Rising over the ridge at seven comes the Tuscan sun to wake up the sleepy olive trees. Can this hard dry earth accept another day in the sun? The earth is hard and wears a thin grass coat of burnt yellow and raw umber. The cypress trees stand tall and elegant like solders guarding the estates of man. The moist air in the folds of the hillside is burning off in a milky haze. The clay roofs begin to reflect light and reveal the farm houses that blend into the hillside. The air is cool but the sun-rays are already warm on the skin. No clouds. It will be a long run for brother sun, climbing a clear morning, hovering above a dusty afternoon and receding into a soft evening glow.

June 24,2017

Wind swept, stone struck, ringed walls. Flat plain below with patch work of yellow fields. It’s the feast of Corpus Christi and a Eucharistic procession flows through the ancient hill town. Plaster is missing in patches revealing 800 year old stonework. Every glance is a Fantasy photo, a James Bond movie setting. The sun is hot, my calves are burning on the steep inclines, but a cool wind sweeps down through the cave-like alleys to bring refreshment. Shop keepers sit at their small doorways, like hobbits. The cafe’s line their table and chairs out along the stone walls, and cover them with cloth, silver, and class wear. Leather and craft shops brings their rack out in the cobbled streets. Everything is fine, solid and lasting in this stone fantasy-town.

June 18, 2017

Food and Freedom

The Father gives himself completely and intimately to us and yet does not impose his way. He walks with us but does not chose our steps. He breaks bread with us, sustains and accompanies us, but we often don’t recognize Him. He is the way and he is on the way with us. We discover him in the breaking of the bread and he sets us free.

Sunday, June 18

The roof is made of rounded heavy orange clay tiles. They are lichen stained in patches of green,grey and black. The shutters and doors are heavy oak with iron bars to reinforce. The stone walls are 2 feet thick and rise up from the earth forming a kind of cave entrance into the hillside. There are no screens. The bedroom window opens out to steep olive groves rolling down like waves toward the flat yellow valley below. The wind surges and whistles through the hard scape and the heavy shutters bang on the stone. The House and land merge together into one. I am living in the earth, in stone, wood, clay and glass, made by man from the earth. The sun burns above and bakes below,  but these dense walls of stone and the broad limbs of the trees are holding back it furry. A cooling breeze moves within the house, refreshing my spirit.

 

June 18, 2017

Milky grey and white, opaque yet translucent, patches of pink, black spider veins and grey strands and bands.

Hard edged, cornerstones, yet soft worn curves and carvings. Impervious yet porous.

Gorgeous open facing and changing hue and mood with the light of day. Rain soaked becoming the color of human skin.

Absorbing, revealing and concealing the stains and stresses. The marble face of time.

June 16, 2017

“The house of God”

St. Ambrose baptized St Augustine

4 doctors of the church sat in the chair here and preached here.

52 pillars, one for each week.

3400 statues, most of any church in the world.

4th largest church in the world by volume.

Artisans from France, Swiss, Germany came to work in marble.

Total project 600 years to Complete.

135 spires on the roof. Each with a stature of a martre on top.

Napoleon was coronated here in 1805

The relic of the holy Nail is housed above the suboreum

Candolia marble from N itay. Changes colors. In rain it turns the color of human skin.

Each spire is different. All the grill and Latrice work is different. Each stone flower unique. No repetition.

The message of the Duomo:

God is in the details

Man reflects the glory of God in his creative energy. And nature reflects the same in its infinite variety, detail, and singularity.

June 16,2017

Everyone and everything spills out into the street at night. Chairs, tables, glasses, bottles, cigarettes, scooters, bikes, everything. Some side walks are blocked and you have to walk out into the street among the moving cars and scooters to get past. The building walls are pealing, chipped, and cracked. The tram tracks cut through the cobblestone streets and the above wires weaving through the mix overhead. Sepia light, humid haze, mustard and terra-cotta walls, dirty stone. Streets reflecting auto lights. Music from the bars drifting out into the open and mingling with the beautiful language. A feramonal steam is rises off a rich stew of humanity.

June 15, 2017