I stayed in the north of Italy: Milano, Sanremo, Genova, Pavia and small towns scattered in the hills south of Milan. The following photos show a selection of the dishes I ate with great pleasure.
(For contrast, check out “Eating the South” to see some of the foods I enjoyed when I traveled in Sicily, the southern coast and “heel of the boot” in 2011.)
(Click on the first photo to view the images “plate-size” and click through the slide show.)
Sardenara
Sardenara, freshly made by my friend, Sandra. Foccacia dough base with a simple tomato sauce, anchovies, taggiasche olives, capers and a few garlic cloves. Sanremo
Tortelli di Verdura
Tortelli di Verdura. Trattoria da Pasquale. Parasacco (south of Milano)
Salumi and caprese
Salumi and cheese plate with caprese. Sanremo
Octopus and potato salad. My favorite!
Warm octopus and potato salad – Insalata di piovra e patate. Carlotta Cafè. Milano
Fresh cheese and bread
High in the hills and hungry near Pizzocorno, we stopped at a cheese maker’s farm and bought a few slices of cheese and bread, to be eaten on a slab of wood as our table. Pizzocorno, Oltrepò Pavese
Lemon sorbet with fresh strawberries
Lemon sorbet with fresh strawberries
Pizza and beer
Pizza and Birra Moretti along the Grand Canal – Naviglio Grande. Milano
An UN-Italian breakfast
Sauteed zucchini, onion, beets and a little cheese formed and baked. Old silver and linen. Milano
Cheese with potato crust and pickled vegetables
Cheese in a crust of potato threads, with pickled vegetables. – Formaggio salva in crosta di palate con giardiniera. Trattoria Il Postiglione, Rubbiano di Credera
Pasta with beet sauce and gorgonzola cheese
Paccheri pasta with pureed beet sauce and gorgonzola ‘piccante’, cooked by painter, Loredano Rizzotti. Milano
Pasta with snails
House-made tagliatelle pasta with nettles and garlic sweetened with vine snails and mascarpone. Tagliatelle alle ortiche e aglio addolcito con lumache di vigna e mascarpone. Trattoria Il Postiglione, Rubbiano di Credera
Guinea fowl and garden vegetables
Free-range guinea fowl cooked with black tea, served with garden vegetables. – Faraona ruspante al thè nero con verdure dell’ orto. Trattoria Il Postiglione, Rubbiano di Credera
Baked apple with fresh strawberries
Baked apple slices with fresh strawberries and cinnamon. Milano
UN-Italian Salad
Not a typical Italian ‘insalatone’ – big salad – with greens, fresh asparagus, tomato and basil. Milano
Mixed, fried foods
‘Frito Misto’, a mix of fried foods, including zucchini flowers, fish, arancine (deep fried rice balls). Milano
Pasta with meat ragú and asparagus
Egg pasta with white meat sauce and asparagus. – Stracci di pasta all’uova con ragù di carni bianche e asparagi. Trattoria Il Postiglione, Rubbiano di Credera
Lunch table setting
Lunch table setting with Ewa and Loredano. Milano
Lunch table setting
Lunch table setting
Cabbage, onion, carrot, egg
After going into ‘carb overload’, I craved some veggies with a little protein: cabbage, onion, carrot and egg. Milano
Italian breakfast
This is the typical Italian breakfast: a shot of caffè – ‘espresso’ – and a pastry, often filled with Nutella or some other horribly sweet concoction. (Just can’t do it, myself.) Pasticceria Cucchi. Milano
Appetizer bread and veggie tarts
Appetizers of bread and veggie tarts. Genova
Prosciutto, salame and lardo
Prosciutto, salame and lardo – yes, LARD. Mmm. Try it. Delicious. L’Ustaria di Giùgaton, Pavia
How to drink wine at the Gíügaton
How to drink wine at the Gíügaton. There’s even a way to hold it in your hands. L’Ustaria di Giùgaton, Pavia
Pisarè
Pisarè – A combination of thumbnail-sized ‘gnocchi’ pasta nubs, beans, tomato and hot pepper. L’Ustaria di Giùgaton, Pavia
Strawberry macedonia
A very typical Italian dessert is ‘macedonia’, mixed, cut-up fruit. This is fresh strawberries with shaved chocolate and mint flowers, prepared by Loredano. Milano
Russian salad with chicken
Russian salad – insalata russa – with a sort of pickled chicken – pollo in carbine. L’Ustaria di Giùgaton, Pavia
Farinata
Farina – Garbanzo bean flour batter which is spiked with olive oil and salt and baked in a very hot oven. Here served plain and with two different cheeses. Genova
Coffee creme brûlée with cinnamon gelato
Coffee creme brûlée with cinnamon gelato – Creme brulé al caffè con gelato alla canella. Triennale Design Museum. Milano
Marmalade and chocolate tarts
Marmalade and chocolate tarts – Trattoria da Pasquale. Parasacco (south of Milano)
Dolce con zabaglione
Dessert of crunchy, fried, sweet nuggets surrounded by a ‘zabaglione’ sauce. L’Ustaria di Giùgaton, Pavia
Foccacia di recco
Foccacia di recco – Stracchino cheese trapped in between two, super-thin layers of dough. Genova
Panna cotta with chocolate
Panna cotta with chocolate sauce. Genova
Fruit tart
Fruit tart. Milano
Pickled, fried fish
Pickled fish – Pesce sottaceto. Trattoria da Pasquale. Parasacco (south of Milano
Rabbit with geranium
Rabbit with geranium – Coniglio con geranio. Trattoria da Pasquale. Parasacco (south of Milano)
Fennel and ‘bottarga’
Fennel and shaved fish roe – finocchio con bottarga. Carlotta Cafè. Milano
Tuna with tomatoes and taggiasche olives
Tuna with tomatoes and olives – Tonno al’isolana. Carlotta Cafè. Milano
Baked orata with taggiasche olives
Baked orata with taggiasche olives – Orata al forno con olive taggiasche. Carlotta Cafè. Milano
Tagliolino pasta with shaved asparagus
Tagliolino pasta with shaved asparagus – Tagliolino alla vecchia Milano, ‘la version primaverile’. Triennale Design Museum. Milano
Lime pudding with mint sauce
Lime pudding with mint sauce – Morbida di lime con salsa alla menta. Triennale Design Museum. Milano
Hand-sewn, vintage linen is not enough to help stay cool close to midnight on what was a 95-degree day with high humidity, now the windows closed up tight to keep the mosquitoes out, and a pair of fans pointing straight at me. Choose: be kept awake by the “I’m gonna get you” high whine of the mosquito aloft on fresh air, or the “I’m so hot I’m sweating in the middle of the night” whine amidst the white noise of fans. Nearing midnight, and facing eight hours of pondering the question, I really wrestle with the choice. Cool air sounds so good right now, but I spent all last night battling the little buggers that sampled me from head-to-toe. I could open the windows at any time. But, once open, if even one mosquito’s gotten in, it’s all over for the night’s sleep.
Five days ago the weather decisively did the switcheroo. Following coolly/warmly pleasant, we had a downpour that would have drenched you in 30 seconds. The next day, we awoke to dry pavement, humid air and a change… Summer came like that! Poof. Bingo. No going back… or not until fall sometime.
I may very well open the windows, turn the fans on high to – theoretically – blow the mosquitoes away from my body, and take cover under a cotton sheet and hope for the best. No air conditioning in this student apartment!
Buona notte.
Update: 4:00 a.m.
I wasn’t actually sleeping. The mosquitoes had won. So I got up. I’ll take a siesta later today.
Early Sunday morning and I’ve opened up the house to the first warm breeze since I arrived two weeks ago. Perhaps it will take the stone chill away so a borrowed, heavy wool sweater is no longer needed inside while I’m working.
Both church bells and sirens are chiming. Always dogs barking and the sound of scooters. Though birds chatter, they’ve paused their reliable early morning song until later.
For the first time on this visit, I am wearing a skimpy top, skirt and sandals as I “take some sun” and write.
This place continues to hold me in a hundred ways. I have no answers regarding its place in my life, but know that every time I leave, a part of me stays behind which begs my return. There is still discovery and enchantment, though very different than when I arrived for the first time in 2008. The biggest difference I find is that being here now moves me in a deeper way. The visual rapture I swoon over will always be here. It’s the relationships, however, that get me on the plane.
Yesterday, while out walking around, I caught a glimpse of the woman that was my Fashion Design instructor in 2008. I ran ahead, called out her name and we stopped to chat, both surprised and pleased to see each other.
Imagine being in a large, international city, halfway around the world from home, and being recognized by and recognizing other people! One-by-one I have created a community for myself with whom I share a wave, a “ciao” and conversation. This is what continues to stir and tug me, prompting each return. This is the magic that makes me marvel.
“Affamata di Sapere” – “Hungry to Know”. That seemed like a meaty phrase around which to create a letterpress printing project. It was last year, in conversation with a friend here, that I had first heard that phrase and it leapt back off the pages of my notebook just two days ago. I knew I wanted to integrate that into a piece.
Last year here in Italy, I traveled with an international group through the Legacy of Letters tour. Part of the program was the group collaboration on a large printed piece that was both poster and booklet. Our creation was rendered under the mastery and guidance of artist/letterpress printer, Lucio Passerini, while at the Tipoteca Italiana Fondazione. At the end of the tour, when farewells were being said, Lucio invited me to collaborate with him on a printed project the next time I was in Milano… which is now.
Two days ago I wrote to him with that phrase and a loose list of words swirling in my head… and no solid concept of the form it would all take. Lucio wrote back and said it would be a “typographic jam session” on-press. I liked that. We’d “wing it” and see where the words took us.
Our collaboration started at 3:00 yesterday with the consideration of the words… weighing, comparing their meanings, similarities and differences. We honed, each adding to and deleting from the list. Then we started brainstorming about design, form and fonts, many times finding that our ideas were mirrored by the other. Those were fun moments.
Letterpress printing boils down to each individual letter being put into place one-at-a-time. We were working with woodtype from the early 1900s, from Lucio’s collection. We composed the words, fussed with the spacing, then surrounded everything by a hundred various, mathematically-calculated pieces of metal until the whole thing created an entire rectangle. It was all then clamped rigid onto the press base, ready to be inked and printed. Lucio’s been doing this for so many years and I enjoyed watching his process, seeing his thoughts made visible as he worked.
We printed for 5 hours, adjusting layout and color on-the-fly. “A touch of red” in the green. “A little taste” of white and blue in the dark gray, aiming for more sophisticated color admixtures. The spring green came off the press first, hung to begin drying, then we printed the word list in its dark gray.
Look at all of the individual pieces to create those three words. And many are so small you can’t see them here.
I hung up the printed proofs then we stood across the room to judge the letterspacing and then make adjustments by adding and removing pieces of wood and metal between each letter. (Our green ink started out much too “lime” for my taste so we made it more of my favorite spring, wasabi green.)
Forty printed sheets were hung from a rack suspended from the ceiling, waiting for the second impression.
Sometimes typos hide when reading things backwards. Do you see the error in the following photo?
We printed a tissue paper proof to determine the best position of the word list, overlaying the “affamata” phrase.
We both smiled when the first, final piece came off the press.
“Hungry to Know. Passion, curiosity, perseverance, vitality, appetite.”
When we finished, we joined Lucio’s dear wife at their home, for a celebratory toast, appetizers and a chat. It was a very good day. Grazie, Lucio!
Here are shots of part of Lucio’s studio/print shop. Note how the light changed between 3:00 and 8:00 p.m. (Click on each one to enlarge the photo.)
