namesake

past/present/future. nothing as beautiful.

and those older tell me maria was always fun. women would have braids in their hair by the end of the day. they tell me she was madly in love; devoted. she was beautiful. like i cannot even describe. she had good legs, even in her 80s.

the greatest compliment was that i resemble my namesake. i can only strive each and every day to be the maria i am to be.
con amore.

therapy dinner

it had been a while since i last cooked anything specifically "italian." i've been in a slump, and often if i'm not happy, i do probably the worst thing i can do: not cook. i lose motivation, even though i realize if i'd just put in my 30 minutes to an hour, i'd be happy again, eating something so delectable. so here we are:

on the inside is this:

and also grated parmesean (with part of the knuckle of my thumb).

make yourself happy too!!


i don't know what i will do this summer without this book. maybe i'll be better having to ask the locals.

$5,000 tradimento

i can be a strong caprese girl, too. i have the proof.

The Secret

there is one painting i haven't seen in person. there is one painting i want. it was a sketch for the painting, the secret. my grandparents have the secret; it's unfinished and rather eerie. the pastel sketch is what i want.

and in one swift move, at the cost of four grand, my cousin, nina marie, betrayed the bernardo and barse family entirely. selling to strangers at an art dealer house.

1. that's fucking insane. not one person in our family has any desire to be rid of the paintings of my family and capri.
2. let's just say someone was insane and wanted to get rid of the art. the LEAST someone could do, the DECENT thing to do is to first offer the artwork to family.
3. i mean who does not understand the family consensus that we want the art to stay in the family? i thought this was perfectly clear. i've known this for as long as i was cognizant of what the paintings were.

why do i continually feel that my access to my own family is blocked while random strangers have access to the lives of rosina ferrara and maria primavera??

i will not regret one ugly word spoken to nina marie nor will she receive sympathy when she begins to feel the weight of guilt and regret that is surely on its way for her grandiose mistake and betrayal. it wasn't just this one painting she sold....

but this is the one that i wanted more than anything.
maria's beauty is simply arresting. i simply have no words to convey the overwhelming, the sense of understanding in her eyes, and the sense of loss, how i want so badly to be her: maria primavera bernardo


(addendum, 4/30/07: it seems that all three siblings sold paintings, not just nina marie. what a waste.)

Le Chiese

My first lover in Italy had peppered hair. He was only 28 and he hated it. But, of course, it’s what I noticed first; that, and it was curly. Curly and graying!!!! I thought. Mio dio, perfetto. I knew I would be after him in minutes; we talked about politics. I got embarrassingly drunk and forgot my camera in his car. We were to meet the next day so I could retrieve my belongings. I spent the whole day with him, and the next. And so on. When I left him for the next city in my vacation plans, I was confusingly devastated. I looked in the mirror that night and found a pure white hair on the top of my head. I thought it a sign and returned to Rome the next day to stay with him. We walked the city together and because I walked with a native, I too felt native, not a tourist. I had my own personal translator. In Siena we had large lunches, complete with the most delicious wine. We were already arguing; we’d return to the hostel, argue more, cry, and then make love. Paolo called me overdramatic, but I had thought surely in Italy my behavior would blend in.

In every city that I stayed, I visited as many chiese as I could. Seeing as how Paolo and I are both atheist, he seemed rather perplexed. I sat inside on a pew staring at the altars. It was not long before I began praying – to who I’m not sure. The first altar I prayed at was in Basilica di San Pietro and Paolo was not with me that day (in fact, I did not know I was to meet Paolo that very night). One of the reasons that I even wanted to visit Rome was to see the Pietà. Behind dirty plexiglass, zillions of tourists snapping photos with their cellphones and shitty digital cameras, Maria still held all of her wonder, all of her dignity, pain, purity and grace. Perhaps it was she who was perfect, and not her son. But something in me came alive. There was meaning for love and life. Voglio essere una moglie e una madre. And in Italy, motherhood is still sacred.

I prayed at le chiese, mainly to myself. Trying to understand new love, understand me, and everything else. I wondered about the saints, their devotion, obsession, and eventual sacrifice. Le chiese are dark, cool, and damp – a much needed relief from Italy’s summers. They are forever quiet and bring peaceful solitude from the craziness of the streets. I peek in, creep in, when I need a space for meditation. I sat through a service or two, awkward without the lifelong practice – and understanding the language would have helped little. Here, at Easter, I wanted to go to church. See the people filled with hope. Wanting to go back – it makes sense really. It is finding comfort in an obsessive ritual. It’s what they call home.

Paolo fell in love with my praying, maybe because he found peace for just a moment, or maybe because he began to understand my duplicitous ways – “I love when you (improvisely) change the subject, and when you talk to yourself inside the churches.” Nevertheless, I still have my white hair; and it’s the mark that I carry.

ohio still sucks

you might remember i posted this photograph a couple months earlier:

essentially: italy's effect, personified. this woman embodies how i feel when i am in italy -- weightless, beautiful, dancing, and carefree.

this is by far one of the most beautiful graffiti pieces i've ever seen in my life, and i happen to be lucky enough to live down the street from it. and frankly, it's rare to find anything even remotely beautiful in ohio. la bella donna lives on the side of a convenience store and i pass by her at least twice daily on my walk to and from the bus stop. there was a time when i was nervous she would disappear, but she remained steadfast, reminding me of italy, reminding me i would soon be there--i would be her.

today, however, she is gone. someone has finally painted over her so that now i am greeted by a plain beige wall everyday instead. ohio just made itself uglier. it has proved, yet again, that it has little to nothing (good) to offer. viva l'italia!

dire

1. my external hard drive has crashed. this perhaps will set me back. sometimes i think this is the sign. the sign that i should not be here... i should be there. and then i remember i'm on the cusp of something great. andy says it will only get better. this is only material, rachel. he says it is a sign that i should backup.
2. but fabio's mother is ill and needs a liver transplant. and when i think in perspective, sento egoista. e poi, penso a quest'estate a italia.
3. questa è dove fabio legge nella piazza.

and i need his strength.

unfinished

offrire

our ways to offer

manifesta di 4 marzo

i want to hurry up and move to italy. fall passionately in love with an italian and get married. i want to dance on the streets and make love all the time. drink wine, sing songs, and say hello to my neighbors. swim in the sea and have babies. and then make art about all that. and publish it. who wouldn't want to read about that or see it? because everybody wants that passion and they rarely have it. and then they can remember the flame. - march 4

il affare

towards the end of last quarter and over my spring break, i neglected writing here frequently. which is not my intention. so maybe a little update is required. sorry, i find this slightly unprofessional and artistic to include business. allora:
1. i've received george barse's letters. (however, i'm also taking a graduate level english class, so time for reading seems nonexistent).

2. fabio's mother is not well and due to this we are not able to work on our art project as much as we'd like. we are still unclear as to what is wrong, but they are on my mind frequently and i hope her situation will improve as soon as possible.

3. also, many people have asked how i will represent fabio on this blog. they've requested a photograph:


4. a cousin of the barse family randomly discovered this blog, and consequently, me. he has sent me a painting postcard of my greatgrandmother. i believe eventually we should catalog all of the family paintings.

5. for spring break, i was able to visit my family in oklahoma. mother and i made many dresses and a couple skirts as well. this is something that my great grandmother did for as long as i know, and something i am doing for to wear quest'estate. mother will ship them to me (as i did not have room for to take them home) and then i will post. i was also able to visit with my grandparents. i have new photographs of the family to archive, and i even learned some napolitan dialect from grandpa!

una lettera aperta

caro mio,
she reminded me how much i enjoy writing. all those feelings.
and of course, i think to you.
e certo, penso a tu.

ti porto sempre con me.
penso alle parole poetic per usare.
ma ho paura...
ti dire che ti amo.

ma quando ti penso,
io so c'è qualcosa di speciale...
io so che ti amo.

mia storia e mio futuro sentono più sicuri di mio presente.

ma insieme....è troppo?
forse no.

dimmi tutto.
desidero sapere tutto.

(and is it even worth adding?: mi manchi)

Insieme Uguale

Click to Play

insieme/uguale (touching for rachel languages) a manifestation di fabio rocco oliva e rachele maria

my first video. our first video. a consecration of egalitarian partnership. and a manifesto of the italian language. in regards to a conversation.....

improvisation, pt. 2

Click To Play

one of the greatest sounds and smells

Click To Play

boiling water for ravioli and homemade sauce

improvisation

one of my goals in life is to cook as well as my mother. although i am a good cook, i have little improvisation skills. i can only improvise recipes. i cannot improvise my refrigerator. but last night i did.

premade ravioli (in this case i had spinach pasta filled with gorgonzola with garlic)
for the sauce ingredients you will need:
olive oil (GOOD italian extra virgin olive oil)
garlic
sweet onion, sauteed
dry basil
red pepper flakes (crushed in hand)
mushrooms, sauteed
fresh roma tomatoes
artichoke hearts
salt and pepper to taste

put the tomatoes in last, due to the fact that they soften and warm quickly and you don't want them to completely turn to mushy liquid.

of course, dinner is not complete without a glass of red wine....

guardi queste fotografie!

I have stumbled upon this photographer, Branson De Cou. I don't really know who he is, except what's important: he photographed Italy during the 1920s and 1930s and now there is an archive in California, online.

Here is the image index.

De Cou worked in the format of lantern slides. This means he is photographing on glass plates, which, when processed, form a transparent positive (like slide film), and were to be projected creating life size images. De Cou apparently contracted four different painters to color his images.

What I notice is that I feel not much has changed (which is odd, considering Italy was leading up to a fascist regime at the time of the photographs). The architecture remains, the roads are the same. More cars, more people, more street vendors. Same people, same color, same smiles.

per essempio (De Cou siena v. my siena),




Allora, some cities to note of course are:
Capri
Napoli
Amalfi

La Pasticceria

(assisi, july 2006)


I had almost forgotten how wonderful
these were:


Most of my summer will be spent in Napoli. Last summer was strange: Napoli seemed tame and un-fun. Everyone insisted on warning me how dangerous and terrible the city was. I walked around paranoid for no reason, photographing little of the city. I did not see anything even remotely suspiscious. Even the traffic was less intense than Roma. My complaint of the city stemmed from having to walk through sewer to reach my hostel and all the closed chiese. Yet, the people were ridiculously generous and helpful, kind and flirtatious. (My kind of people.) As I walk down Via Toledo from Galleria Umberto I I decided to finally indulge in the wonderfulness of la pasticceria napoletana.

The more I talk with Fabio, absorbing his passion, the more I fall in love with Napoli. I learn: it is not that hard. With the history and reputation la città continues to have, it is clear the people have hope. Anch'io.

(Note: Some will notice to their chagrin that I am linking to Italy wikipedia. If you want to read, click on the English language. But what you will also notice is that in English, we have very little information. Unfocus your desire to know what each word means, and take the entirety of the page in. It's like listening to Italian: by the sheer volume of things, you realize their passion and understand what they say.)

l'autobus è molto in ritardo

On Tuesdays, I take the 4:15 pm bus home. I love this bus. It is filled to capacity, in American standards. It reminds me of Roma: damp bodies smashed together, semi-chaotic. “Ma’am I’m sorry you can’t ride this bus, it’s too full, nobody behind the line.”
“It’s OK! They can squish together,” I tell him.

My body is trained now: I know how to bend my knees, limp my body, shift my weight into the turns, bumps, accelerations, and brakes, and how to hold the bars properly. Look like I’m minding my own business, when in fact, I’m attempting to eavesdrop on as much as possible. In Roma, less seats, more people. It’s fun to watch how uncomfortable Americans are in crammed buses. (And really, it’s not that cramped). And even more fun, yet appalling, to notice how many American men my age do not give up their seat. In fact, I will give up my seat to a man with crutches before someone else does. In Italia, we ride together; in America, we ride separately in the same bus.

In Italia, the bus is an adventure: too many people, too many buses it becomes impossible to know which one to take, and vague stops. Should I buy a ticket for the bus or not? They can’t possibly check when there are 80 people on a bus. But if I get caught, it’s 35 euro. Everything is a decision in Italy; every decision carries various factors; it’s all worth pondering. I’ll get to where I need to be, make a friend or two while waiting for the bus or conversating on the bus, and have fun all at the same time. In Italia, we ride together; in America, we ride separately in the same bus.

Rachel/Rosina

Click to Play

la storia di rachel e maria e rosina dice di fabio rocco oliva

siena, july 2006

eating figs.
we ate like the romans.
paolo pulled back the flesh. we pulled at the flesh. we ate the pulp. i let it drip down my chin.

he fed me the fruit. he fed me my heart.
______________
the love i feel.... it's different in italy. it's better. passion becomes undeniable, filling every cell in my body. smiling and giggling naturally follow. i feel comfortable in my own skin.

in usa, i am deemed obsessive and crazy. in italy, i'm simply passionate. andy said one day i would meet someone who appreciated my "intensity." allora....

la megliore cena

this evening was by far the best italian dinner i've ever made. one of my friends, peter, lived in italy for 4 months as a study abroad. he hates beans; he ate them tonight. he even said, "meglio del sesso!!"

and this dinner sort of solidifies it for me. i've learned i'm no longer to say "i want to move to italy." instead i say "when i move to italy. or i will move to italy." i will begin the affirmations. beginning late last night and into today, i began to have distinct and vivid visions of italy. of my time there l'estate passato. how i used to call to paolo: mano mano mano mano mano!!! for to hold his hand. e poi, the back streets of napoli. how i took the subway back and forth. the multitude of street vendors. the anonymity. the joviality; the warthm; the closed down chiese (perchè??); the shoes i wanted but didn't buy; the ubiquity of dead sea creatures; unknown vias; strangers offering me dinner, caffè. and i think about what i shall name my children.

stasera, cucino:



attending guests:

shawna, zac, peter, ian

dear italy,

Dear Italy,
i think i started the school year wrong. you see, i'm letting things get to me. i'm letting me miss you. because i know right now you are still warm, the people are kind, and your food is fresh. i won't see you till june, maybe even july. i'm so sorry i left you, and i cannot wait to return. it's that i have to finish school. and i begin learning your language soon. because i want to curl up inside you and reside there. i'm so sorry i've been angry. i should have done what you told me to. i should have let go. i should be enjoying. (la prima lettera di 26 settembre)

e oggi (la seconda lettera):
dear italy,
i guess i feel compelled to thank you. for reminding me what passion really is. and that it is ok. for reminding me that american taboos are stupid and damaging. you make me want to be better. you make me inspired to educate myself, to demand a voice! you remind me that i have to fight for all the people. that i cannot let go of my ideals, of all the politics. love is crazy. and intuition... i must necessarily follow it. voglio essere una moglie e una madre e una artista. e con tu, so potere. ti amo.
non vedo l'ora di ti vedo ancora!!!! solo quattro mese!!
a presto,
tua rachelmaria.

blog statement

i think i had it figured out last night. at least most of it. but i talked about it, i didn’t write it. and now i have to remember, which seems so easy and so difficult at the same time.

i’m lost. what the fuck am i doing in this town? i mean… i know: going to grad school, getting my MFA. but italy changed everything. now i bide my time, wait to flee the country. to go and be happy. to go enjoy. i wonder if this is making sense.

i was named after my great grandmother, from the island of capri. falling in love in italy is much different; it feels more real. and it was. so i’ve rearranged my life: i’m learning the language, talking to the people, cooking the food, and spending as much time there (instead of here) as is possible. this is not easy: pretending you are somewhere you are not.

i will find my family; i will find my self.

and so, i have a writer friend in napoli. fabio says: “i'm a writer. searching for a lenguage-brigde between body and letters(madness).” when i read his words, i’m overwhelmed with inspiration. i’m fascinated with the language we have created together, and the connection made through a spoken and unspoken understanding. there is an understanding that i have not felt before, a longing. and for now, this placates me and my sadness.

do you know i've never missed anything so much in my life? not even oklahoma. i want to touch every inch of that country. i want to curl back up into his bed and i want anna to hold me as if i were her own. i want to walk the whole city with blisters and twisted ankles. i want to squish into the pockets of space in the buses. i want gnocchi and soccer and bicchieres of wine and confusion and giggling uncontrollably and strange showers and gelato every afternoon and sunshine and all the chaos. i want italian children.

in italy, i feel weightless, i feel carefree, i feel happy and beautiful and drenched in sun. i feel healthy, loved, loving and in love, ready and spontaneous. curious, a little hesitant, but devoted. i feel at home. and in this collaboration, i have potential to feel those things again. in this collaboration, there is potential. for understanding everything. for knowing all the stories.

la collaborazione

fabio scrive:
The reality I see is the reality and that is
the words: every single piece - fragment -
it is the
restlessness of the word.
I love going around for the city and to see
men's pieces thrown to earth,
decrepit buildings,
marginal fragments, the fragmented literature and
discontinuous it reflects itself in the fragmented reality and
discontinuous. it is advanced for explosions and I don't believe in the
history in any form of unity. the totality that reality embraces is
exploded, fragmented.

e io faccio:


fabio scrive:
I love walking alone for the city looking for my
shadowriting. it is an intense period of my life. I don't love to be
firm. And I walk in my black coat, and working on the street thinking
also at your pictures. I building something but I need time. And we
have time for our collaboration.

e io faccio:

quando passeggiato, penso a fabio e le sue parole. e poi, ho visto questa! la donna più bella, ballante. unexpected, overwhelmed: it was the time that my words could not be used and instead my eyes and fingers.

le attese

sometimes i am overcome with desire. and longing. i have phantom throbbing. like i will crawl out from beneath my skin. i want to scream and shimmy shake. today ann told me to give myself permission. to let go. in fact, she gave me her permission too. perhaps she knew i didn't have the strength to do it for myself.

why can't i let go?? why can't i just let myself enjoy this? dimmi dimmi dimmi, perchè no lo so. dimmi che mi ami. dimmi che sono OK. dimmi che sono vivo.

and don't tell me there's something poetic about the awkward silences.