The Enchanter's Theorem

Two years ago, today, Ming, my little cat died.

Two years ago, today, I was in Florence, Italy, at a packed party of nothing but fellow artists, all brought to that one city to show and celebrate their art. I was the youngest person in the room. I had walked too far my first day. I was frozen by the cold, having grown to acclimated to a Southern California idea of winter. I kept having my wine glass filled by fascinating people, both literally and figuratively. I signed my first Biennale book for the hostess of the party and marvelled again at seeing my work represented that way.

Last year, was awful and wonderful. It was our last December in the old house. I was just pregnant and sick as a dog. I was still reeling from the destruction of my work life with the asshole. I'd just been scammed out of over $3000 by someone claiming that they wanted to buy two of my paintings, on top of having gone four months that year with no income.

So much has happened these last two years. The whiplash is enough to floor me.

From Florence to nearly destitute in one year. But we survived. I survived. We had help and chosen family that didn't let us fall.

Yes, Virginia, there absolutely is a Santa Claus. He lives in the hearts of everyone I know.

Yes.

I keep forgetting to mention, but one of my photographs from Florence was chosen for the Florence Schmap Travel Guide. How cool is that?

You can see it here, I do believe:

http://www.schmap.com/florence/sights_santamarianovella/#p=50666&i=50666_8.jpg

I am utterly screwed.

Fog socked in Florence Airport.

Flight was diverted to Pisa.

Got there and didn't get off the ground till three hours later.

Got to Paris CDG.

And there were no flights to get me home.

If it weren't for the fact that I'm trapped with a bunch of Americans at a craptastic Comfort Inn in the middle of fucking nowhere near the airport, the night would be a complete and utter waste and I would be sobbing. As it is, Ron keeps buying wine and the other Americans are fellow artists from the Biennale.

I have no toiletries.

I have no clean clothes.

I have my passport, my wallet, and Mr. Bear.

I'm going to go drink more wine.

Please, everyone, pray, light candles, whatever that you do that the weather lifts and I get home tomorrow.

I just want to get home.

In the meantime, I'm back to drink wine with my fellow members here in Purgatory.

Pray for me.

Dear, sweet gods, save me from my fellow artists! (No! Don't save me!)

How I do not have the hangover from beyond space and time is a divine miracle of cosmic proportions. How I am even awake is in the same category.

Last night utterly made up for the crappy day.

We had to wait a little while before they let us into the hall, and it wasn't particularly all that dressed up, but who cares? I had found Birgit outside before I went in and we found a table. We lost Josie to others, but Tore and Louise joined us and then a set of Americans, Deanna and her friend whose name I never got, James and Claire from the south of England, Massimo who was the only Italian, and Jose from Mexico. At one point, I was trying to parse an amazing conversation in four different languages: Spanish, Italian, Norwegian and Danish.

There was abundant wine. The food was surprisingly decent and just. kept. coming. Oh my gods, I have never eaten that much food in my life. From the little spinach thing to the mousse thing at the end, with three different wines and champagne at the end and then perfect little cups of caffe...

We talked and talked. They had two opera singers with accompaniment for the dinner entertainment who were divine. Sang the equivalent of the opera standards, but the accoustics of the hall were perfect for it. So imagine, if you will. Gorgeous wine, gorgeous conversation and over it all, arias. Gods.

We talked about Frida Kahlo. We talked American poets and literature and they convinced me that it didn't all suck. We laughed about San Francisco, which is a town we all universally loved. We even talked about the art that we actually hated in the show. That was provocative! And wonderful! I found it interesting that at our table we all universally did not like the uber violent art. We agreed it was technically strong, but we didn't want to look at it. I have hope for the world.

We talked about how the obsession with a popular artist can sometimes overshadow the actual work and get in the way of the art. That an artist can get in the way of their art and an audience if they're not careful.

At the end of the evening, I finally saw Josie, who tried to kidnap me with five other artists to the bar for a good night cup of tea. The gods took pity on me and the place we had agreed to meet was closed and I didn't spot them. Sam, my favorite waiter, waved to me out the door as he was sweeping up. It made my heart lift to realize that across the street, he could recognize me at almost 2 in the morning and stop to wave.

It was the kind of night and conversation that I will treasure for the rest of my life.

Oh, and then I got to my hotel and discovered I was locked out, there was an accident on the street and I stood in the cold, drunk, and laughed and laughed. The concierge let me in within like two minutes, but for a minute there, I wondered if I was sleeping in the park in zero degree weather.

I don't know when I fell asleep. I took a shower first, washed my face and hair, and sat up watching bad Italian television.

But I did finally manage to sleep and woke up at a whopping 7 AM.

So, thank you, Biennale. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you, Tore, Louise, Josie, Birgit, Deanna, Claire, James, Massimo, Jose, Michael, Aida, Julie, Toni, and everyone whose name I missed.

Today's the last day of the Biennale. I'm to the Fortezza for the last time. The camera is in the process of doing the last upload I'll be able to manage from the road. There won't be anything new till Wednesday. If I have time after the Biennale, I'm going to do one last wander through the San Lorenzo Mercato, which has become my favorite place here.

The award ceremony is at 3:30 PM. I'm hoping that my friends win medals.

Tomorrow, I leave for home with a camera full of memories and a log book full of entries, presents for my family in my carry on and a checked bag full to bursting.

I'm so glad that this is the way my adventure is ending.

* * *

Check out the last upload from the road, including a few pix of the gala: http://www.flickr.com/photos/angelanhunt

First off, pictures up: http:/www.flickr.com/photos/angelanhunt

Again, only a sliver, but I'm very happy with them.

I thought I was going to have a quiet evening alone last night, but the artists descended on me at the cafe. Was again held out till almost midnight, this time talking about process and light and dialogue with one's canvas and how one's life informs one's art... Oh, boring as hell probably to most people, but a gift for me. I can't remember ever having that kind of evening, not since I was in theater and we talked about the power a good show could have on a willing audience.

Storm then blew in raging hard last night. I was woken at 5 AM by banging of shutters. I was not entirely certain I was going to be able to venture out of the hotel at all. Luckily, the rain petered off around 9 AM, so I'm off to the Fortezza to look up someone's art, and then off for a tromp. I think to San Marco today. We'll see. We've seen how good my plans are. Ha!

Anyway, I've only had about five hours of sleep and I'm feeling it. Tonight is the gala dinner at the Fortezza for the artists. It starts at 9 PM. So, another late night.

This morning, I had the town to myself for the most part. There's something about the quiet and clean after a storm.

I leave for home the day after tomorrow. I am past ready to go home. The trip has been incredible and I have a ton of new ideas for studio work, but I am baked. Baked, baked, baked.

Oh, and in the absolutely magical moment: I was having lunch in San Lorenzo and fed the pigeons as I do afterwards. Except these pigeons? Sat in my lap and on my feet and ate out of my hands. People were taking pictures of me with the birds.

They didn't do it with anyone else.

It was a gift.

That's the kind of thing I'll treasure forever. That, and the sounds of the bells ringing over Florence after the rain.

This morning was devoted to laundry.

Had the place to myself, which was pleasant. Only the occasional person came by. One bum asked for 50 cents for caffe and I gave it to him.

Felt good to actually be doing something. The tromping around and staring at art has been good, but at a certain point, I am just not good at enforced leisure. I require work.

I also feel like not quite as big a wimp once I caught the news and the temp. 13 degree C during the day and a whopping 2 degree C at night. In other words, fucking freezing. My LA skin wants to hide.

Today, I'm off to the park and possibly the English Cemetary. Dunno. Haven't fully decided yet. Whatever the plan ends up being, I am not heading to the Fortezza. Hanging around the photography seems to scare people off. So, none for me.

Tomorrow is the Gala Dinner for the Biennale. I realized I brought completely inappropriate clothes and I had a decision to make. I could be stylish and freeze, or I could be warm.

Warm has won.

In other news, it's been gratifying if odd to see the Biennale on the local TV here and to hear it being advertised on the radio. It's one thing to know something's a big deal. It's another to be hit in the face with it.

And in the complete non-sequiter: Dolph Lundgren and Chuck Norris are huge in Italia. Who knew?

So that's me. Off to tromp. Think good shooting thoughts. It's an exceptionally gray and overcast day. We'll see what I get.

It is fucking freezing this morning.

I didn't sleep at all well last night, so I've been up since stupid early local time. Holy crap, it is too cold for me. I'm under three layers and my trench, and I'm still freezing.

Last night was again spent at the cafe with the artists, though two new people joined us. So all told, we were: me, Josie, Tore, Birgit, Liesl, Helga and Louise. It was a lovely evening, though I turned in early at the time, because I thought I was so tired.

Yeah. I shoulda stayed out and had some wine.

The waiter at the cafe now knows me by name. His name is Sam, which cracks me up. It's not exactly the typical Italian name, especially since he looks like Spider Jerusalem with a goatee. He digs my photography. He also takes great care of me, without hitting on me.

On the way around last night, I found that there's a tiny church next to my hotel with a gorgeous little courtyard in front of it. The facade was never complete, but in this tiny container garden, there's a gilt fresco of a Madonna and child. Beautiful in the darkness. I hope the photo does it justice.

Tomorrow is laundry day.

Today, first the Fortezza to pick up my banquet ticket. Then a slow meander to the Uffizi for some Botticelli. Birth of Venus, here I come.

After that?

Well, I have 4 Gb of memory on my camera. Heh. There are photos to take.

Pray for my feet.

In the meantime, a tiny sliver more of what I've shot is over at flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/angelanhunt

I'm going to be uploading photos for days when I get home...

The David.

I've had time to parse and process what I saw.

Not all art needs to be Great Art.

But when it is? Well, then it's things like the David. And there's a reason that it's *The* David and not just a David. If all art was Great, the David would be nothing special.

But it is.

It is huge. They say that, but then you see it.

And they leave out the most important part.

The expressiveness of the face. The resolve, but also the fear. This is a youth, a boy, his hands and feet too big, yet to grow into being a man. The stone in his hand. The sling in the other.

He hasn't killed Goliath yet and in this moment, he is afraid.

This is what sculpture can be. This is the kind of power that I felt when I saw Rodin's Gates of Hell for the first time. The way I felt in the presence of Rodin's Caryatid Fallen Under Her Stone.

It is astonishing and made me want to weep. Maybe I'm just sentimental that way. But I didn't see boredom on any face there that saw that statue.

And all of this in a building that from the outside is the definition of unassuming. The little door. And then you walk into the first room and there is the Rape of the Sabines. For me, it was a revelation. It's not as perfectly realized as the David. It's raw and powerful.

On the way to the David is a Pieta realized by one of Michaelangelo's students. The proportions are off and who gives a fuck. It's amazing.

There are benches everywhere and no hurry to leave. I sat and looked at the David for half an hour.

And in a corner? A painting of Venus and Cupid with the most lush, curvy woman I've ever seen. Hail, Venus! That's what I'm talking about.

Beautiful. Worth every penny of 10 Euro. Every damn penny.

* * *

Last night was the other reason why I came.

I stayed out till nearly midnight, having run into three other artists. We sat in the little cafe on the corner and talked art and culture for hours. I was the youngest one there.

My mind's rather blown. LA is the land of the young. If you're over 30, there's a bit of an attitude that your career is over. But here, surrounded by other artists?

This is a life with longevity. How about that?

And then I got back to my room and a concert by Genesis was playing on one of the channels. Yay, Phil Collins!

* * *

This morning, I called home. Spoke to my family. I miss them more than ever, but I now have a bag filled with tiny presents for them.

My Mouse said to me clearer than she's ever spoken, "I love you, Momma. I miss you."

I wish they were all here with me.

* * *

This ran long, but that's okay.

More pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/angelanhunt

Ciao, everyone!

doo do doo do

And literally, that's what's happened. After the rain, this morning dawned gorgeous clear. Perfect shooting weather. I have no intention of spending it indoors. That idea can just bite me.

Non-sequiter: Little perv of a boy just tried to show me porn on the internet. Hon, don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs. I take photos of naked women. I told him to take a hike, but he thought he was very clever.

I should have pushed him harder.

Anyway, moving on...

I've bought more batteries for the camera. Photos are uploading as we speak. 26% as of right now. *sigh* My poor bandwidth requirements. At least it's working. I had initial problems hooking the camera up.

Noto bene: Next time I do this, I *must* have my own laptop and wireless, if not aircard capability. This being a slave to other people's gear is bullshit.

I'm barely awake today. Didn't sleep well, but I think that's more the time change still screwing with me than anything else. That and missing the hell out of my family and mourning my little cat. It hits me at odd moments. Last night, it was 2 AM, I woke up reaching for my kitty and remembered that she was gone.

Yeah.

But other than that, it's a perfect crisp day here today. Bring on the photos! If I'm lucky, and I feel up for it, I'm going to shoot from the top of the Basilica today. Ha! Camera, ho!

It is raining on my head and warmer than yesterday, thank Crom.

Photos are going up at my Flickr as I am typing this, so you can see my first day so far. Realize, these are unbalanced and a bit dark. But they are a peek. :)

http://www.flickr.com/photos/angelanhunt

To give you an idea, I started an hour ago and it has only uploaded 22%. Oh well. I may have to upload more on another day.

***

I am in Miyazaki Land. That is the closest description I can give. For those of you who saw Kiki's Delivery Service, you will know what I mean. Sea birds flying up the Arno and circling in front of the Ponte Vecchio. The placid calm of the river. The over fat pigeons. The cloud covered sky. It is a romantic city in all the expressions of that word. I have seen more couples walking arm in arm here than I think I have ever seen anywhere else, and it makes my heart glad every time.

People speak as much mangled English as I speak mangled Italian, so I have been getting by very well, one day in to the trip.

I have yet to get over to the Biennale. As soon as I log off here, I am off for the exposition and to verify that my art made it intact.

Yesterday, I hit up the party for the American artists. It ended up being fully international a party, which was awesome. I met some wonderful people and can not wait to see them again. The breadth of art that is represented, just from that slice of party is staggeringly wonderful. The talent in one place was amazing. And best of all?

Everyone loved what they were doing.

When was the last time when you were at a party where everyone could say that?

Today's plan of attack is to hit the Biennale, as I said, and then, if the rain does not make me melt, head on over to the Accademia to ogle David and the Rape of the Sabine Women. I hope they will allow photographs, unlike the Pitti, where it was verboten. Fuckers.

However, photographs were allowed of the Giardino di Boboli (Boboli Gardens), though calling them a garden is like calling the Hindenberg a small balloon. Dude. It took me *two hours* to walk just in a fairly straight line from one end to the other. My dogs are barking their fool head off. And I mean to torture them some more today.

26% on the upload. Enjoy, folks. I mean to catch up on the news. I have no CNN in my hotel room. barriequark will tell you how much this is driving me nuts.

In the meantime, I am making sure to hit an access point once a day. If there is something that you want me to know, please leave a comment or email me. I do not have much time to hit my friends list.

Be well, everyone. I am off to stand in the rain.