"Silence is part of the architecture. You realize it whenever it is broken."

a blind portrait

Siracusa, Sicily, my favorite people

Florence is a small town, and it becomes smaller each day. We have lived here for almost 2 months. Halfway. At points we feel we are getting there (not sure where, but somewhere). We have seen in different ways than were suggested to us. We have not followed certain sound advice and it feels like more ground is covered because of this. As one previous stranger told me, “You make the right choice.” 

Sunday we huddled together in a pack of three on Chelsea’s porch: sipping instant cappuccinos after the 12 o’clock cut off. Sometimes it feels like life here is one giant game of charades. All you can do is laugh, and feel your way around. 

what i miss: peanut butter, in n’ out, 24 hour service, being the best dressed, sunday fun days, being allowed to be loud, san francisco street crazies, large beds that don’t crinkle, mexican food, mexicans, exotic foods in general, when hanging out isn’t one giant game of charades, parks, knowing the plan, stoop talks, bigger sense of personal space, house parties, small-talk, being understood when i speak. 

what i prefer: the playfulness, Italian self-confidence > American self-confidence, craftsmanship, being told by the sandwich maker that his choice will be better than mine, secret late night bakery, wine on top of hilltops at sunset, getting lost, people watching, the dark room, multiple languages in the dark room, not being pegged for an American, taking my time, adapting, finding a way into a place. 

“Each artist set himself to compete not only with his immediate rivals, but with all standards of excellence. An absolute equality and simultaneity was presumed to exist, as it were, at the starting line, between the dead and the living, and no standard could impose itself except the standard revealed in each work as it unfolded in nature… In Florence, each man strove, if he had genius, to stand alone.”

Double Exposures

by Andre De Freitas

(Source: arpeggia)

“All anything takes, really, is self-confidence.”

Rachel Ward by Stan Schiffer

Lykke Li

(Source: mellamoiris)

At the start of sunset I crossed the river with Kati and a bottle of wine. We positioned ourselves on top of one of the walls overhanging the small waterfall at the far end of the river. The day was at its peak and falling quickly. Soon the bicyclists and joggers of the afternoon would trickle away. We sat and talked about what it’s like, or what it feels like. To be here. Always we obsess about ourselves in relation to others. We don’t want to leave even though we feel on the edges. We talked about the differences between our dreams: relatives visit her, they guide her. I dream fragmentally, I run and I rearrange spaces. 

When people walked by us we would speak phrases in Italian, trying to trick them into thinking nothing of us. The more vino we drank, the better we spoke. Also, the more we had to say.

We saw a man standing far off in the middle of the waterfall, below the banks in the river. The river is grimy, remember. He stood and then crouched for a time, touching the water and the ice. We waited for him and an explanation, stopping to re-fill our plastic glasses. By nighttime we no longer noticed him.

Light reflected off a half-iced river. I stretched my legs across the wall. It was warmer than it had been, but the cold of the stonewall penetrated through my leggings and my dress. I was happy to be in a pair. To do what I usually do, or used to do. Nobody sat in the park with us after dark. Around 7:30 the green glass bottle was emptied and decided it was time to go.

We walked home arm in arm as the Italian girls do. Originally we started doing this because we were cold, but now we do it because it feels more like home. 

"Photography is too easy in a superficial way, and in consequence is treated slightingly by people who ought to know better. One does not consider Music an inferior art simply because little Mary can play a scale. What we need in photography is more sincerity, more respect for our medium and less respect for its decayed conventions."

Alvin Langdon Coburn, in: The Future of Pictorial Photography, 1916 (via conscientious)

Writing poetry isn’t my preferred style of writing, but I’m currently enrolled in Writing about Florence and the teacher lives and breathes poetry. So this is often what we are assigned to write.

Each week, every student must read aloud their piece to the class. When I first heard this was how the course was arranged, I thought I’d entered a new circle of hell. I love to write, not to speak. I’m shy and I hate sharing. Here I am learning to quickly get over a lot of things because I have no other choice. Fluidity is important. 

Breakfast

Florence

You ever feel like you carry a great big secret with you that no one else could possess? When I walk the streets, I can’t help but smile to myself. Something grows within, and I want to keep it to myself for awhile. 

My English is getting worse. I speak in broken phrases so that others might understand me better. I am constantly gesturing, mumbling, and apologizing for myself. I have never felt so uncool in my life. Italians seem to have it all figured out, and here I feel like an ignorant American. But sometimes I guess you have to be very uncomfortable to really get to the heart of the matter or a place.

We made friends with some Florentines. Today we go for “Aperitivos,” which is like Happy Hour, but probably much better. 8.50 Euros for a drink and unlimited appetizers. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING is smaller in Italy, but everything is to be enjoyed much more.