April 1, 2014
Cleaning your sock drawer can wait.
Your FB friends can wait.
Get outside. Go watch seeds ripen. Finches flutter. Lambs blink. Lilacs bust out like popcorn.
Pick a flower. Drink in the blue air.
Go. Now. Everything else can wait.
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March 25, 2014 Early one morning I hid in some lush old ivy near a decaying corner in Trastevere, one of my favorite places to shoot. For 15 minutes I shot Romans and tourists coming and going. Then I had a little fun with the Posterize effect in Photoshop. What’s your favorite place to photograph in Italy or elsewhere? Do you use Photoshop (or something similar)? What are your favorite “effects”?
*** March 4, 2014 Here’s my beloved Piazza Duomo, with the church of San Giorgio perched atop a high staircase, her chest puffed out, proud and lovely. The piazza is our salon–it is here that we celebrate, gossip, soak in the sun, raise a glass of wine, listen to the clamor of the bells.
And now a shot from days gone by. It’s from an old postcard–shot maybe 50-60 years ago? The clock appears to have been in working order back then, but other than that not too much has changed, thank goodness.
*** February 3, 2014 Minni di virgini, virgins’ breasts—little white cakes topped with a candied cherry—are nibbled in early February to remember and celebrate Saint Agatha, the patron saint of Catania. They symbolize (to me at least) what Sicily is all about: an epicurean isle brimming with black humor, where every pain morphs into pleasure. Agatha, a pretty daughter of Catania who’d taken a Christian vow of chastity, caught the eye of the pagan Roman governor of Sicily. When Agatha rebuffed his advances, he retaliated by ordering her breasts pulled off. Then he roasted her in a kiln for good measure. She died on February 5, 251. And so a martyr and patron saint was born. The citizens of Catania still celebrate Agatha as fervently as ever from February 3 to 5. On the 4th and 5th, for two long emotional days and nights, thousands of men pull a 40,000-pound silver carriage with Agatha’s relics through the city streets, followed by rivers of devotees. There is a sea of votive candles. Bells peal. Fireworks roar. Babies fly high above the mob, sent forth by trusting parents to touch the saint’s relics. Viva Sant’Agata! People snack on roast horse meat and virgins’ breasts. The final night, in a dangerous and utterly Sicilian move, the men drag and push Agatha’s heavy carriage up a steep hill in the city center, risking their lives in the process. Yes, when it comes to festivals, Sicily really takes the cake. *** |
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