I received a fair amount of questioning after my last blog when I said I didn’t like art. I should have said I don’t like slogging through art galleries and museums. Because I don’t have training in art, I prefer to take pleasure in observing everyday beauty around me.
It wasn’t slogging, because we had a guide through “Walks of Italy.” He provided meaning, connecting what we saw in one room, with one period, to the next room with the following period. I got it. Cimabue, Giotto, Leonardo di Vinci, Botticelli, Michelangelo, Raphael – the appetizer for a feast, if I follow-up with some study of Art History.
But I ponder the question of what makes art. What about the marzipan we saw in the window of the candy shop near the Uffizi? It is beautiful. It looked hand-crafted. Is that art?
Are my photographs art? (I would say no to that one.)
Allow me to go even further – the graffiti i see in Italy. Since I don’t understand Italian, I look only at the flow of the penmanship, the juxtaposition of colors and weight of the lines. Devoid of any meaning, I can appreciate the form.
I saw the best graffiti in Venice, perhaps because I spent the most time there, away from the major attractions. We did what the guidebooks told us – meander because you can’t get lost on these small islands. So we wandered in small neighborhoods with few tourists. These places did not worry about cleaning up the graffiti.
P.S. If you understand Italian and any of this offends you, Mi scusi!
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Other essays on the Trip to Italy:
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