Settling into Montparnasse

Tomorrow I begin my internship so I anticipate that this will be the best time to write. I think it's safe to say that the hard part of this journey is over...the hard part being the actual journey. I made my descent into Charles de Gaulle on the Feast of the Ascension and miraculously met my friend there. I say miraculously because we had no means of contact and he arrived late, which thankfully was the moment that I walked out of customs. I was so dead the entire day that I blindly followed him around with no regard for my personal being. I didn't take in my surroundings, I didn't attempt to speak French, and I didn't eat. I felt really rough and the excessive subway rides only made me feel more disgusting. However, all negative feelings vanished for a duration when we stepped into Église Saint-Eugène-Sainte-Cécile. It's kind of a wonky church, it has elements that look train station-esque, but it is gorgeous and the small sections of plaster damage make me nostalgic for my home parish in Baltimore. I was so out of it when we first entered that when I saw the organ I kept gushing over its radiant magnificence. After seeing a few other impressive organs it's not as wondrous but at the time it boggled my jetlagged mind.



I'd rather not recap the hassle and confusion of lodging the first day or two because everything is settled now. I really like my apartment even though I've had a taste of the neighbour's Saturday night raucous. Also, in the morning I was slightly amused by whoever was attempting to play scales on a recorder. The Wi-Fi is ages ahead of the Wi-Fi in Italy and I already was able to take a break and watch Charade, the Cary Grant/Audrey Hepburn classic set in Paris. No one can say my apartment lacks hot water. Also, the bathroom is what the bathroom in the Albergo dreams of being. Nothing is luxurious but it's exactly the functional, glorified closet I was searching for and there is a great supermarché a few strides down the block. I'm a fan of the building across the street too because it has more decorative pinecones on it than you would believe. It makes me happy because one of my favourite buildings in Piazza Navona was a museum at the South end decorated with lions holding pinecones in their mouths (a family symbol that I took a fancy to). 

Inside the door from the street but outside my apartment.

There are signs in French around the city outside historic buildings and there happens to be one outside my apartment complex. It explains that artists, especially those who left Montmartre at the turn of the century, have long lived and worked in these studios. The studio apartments were built by the architect Taberlet using recycled materials from the 1889 World Exhibition in Paris. Othon Friesz ("inspired by Gauguin and Van Gogh"), Giorgio de Chirico (who "met Apollinaire and Picasso"), and Rainer Maria Rilke ("Auguste Rodin's secretary") are among the creative minds who lived at this address. I'll be honest, I still have little idea who these particular artists and poets are but, cool nonetheless.

The neighbours outside. There also is the resident chat.

Friday marked my first solo expedition around Montparnasse. The expedition devolved into a successful quest for jus d'orange since I had woken up that morning with a sore throat. This weekend my friend and I wandered great distances through the city, stopped in many churches, waited in a horrendously long line for delicious ice cream*, noted the staggering amount of swags on the buildings, sat on the bank of the Seine, saw details we had never noticed before on the Louvre, ate falafel (so French, right?) in Place de Voges, and witnessed a dramatic sunset. We passed up entering Notre Dame because it was throbbing with cacophonous activity and tourists but, like at many of the sites, we said "we'll definitely be back".

There is much picnicking to be had here. Le Jardin du Luxembourg is a stone's throw from my place/the firm and there are countless other places in the city that are picnic perfect. Sit down restaurants will be avoided because of expense and besides, picnics are so much more fun. After Mass today we walked to Montmartre, bought brunch on the way, and picnicked halfway up the hill to Sacré Coeur on the grass. There we had the options of gazing at the cityscape and people watching. Someone walked down the entire hill standing on his hands...I can't believe he didn't break his neck!

We walked up to the basilica, said some prayers in front of the exposed Blessed Sacrament, looped the church, said "we'll be back", and made our way down to the metro where we parted ways. Upon arriving at my apartment I made coffee and sat down at the laptop. So, here I am in the bright whiteness of my "studio" with overcast clouds visible through the skylights. I have the rest of the day to myself and I think I'll devote it to books. It just occurred to me that the rain on these skylights could make a beautiful sound in a storm...which looks like it might be coming. Well, I can't complain about a thing.

*Fridge, you and your 2€ chocolate-dipped glory will still always be my one true love back in Rome.

An American (Almost) in Paris

I have precisely four days until the next unexpected adventure. Recently I told my dad that I feel as if I'm being whisked away by the wind from Rome, to Indiana, to Michigan - just blown about wherever it appears is my duty to go. Personally, I believe a hot air balloon would be the ideal way to travel, but I don't know what happens when it rains.

Back to the subject at hand, however. I've spent shy of two weeks total at home so what on earth am I talking about? Well...

This time it's Paris.

Yes, the one in France. I have an internship at an architecture firm in Paris. It's crazy. I'm crazy. I know. I don't believe it either.

I wish I could rent a closet because I'll be barely making enough money for food. I am beginning to excitedly budget how much Parisian cuisine I will not be eating. (Ok, confit de canard is delicious and I haven't really had escargot...but seriously, I will be cooking for myself A LOT.) Disorganized mental lists are being composed of all the things I want to do or see on weekends. Roundtrip train tickets to Lisieux have already been looked into. I've been metaphorically dusting off my French "skills" (riight.) and literally dusting off my French books. (High school was eons ago.) Also, my friend working at the same firm asked me if I wanted to attend the Chartres pilgrimage. That shouldn't even be a question. We're going and I am more than pumped after hearing about it from family friends for years. That's three days of walking from Notre Dame de Paris to Chartres with hundreds from dioceses all over the world. 

Now it's time to pack up the wagon (no more than 62 linear inches and 50 lb., of course) and ditch the unnecessary. (Packing sort of feels like Oregon Trail when you got stuck in the quicksand and had to lighten the load. Who brings grandfather clocks with them anyway?) I've also been watching my email inbox obsessively waiting to hear any word back about housing. Please say a prayer it works out. I'm getting more nervous about that as the days go by and few responses are received. Maybe I'll write my own counter-book to Hemingway's A Moveable Feast entitled A Moveable Bed. Let's hope it doesn't come to that for everyone's sake.

After all of this I haven't even gotten to the adventure wedged within the span of this one. I'll probably fill you in shortly after it happens. I'm not anticipating having an internet connection during that odyssey. The truth is I feel immensely guilty even mentioning that I'm interning in Paris, but I suppose it's almost a duty to tell my friends why I won't be in the country until late July. There's a fine line between bragging and sharing excitement and I can be rubbish at determining when I've crossed it.

Slight humourous digression. Last week my family was talking about a professor's whereabouts and - ever the anglophile - I misheard "New England" as "England". I asked "Ooh, where in England?" and my mom retorted "New England. Not everyone is as cosmopolitan as you." This phrase quickly became the perfect joke whenever I unsuccessfully tried not to bring up culture shock. So, I'd like to formally apologize if I'm being obnoxious. I don't feel "above" anyone for travelling, in fact, it's pretty humbling. Seeing the world makes one feel much smaller.

More to follow soon.

We're Finished but Still Here.

We have almost exactly one week left in Rome. Nothing proclaimed finality like picking up my last bus pass this morning. No, not even being finished with the project reviews and all my classes communicated this as clearly as that tangible paper card with the words "Vale 7 giorni".

For the longest time the opening verse of a song called "Nothing Short of Thankful" by The Avett Brothers summed up my experience in Rome better than anything else:

Hey, man - yes?

Do you think we'll ever get back home?

Well I guess

We choose our battles one by one

How I need rest

One more day of travel on the road

How we've been blessed

Some times it don't feel that way

For better or worse our time here is almost over. Around 3:30 pm on Monday I essentially was finished with everything. I still had some watercolors to catch up on, a quick history project, and a vague theology final looming somewhere in the future but now watercoloring is completely out of the way and history won't take long. I've been waking up each morning (beautifully late) with the question "what am I going to do with myself today?" confronting me for the first time in a long time. 

Yesterday my solution was to do absolutely nothing. I sat in studio all day using my laptop and watching episodes on Netflix. It was disgustingly unproductive but I shut down after the canonization, project, and entire year.  

Today we had a pinup for watercoloring in the morning that murdered all my desire to go out in the city and watercolor for fun (my initial plan). So, instead I once again collapsed indoors while trying to figure my life out. The most relaxing part of the day was sitting alone on the roof terrace in the sun reading Cardinal Ratzinger and drinking pomegranate juice for the latter half of the afternoon. We're still trying to figure out what is happening with our theology final but, regardless, now is the time to read what we didn't have time to read before. 

I was hoping to squeeze in another trip within Italy in this last week since we truly have nothing happening but the prospects of that are looking more and more slim. 

I never talked about what the experience of the canonization was like but I will post more soon, I promise. I went with four guys from my studio and we attempted doing vlog segments to commemorate the night but there's a large chunk of time from 3:30 am until after Mass when I barely touched my camera. I honestly don't even recall what happened between 5:30 am and the beginning of Mass. I remember pulling the hood of my jacket over my head when we finally sat down on the cobblestone in the square by the obelisk. At some point I woke up, slumped over myself, to hear prayers before Mass over the loudspeakers. I've pulled many an all-nighter in my college experience but there's something about thousands of people and cobblestone that pushes your exhaustion over the edge. I took a nap in the albergo on Sunday afternoon and woke up in throbbing pain from my back and legs being cramped the entire night prior. It was definitely a sort of pilgrimage even if we didn't have far to travel. 

We are using this last week more or less to complete our Roman bucket lists. We're going to favorite restaurants for the last time, taking full advantage of gelato, and visiting or revisiting specific places. Eventually there will be packing to deal with but I'll put that off for a least another few days...

Deep breath, everyone.

30 days. As of tomorrow.

I'm in dire need of motivation and design inspiration. Oof.

No, my sister has not had her baby yet. Yes, I promise you will all find out...probably at the same moment I do. Go make yourselves a cup of tea and waste a few hours on Pinterest.

I think the conspiracy theory is true. My studio has got to be in a social experiment.

Introspective hedgehog is struggin'.

Spring Hath Sprungeth

In Syracusa, Sicily when we were eating our typical cheap grocery store lunch on the side of the duomo I sighed "I'm tired. I feel like I'm always tired."
"Like weary? A general sense of weariness?" my friend asked.
"Yeah. That's it." There was a pause. Then as if I forgot something important on the kitchen table and was about to walk back and retrieve it I added simplistically, "I need to go home."
"Tell me about it."

That paints a fairly bleak picture of the state of affairs but in reality those moments are engulfed by the tasks at hand. The wonderful thing about being here right now is the sunlight. Sunlight really does have a lot to do with happiness. Yes, I am inside on a warm, sunny day because the thought of crowds of tourists is the opposite of appealing to me. However, the light penetrating the windows and blinds is enough to remind me that spring is here with all its joyful anticipation.

Before I go back to designing I'd like to share the two latest music obsessions: There Will Be Fireworks and Andrew Bird.

The former is a Scottish band from Glasgow that a friend introduced me to outside of "Plato's cave" in Sicily. I've listened to their album The Dark, Dark Bright an average of once a day for the past week. There's something that resonates deeply in a Mumfordian way recalling the spring of my senior year of high school when I binged on Sigh No More more than I've ever binged on any album prior or since.

It's hard to find much information about them because of their indie-ness but I'm intrigued after hearing  their songs "Ash Wednesday" and "In Excelsis Deo".

Andrew Bird's name is not new to me and I listened to a few of his songs years and years ago but for whatever reason I did not awaken to the thoughtful brilliance of his songs until sometime last month. If Youtube videos are any indication, I prefer his live performances to his studio recordings. Science, psychology, mythology, philosophy...he thinks about a range of topics and applies his thoughts to music. His explanation of his songs are fascinating because I have yet to run across a song of his that doesn't have some specific story or concept behind it.  Who writes a song about exiling all your stuffed animals ("your close advisers") as a toddler from your bed thereby establishing autonomy? (Apparently this happened.)

Oh, and he has an early instrumental version of his song "Eyeoneye" called "Oh Baltimore" and covered the blues song "Grinning In Your Face" so, bonus points for that.

My family acquired a violin through another family in our homeschooling years and it has been sitting in its case in my bedroom for years. Between my early exposure to folk and classical music and concerts at the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra as a kid I decided I wanted to learn violin. It didn't happen for several reasons. I taught myself guitar instead, kept playing piano, toyed around with mandolin, and now I think it's time to at least make an attempt. The idea of holding it like a mandolin and strumming the strings either comforts or fools me into thinking that it can't be so hard to pick up. Either way, life's too short to let that violin collect dust. La Città Eterna has been giving me plenty of thoughts like that.

Polyphony In the Cave

This morning at Mass the haunting echo of sung Greek filled the cold shell of space lit by a few candles and the damp day's faint light. In reality it was the Kyrie at S.S. Trinita in Rome but in my mind it was an Easter vigil in the magnificent grotto of Plato's cave. When we were in Sicily last week we went into the same cave that Plato and Caravaggio set foot in and it was one of the most poetic spaces I have ever experienced. Caravaggio said that the shape of it resembles a human ear and it was the ear that we first tested within. The acoustics in the cave are spectacular and we wandered through singing softly to ourselves and wishing that we were either completely alone or in unison to test the full strength of its power. The polyphony today in the darkness of the church reminded me of this experience and the words of Aquinas:

Taste, and touch, and vision, to discern Thee fail;

Faith, that comes by hearing, pierces through the veil.

I believe whate'er the Son of God hath told;

What the Truth hath spoken, that for truth I hold.

On this side of the veil we see shadows flicker on the cave wall in the "vale of tears". As hermits living in an apathetic world we seek strength by consuming "bread" in a "cave". Wasn't it in Bethlehem, the House of Bread, that a cave provided more for humanity than anything before? Plato, Caravaggio, the Gospel of John, Aquinas, Dante, and anything or anyone who has ever tried to express Light and Darkness, Truth and Hearing all poke at the indescribable beauty that can be found in this cave. 

Whether it is the cave in Bethlehem or the cave of Christ's tomb the cave seems to have a deep connection to the origins of something closely knit to human life. In G.K. Chesterton's book The Everlasting Man he spends two entire eloquent chapters on this very topic (which you should go read now if you never have). In the deliciously witty

Chestertonian way he speaks of the caveman and civilization and later of "God in the Cave". The caves of prophets, hermits, and saints were not escapes from life but were for escaping towards life. It isn't shutting oneself into the ignorant life of confined shadows but emerging to "see the world hanging upside down" as St. Francis, Chesterton, and Marcus Mumford all can relate.

"The man who went into the cave was not the man who came out again; in that sense he was almost as different as if he were dead, as if he were a ghost or a blessed spirit. And the effects of this on his attitude towards the actual world were really as extravagant as any parallel can make them. He looked at the world as differently from other men as if he had come out of that dark hole walking on his hands."

~ G.K. Chesterton St. Francis

When we enter the cave and listen we cannot come out the same person again if we have really entered to find something and have really listened and understood in the uncomprehending darkness.

Ain't Nobody Got Time

11:17 am I woke up for the third or fourth time this morning and jolted out of bed and the strange dreams I was having. "It's so late. How long has it been since I slept in this late?" I asked myself. Leaving the albergo and turning the corner at Sant'Andrea I saw what I hope to see every morning - the 87 bus stopped at a red light. I picked up my pace to meet it at the bus stop but as I was mid sprint I realized some woman was trying to ask me directions to Piazza Navona. I stopped and told her in broken Italian, gesturing a left turn but saying "a destra". "A sinistra?" "Si, si, si! (Yes, I knew that. That's what I meant. I swear, lady, I'm not that ignorant, just tired.)". I don't know what happened to the 87 bus but I caught a 571 that happened to be at the stop. Unfortunately the driver took the long route to the Colosseum but fortunately the bus was basically empty as far as Italian buses go. I reflected on the fact that when we learned about directions in Italian class it has been more useful not for us asking for directions but giving them. The "sinistra" scenario played out in my head a couple of times before I rushed into studio.

Our project is due on Ash Wednesday so we have entered that time when studio is full but hushed. Everyone is plugged in, bent over giant white sheets of paper, brief glances become a form of communication in themselves...we are tired, obsessed (with either perfection or artfully fudging everything), and anxious. I feel guilty for writing this on a lunch break but maybe I'll be more focused after I drink the coffee I just made. Now begins the dark dinnerless days when no one wants to buy ingredients, cook, and clean so we stop eating formal meals and end up with whatever can be eaten at our desks. Don't even think about "eating out".

We have entered the time of "whatever works works". I start listening to whatever doesn't distract me be it strange or beautiful or both. I realized today that "Let It Go" hasn't been stuck in my head for a few weeks but since I have entered into the one-track-mind mindset I searched out repetitiveness. After the multilingual, instrumental, mashup, instrumental mashup, tribal, single, google translate, fingerstyle ukulele, fingerstyle guitar, masculine, and, of course, original versions that has been remedied and I think I've just lost all appetite. If anyone wants to trade places for a few days I'd take all the snow if you finished and presented this project for me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have much less than 12 hours before studio closes.

Allora.

This morning I got to Mass a little late and seated myself in the very last pew where the kneelers start getting funky because clearly they are leftovers from devotional altars. (By the way, never build a kneeler with a deep slanted board for your knees unless you are going for penitential endurance.) I came in during the lengthy epistle but many people came in afterwards including a family of six who sat directly in front of me. Their youngest, redhead baby kept smiling adorably at me with wide blue eyes.

Afterwards I stopped in a cafe I had never been to for an espresso and noted an increase in Americans around the city. The walk from Campo dei Fiori to the Colosseum is infinitely more pleasant in good weather than a bus ride so I walked to studio. In the grocery store I heard little Italian kids telling their parents what to buy and then begging to leave. I quickly made bruschetta for lunch with tomato, zucchini, mushrooms, and pancetta that ended up being really very good.

On my way up the stairs I noticed the terrace door was open. I stepped through the threshold onto the sunny patio and took in the accordion music from the street below, the laundry hanging on the colorful apartments and the clear blue sky and wondered what it would be like to return home to suburban normalcy. If there's one thing I've learned from studying abroad it is that there is something to be appreciated no matter what side of the ocean you are on.

The field trip to Naples was, as all field trips are, fun. We were not able to go to Paestum because it rained daily except for the day we spent at Pompeii. Naples itself is everything everyone says it is: dirty, dangerous, gritty, and quirky. The mountains of trash on the sidewalks make Rome look almost pristine. Every night we ate the best pizza in the world though. The first night we went to Da Michele, the pizzeria apparently visited by the writer of "Eat, Pray, Love" and Julia Roberts portraying her in the movie. That doesn't mean anything to me having neither read the book nor seen the movie but the crust there was the best pizza crust I have ever eaten. Food is food - it tastes really good or bad and you move on with life - but this pizza was SERIOUSLY GOOD.

We saw more jaw dropping marble than ever before on floors and walls. There was an altar rail with huge inset precious stones and white, curling marble like the breaking crests of waves. Our theology professor, a priest from the Vatican, met up with us when we saw the oldest baptistery in the western world. Our professors also made sure we tried the local pastries that they kept recommending.

Naples at sunset. 

I hesitate to say the last day was a throw away day but we spent the entirety of the morning at a random museum and were all bored to death after slowly perusing its two floors for hours on end. On the bus ride back I shifted in and out of sleep. When I could no longer rest in any mildly comfortable position I gazed out the window and tried not to think about being cold and my hunger manifesting itself in a dull headache. I turned my face towards the sun whenever it was fleetingly present and observed my professors sitting in the two rows in front of me. One propped up a thick paperback as a pillow against the window. The other seemed to be in the same boat as myself, caught between the ability to sleep and stay fully conscious. Southern Italian mountains, countryside, vineyards, telephone lines, ugly sprawl, humble houses, and vegetation rolled by. I recalled a conversation earlier in the day with two classmates about how we can't accurately convey our gratitude to our peers. Really, we could be in the middle of Siberia in the heart of winter and I would be comforted being with these professors that we respect so much. As my classmates and I know, this education is completely worth it if just for the mentors we have. I more fully understand why you cannot spend a year abroad and not come back a person changed for the better.

Working Hard or...

Since today is Monday the NAC seminarians came at 8 o'clock to hang out and talk. Afterwards we clearly did not want to get back to work because none of us budged from the couches. Two of them hadn't been able to come to the Monday sessions this semester so we then offered to give a tour of the new building that they were seeing for the first time. After successfully procrastinating and squeezing in a few more minutes of jokes and conversation, they said goodnight and we tromped morosely up the stairs humorously whining about returning to our designs. Obviously I haven't quite gotten back to work yet.

Last week was a blur like all the weeks before. A friend came into town on a field trip so we were able to meet up twice this weekend. We ate the best gelato ever, avoided dragging out drawing assignments, were amused by melting pediments in the rococo church, and sort of maybe talked ourselves out of buying this beautiful coat that we both liked. That was about all the excitement I've had besides shifting deadlines and the sun making a steady appearance for three days in a row. The next round of excitement comes in the form of a field trip to Campania lasting from Wednesday to the end of the week. For those curious, that entails Naples, Paestum, and Pompeii.

Ok, back to work. There are only two more hours left to work before it is midnight. Eesh. Oh, and we just received a campus email about free Chipotle. I'm going to go cry over my desk now.

Junioritis?

It seems like we're already running out of steam if we had any to start with this semester. It doesn't help that between creating portfolios, resumes, applying for internships, homework, and designing we don't leave the building except to go to the grocery store a block away.

Last time I was outside for a considerable period of time was on Saturday. I walked by the Collegio Romano simply because I could and it was my inspiration for my final project last semester. I also met a friendly cat in the process. I slew of warnings came to mind when I bent down to pet it but I found that my hand was already reaching out and touching its absurdly fluffy fur. I said "Heyyy!" and then apologized and amended the greeting to "Ciao! Come stai?". He meowed back but his accent was so thick that I wasn't sure if he understood me or if I just didn't understand him. Then I stopped in what seemed like half of the churches on Via del Corso and accidentally stumbled upon the one with St. Charles Borromeo's heart. Then I made an impromptu visit to Piazza del Popolo and got turned around in the Villa Borghese gardens. It was fun.

I look forward to future explorations outside this building when the weather gets nicer. On Friday we went to the forum and as we sat outside on the steps of the curia I stupidly remarked to a friend:
"I wonder why the sun makes people happy."
"I'm sure it's something chemical."
"Mm."
And we didn't question it any further but sat there next to a blight ridden laurel tree in content silence.

As for today there's not much that is exciting to report besides that a professor appeared to be wearing a new cravat. I'm inexplicably sleepy. I say inexplicably because I more or less slept in today after our makeup history class was postponed yet again due to "rain". Numerous people have come up to me today groaning about not knowing what to do with themselves or their lives. I groan with them. The proverbial towels are being thrown into the proverbial...laundry basket? I don't know. Where else do towels go?

At the beginning of studio my friends and I found ourselves looking up Nicholas Cage and Nigel Thornberry photoshopped onto things (you have been warned should you decide to look this up yourself) so that we could mindlessly laugh, question the state of the world, and remind ourselves that there are people out there arguably weirder than ourselves.

Stay safe. Stay weird. Stay ever caffeinated.

Adventures in Watercoloring

Professor: "That looks too yellow."
Me: "Yeah, I know."

Professor: "All this looks good but that over there disturbs me."
Me: "It disturbs me too."

Professor: "Make sure the reflected shadows fade out and have soft edges."
Me: *looks down at paper* "Uh, whoops."

That's just about how all of last Thursday went.
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"She couldn't draw at all, and however bright, the colour were in the tubes, by the time [she] had mixed them up, they came out a kind of khaki."

Sebastian Flyte (Brideshead Revisited)

Today blue and red kept making a green instead of purple. I don't really know how.
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We have a watercoloring class this semester which is the first of its kind I have ever taken in my life. I took art classes in high school and watercolored a tiny bit and then was thrown full force into it my first (sophomore) year at Notre Dame. I freaked out about the horrifying process of dumping water all over the paper you spent hours drafting on, stapling it mercilessly to a dirty piece of plywood, and then putting color to the paper. It still occasionally feels like an act of murder. Needless to say, that first project deserves a good bonfire along with all my other first semester sophomore projects.

I remember the first time I stepped into Bond Hall and saw a large rendering of a Corinthian capital on the wall. My initial reaction was "Oh no, I can't do that. That must take some natural talent." and soon after I thought, "Well, this is why it's an architecture school is it not?" Lo and behold. Three years and a couple of choices later I'm stuck in Rome. So, here's to hoping that we all continue to get better at the things we struggle with.