exactly one month from today, i will see you. i will touch you. and you will feed me.
a long time coming, and my passion still burns.
mi fai sorriso. mi fai felice. non c'è niente (nessuno) più che vorrei.
allora, sto aspettando....
May 28, 2007
May 21, 2007
perchè non capite?
it seems quite a few are having a hard time grasping my ideas. and the problem is that my work makes so perfect sense to me, i do not understand the confusion others have and thus have a hard time explaining to non-believers. my ideas are shared with fabio; they are so innate in fabio's life that i find perhaps his words much more eloquent than my own:
28 gennaio:
Tell me about you and your art. Is
it the same art and live? Yes, of course and fighting to eat when with
art you can have [no - rj] money, and so more an more art is life and there is
nothing to smile about this.
19 febbraio:
And i am italian, Rachel! and you - Rachel - are American,
old power and new power touching in us, in our way to have art in our possibility to live.
I want to touch your artistic way to connect reality,
confusing languages,
grammatical way to write,
mixing ourlanguage
and language of man are many and so fusing visual and lips,
and voice too
putting in the fascination of your photos in which the body could talk –
your blu body fragmented in blu pieces is the imagine of this new millennium –
and building bridge between our reality – and they are not so much differents.
Because there is no more straight road
because there is no more unity
but just fragments and pieces and I feel the bloody in veins rivering when we put together the different fragment of our art over the ocean between us.
24 febbraio:
everyday
and
i am
enjoy
to
looking for
to see
how
coul be
my artistic way
with another
becouse
art
that is
closed
in a room
is not art
is just
masturbation
stupid narcisism
...
yes
for this reason
i say
there is nosense
in world
and for this
reason
we
are
able
to create
what we want
for us
it is
the story
of infinity
space
there
is
no center
so everypalce
is
in the same moment
the center
and the oppost of it
so
the only
thing to do
is
to give
our sense
...
my art is not just about becoming italian, becoming who makes me happy, this is life, a way to living, a means of understanding; simply: communication. this is everything. or at least an attempt to know everything. through confusion.
28 gennaio:
Tell me about you and your art. Is
it the same art and live? Yes, of course and fighting to eat when with
art you can have [no - rj] money, and so more an more art is life and there is
nothing to smile about this.
19 febbraio:
And i am italian, Rachel! and you - Rachel - are American,
old power and new power touching in us, in our way to have art in our possibility to live.
I want to touch your artistic way to connect reality,
confusing languages,
grammatical way to write,
mixing ourlanguage
and language of man are many and so fusing visual and lips,
and voice too
putting in the fascination of your photos in which the body could talk –
your blu body fragmented in blu pieces is the imagine of this new millennium –
and building bridge between our reality – and they are not so much differents.
Because there is no more straight road
because there is no more unity
but just fragments and pieces and I feel the bloody in veins rivering when we put together the different fragment of our art over the ocean between us.
24 febbraio:
everyday
and
i am
enjoy
to
looking for
to see
how
coul be
my artistic way
with another
becouse
art
that is
closed
in a room
is not art
is just
masturbation
stupid narcisism
...
yes
for this reason
i say
there is nosense
in world
and for this
reason
we
are
able
to create
what we want
for us
it is
the story
of infinity
space
there
is
no center
so everypalce
is
in the same moment
the center
and the oppost of it
so
the only
thing to do
is
to give
our sense
...
my art is not just about becoming italian, becoming who makes me happy, this is life, a way to living, a means of understanding; simply: communication. this is everything. or at least an attempt to know everything. through confusion.
May 19, 2007
la tua forza
quando penso al tutto che è terribile nel mondo, sono molto triste. penso alla tua forza. e uso la tua forza perchè lo so che dobbiamo combattere.
May 9, 2007
a revisit
i had forgotten what happens in the summer.
today i made summer salad, which i haven't made in probably years.
i had forgotten that when i chop fresh tomatoes and basil that my fingernails turn color. that my fingers, for the rest of the day, smell like basil, olive oil, and tomatoes. and that no amount of washing with soap will diminish this aroma. and the stain remains.
i had forgotten that the flavor of plain pasta itself is divine. and that the first sip of red wine heals all.
rachel's summer salad
farfalle pasta
fresh mozzarella
fresh roma tomatoes
fresh basil
olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
cook, chop, and mix.
today i made summer salad, which i haven't made in probably years.
i had forgotten that when i chop fresh tomatoes and basil that my fingernails turn color. that my fingers, for the rest of the day, smell like basil, olive oil, and tomatoes. and that no amount of washing with soap will diminish this aroma. and the stain remains.
i had forgotten that the flavor of plain pasta itself is divine. and that the first sip of red wine heals all.
rachel's summer salad
farfalle pasta
fresh mozzarella
fresh roma tomatoes
fresh basil
olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
cook, chop, and mix.
May 7, 2007
"there's someting about the Italian language or at least the Neapolitan dialect that makes it so I can understand it very well---"
Naples Oct – 29 – 1889
Dear Father
This morning when I awakened on looking out of my port we were just coming to Ischia the island where a few years ago occurred such an earthquake as has seldom happened to any place it is about fie miles long & very rocky & mountainous in character. We had not long to wait ‘till old Vesuvius & the bay of Naples hove in sight & I truly agree with the Neapolitans in the well-worn phrase “see Naples & then die” for truly it is like a fairy-tale to enter the bay of Naples on a clear morning – on the right looms up Vesuvius the most ideal of volcanoes over 4000 ft high & further on the heights of Sorrento (where I expect to live) & a little further on the right the Island of Capri – on the left is Naples – she dots the hills like jewels against a blue sea & hilly background – one hears much about beauty of the bay of Naples but truly it is simply impossible to tell of this place – one must see it – it is like a dreamland & Naples itself is not disappointing.
. . . . .
George R. Barse, Jr.
Dear Father
This morning when I awakened on looking out of my port we were just coming to Ischia the island where a few years ago occurred such an earthquake as has seldom happened to any place it is about fie miles long & very rocky & mountainous in character. We had not long to wait ‘till old Vesuvius & the bay of Naples hove in sight & I truly agree with the Neapolitans in the well-worn phrase “see Naples & then die” for truly it is like a fairy-tale to enter the bay of Naples on a clear morning – on the right looms up Vesuvius the most ideal of volcanoes over 4000 ft high & further on the heights of Sorrento (where I expect to live) & a little further on the right the Island of Capri – on the left is Naples – she dots the hills like jewels against a blue sea & hilly background – one hears much about beauty of the bay of Naples but truly it is simply impossible to tell of this place – one must see it – it is like a dreamland & Naples itself is not disappointing.
. . . . .
George R. Barse, Jr.
May 6, 2007
pace
last night i had a bad time. i'm sitting in line at the bathroom in the northstar cafe and realize i have absolutely no desire to be here. non voglio essere qui. i watched them; i listened. ma sono stanca parlare inglese. sometimes i'm incredulous, sometimes it's overwhelming.
questa è capodimonte. qui, io posso essere in pace. posso vedere caravaggio nel silenzio. non c'è tempo. non c'è preoccupazione. solo la pace. e è vabbene essere da sola e pensare. sospiro.....
questa è capodimonte. qui, io posso essere in pace. posso vedere caravaggio nel silenzio. non c'è tempo. non c'è preoccupazione. solo la pace. e è vabbene essere da sola e pensare. sospiro.....
May 3, 2007
il sogno
La notte scorsa ho sognato ero al Capri. Le spiagge erano sabbiose e ho nuotato senza paura. Ti ho chiamato da un telecom telefono con mia carta telefonicha e la tua voce eri confortante (è sempre). Abbiamo progettato a incontrare. Adesso, non posso dormire perchè io penso solo dell tuo tocco. Eri vicino nel mio sogno.
April 30, 2007
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.
April 29, 2007
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.
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.
April 17, 2007
April 13, 2007
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.)
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.)
April 10, 2007
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.
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.
April 9, 2007
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!
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!
April 2, 2007
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.
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.
April 1, 2007
March 31, 2007
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!
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!
March 30, 2007
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)
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)
March 8, 2007
Insieme Uguale
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
one of the greatest sounds and smells
boiling water for ravioli and homemade sauce
March 7, 2007
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....
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....
March 1, 2007
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
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.)
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