notes from Milan

Notes on a cold morning in Milan: We're off soon to the train station but have a bit of time to sit. It has been far colder than I'd imagined so far on my trip; I've been wearing all my layers, especially inside. Lynn and Denis's unheated apartment in Montpellier I found freezing and so too this apartment in Milan; I rise from a nice warm bed and put on a sweater, pants and winter coat over my nightgown before emerging into the hall. At home, it's cold outside but warm inside; here, it's just cold. But beautiful.

Rain predicted.

The Italians are the most emphatic people; they speak fast and loudly with flashing eyes and dramatic hands - much noise. There are lots of PDA's, young people, and not so young, kissing passionately in the streets. I know these are stereotypes, but they are also true. Here's an excellent article from the Guardian about the rise of the far-right here in Italy and around the world: people's desire for a strongman.
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2019/apr/05/montalbano-italians-fascism-andrea-camilleri?CMP=fb_gu

I marvelled to Bruce yesterday about this era, the Renaissance in Italy - 1300-1600 about - the phenomenal outpouring of art and then it's over, what do we know about Italian painting since? Not much. We discussed other eras where nations exploded into artistic flowering - music in Germany from Bach to Schumann - opera in Italy in the 1800's - literature in Britain during Shakespeare's time - the Impressionists in France - Russia in the 1800's in literature, drama, dance. Perhaps one genius, encouraged by a timely shift in society, launches and inspires all the others? Or do these eras of national genius just spontaneously arise?

Someone sent me an email: "You are lucky to have a Bruce to show you around." I certainly am. Especially because this particular Bruce had such a serious health issue that we thought two years ago he might die, and certainly that he'd never travel again. Yet here he is, about the shepherd me to Bologna. I am very lucky to be here with him again.

Despite all, he is made of sterner stuff than I, capable of endless walking and gazing, whereas after a few hours, I get tired. My left eye is bright red for some reason, and I'm feeling bedraggled, especially in comparison with Italian women in their very high heels - on cobblestones! - and the bouncy teenagers with their expensive sneakers. In fact, everyone is in expensive sneakers, some with glitter, except the women in their stilettos. And me with my bright red eye.

I gather the demonstration yesterday in Toronto against cuts to education was vast - wonderful! Who would have thought that years after demonstrating against the destruction of the education system by Mike Harris while my children were in it, we'd need to march again in the streets because another neanderthal, in some ways even worse, if that's possible, would be smashing schools again - this time while my grandchildren are in it?

Torino Torino!

Today Bruce, who is a lover of trains, had organized the first of our several train journeys - off on the 9.25 a.m. train to Torino - Turin, an hour away. It wasn't warm but happily, it didn't rain. The city is beautiful, with covered arcades everywhere and many spacious piazzas lined with elegant buildings in muted colours with ornate balconies. (Shouts echoing in this apartment building - there must be a big soccer game going on.)

We visited a fairly modern building called the Mole Antoniana, with an absurdly high tower. Bruce wanted me to see the interior of the building, so we bought a ticket to the Museum of Cinema which let us in - and turned out to be amazing in itself, vast, comprehensive, leading us from historical exhibits about the earliest moving pictures - shadow puppets, magic lanterns, peep shows - to an incredible central room the height of the building, with a winding path lined with screens showing cinematic history. A surprise for us both.

A quick sandwich and espresso for me, green tea for the man who used to inject caffeine into his veins, and on to Palazzo Madama, where we saw gorgeous carved wooden artworks from the Middle Ages and all I could think was ... termites! - and then to the Pinocoteca in the Galeria Sebauda, where there were - you guessed it - masterpieces of the Italian Renaissance beloved by Bruce - Fra Angelico, Fra Lippo Lippe. I was happy to be introduced to one of his favourite paintings, an annunciation by Orazio Gentileschi, an angel with the most gorgeous wings and gentle face and a shy, humble Mary who just got out of bed. (click to enlarge)

A wander through the other rooms, though by now I have to say I'm Catholicked out. A million Marys and martyrs, my favourite the guy with the axe in his head - a million Crucifixions, and I can barely look at crucifixions at the best of times, I don't understand a religion that has a device of torture and excruciating execution as its most profound symbol - and the gold leaf and the angels and naked babies - the themes get a bit worn out. It was a relief today to see a painting about the triumph of celibacy that had a pale naked woman driving a cart pulled by lions with unicorn horns. Something different - terrific.

And then - of necessity, since we were in Turin - we had to see the shroud in the Cathedral. Many Catholics whispering prayers, and there, a huge face in relief. It seemed far too large, to me, to be an actual man's face, and the whole thing was lost on two atheists. But it was a must see, and so see we did.

Bruce was up for more - the Egyptian Museum - but I confess that by 3.30, yours truly was exhausted. I slept poorly last night, up making lists about what awaits when I return - a great deal - so after about 18,000 steps today, according to Bruce's phone, I wanted to go back to Milan. The tickets Bruce booked from Vancouver were not till 6 p.m., but we went to the station and with the help of a ticket agent, I was happy to treat us to the 20 euros extra to put us on a train back at 4.25. We stopped for supper supplies on the way back and ate quietly in the apartment, which we leave tomorrow morning for Bologna. Avanti!

Art shot - we're on the fifth floor, this is our staircase looking down.

Demonstration march in Torino in favour of the EU and democracy. I wanted to join them, especially as I was thinking of Anna and the boys today, demonstrating in Toronto for public education. Definitely wanted to be there.

The cinema museum - the writer's room, the script for Psycho.

 The extraordinary central room, which is much higher than my little camera can show.

 One of the montages we happened upon - the strange creature turned slowly toward us to the music from 2001 - spooky and fun.

The view from the top of the Madama. I can see Mozart emerging into that piazza.

Mr. Kellett surveying baroque art, of which he does not approve. And me either.

The shroud. Lost on us. But we are grateful to the Catholic church which provided some of the greatest artists the world has ever known with subjects and commissions.

moi in Italy

Luckily, Bruce is here to take an occasional pic of me, because usually I return without a single one. He just forwarded these to me.

Me at the market this morning trying on sunglasses - with the tag on my nose.

His shot of the vertical park building.

On our balcony. What a contrast to yesterday, cold and very wet all day! It was chilly here this morning but warmed up; this is at about 5. Wearing the nightshirt Madame Blin bought for me in Montpellier, I was reading a Swedish fashion magazine someone left here and blocking the construction noise with my headphones. Heaven.

letter to the Globe re its coverage of SNC etc etc.

I emailed this letter to the Public Editor of the Globe yesterday and sent a copy to my very left-wing daughter saying, "Do you approve?" Because I was afraid, as a huge supporter of indigenous rights and women, she'd be offended. She wrote back, "Fuck yeah!" So I guess it met with her approval. What about yours?
Dear Sylvia Stead:

I am not sure if you’re the right person to contact, but please do me the favour of passing this along if you are not. I am severing ties with this once-august newspaper over its slavering coverage of the Lavalin affair, Canada’s pathetic excuse for a scandal. The newspapers and media have behaved abominably from the start, rolling around in the dirt with glee, splashing in the mud of this absurd squabble. I have held my nose for weeks and tried to ignore it, looking past the endless hysterical coverage in a search for real news about issues that really matter to our country. 

But when I saw that you’d published a column comparing Justin Trudeau to Donald Trump, that was the end. Where is journalistic decency? Where are the limits to hyperbole? It’s all about getting clicks now, isn’t it, stoking the outrage machine? And so the more salacious and exaggerated the reporting, the better. A once-proud newspaper has thrown its integrity into the garbage pail. 

May the Globe come to its senses soon and focus on what matters in our country, rather than this appallingly immaterial internecine tempest in a teapot. I’m no longer sure why, but I expected better from the Globe. Shame on you. 

Yours,

Beth Kaplan

the beauty of Milan and the Milanese

What a treat - we stepped out this morning, right into a local market on the street outside our front door. Much fun, food and clothing - bought little but looked a lot. Here's some Italian guy in a tuque buying fruit. (click to enlarge)

We were off to a special exhibit of the work of Antonello da Massina, a Sicilian painter I didn't know who's one of Bruce's favourites - a master of the late 1400's. Very little of his work remains, but what there is is stunning.

He specialized, besides virgins and crucifixions of course, in portraits of men with very interesting faces. This guy reminds me of Kevin Spacey.

His most famous work - the annunciation, the virgin receiving the news, with no angels in sight - just her serene, resigned demeanour, though the hand tells a different story. Wait - really? Are you sure? ME? Just like THAT?

The library of the Gallerie d'Italia, a sumptuous room.

 We had lunch - fish soup, superb - and went to the Pinacoteca di Brera, packed with masterpieces, though these huge museums are easy when you're with Bruce, he says, You don't need to look at these - here's a Titian, look at this. A Veronese, a Bellini, a Van Dyck, especially a - the - Caravaggio. No wasting time with the lesser guys. I feel for them; at any other time and place they'd be adored as geniuses, but with the MAJOR Renaissance geniuses around, these guys are left in the dust, just not quite comme il faut.

We walked home - it was sunny at last - and I love these buildings, many painted lovely buttery yellow with grey shutters and lots of greenery.

A gorgeous apartment building - a vertical park. I guess to live there, you have to guarantee you'll water your trees and shrubs. We strolled along the via Solferino to the Corso Como, both high end shopping streets, where I was tempted by nothing, could not even imagine buying something. But the Italians are so chic, more so even than the French, with the cut of their clothes, the coats and shoes and bags - and the men too, naturally - not as lovely as the paintings, but lovely nonetheless. And as usual, even the very old are chic. Many people riding gorgeous upright bicycles with chic baskets and without unchic helmets, of course.

And so, as yesterday, home at 4 so Bruce can nap and I can blog, and this time, sit in the sun on our balcony. Supper planned for tonight at the same place as yesterday. No disasters from home today, except that Sam came over to help removed the soaked carpet from the basement and reported back that it's ruined. Otherwise, we're good to go. For today.

So much beauty.