Unlike Southern California where everyone wants recognition and their name up in lights, the people here at the Academy prefer to remain invisible, both in print or in person. Heads are down in the hallways. In my blog, I was politely asked to change names and avoid referencing individuals altogether. At this point, I can only assume that this art gig is a front and that I am a minor pawn in a palazzo filled with CIA, M16 and AISE agents. Strangely, this theory brings me great comfort. These people are frighteningly intelligent; that level of brainpower combined with the arts feels like a recipe for saving the world. So we have that going for us.
Meanwhile, the Brits have arrived – not Daniel Craig or Idris Elba - but my two fab friends who bopped over from London to play tourists with me. Like me, this is their first trip to Rome, and they are just as wide-eyed and impressed. Steve loves a paper map and I love my phone, so between us we have successfully navigated the cobblestones and hit the major hot spots; we waved to the Pope, endured an enthusiastically and excessively informative tour of the Colosseum, and, of course sampled the local wines. Jo, meanwhile, is our secret weapon and scout. She has an uncanny talent to locating tea and timely meals - wonderful not to have make those clutch decisions. "No reservation, no problem."
And the Brits love to walk. We meander through back alleys and parks, climb endless stairs, and keep exploring. Museums are not really their thing but they are always game to duck into a church to see which crucifixion or Madonna is on display. Once inside, we all crane our necks at the wildly ambitious ceiling art. There is so much going on above our heads it is nearly impossible to absorb it all. I remain convinced these churches should provide beach chairs so that visitors can lie down and properly surrender to the spectacle.
Today they are off in search of green space while I do some of the work I proposed to do while here. Focus remains elusive. I keep telling myself I will process all these visuals later when I am back in my studio, far from the palazzo and the watchful eyes of a network of secret agents.
Meanwhile, the Brits have arrived – not Daniel Craig or Idris Elba - but my two fab friends who bopped over from London to play tourists with me. Like me, this is their first trip to Rome, and they are just as wide-eyed and impressed. Steve loves a paper map and I love my phone, so between us we have successfully navigated the cobblestones and hit the major hot spots; we waved to the Pope, endured an enthusiastically and excessively informative tour of the Colosseum, and, of course sampled the local wines. Jo, meanwhile, is our secret weapon and scout. She has an uncanny talent to locating tea and timely meals - wonderful not to have make those clutch decisions. "No reservation, no problem."
And the Brits love to walk. We meander through back alleys and parks, climb endless stairs, and keep exploring. Museums are not really their thing but they are always game to duck into a church to see which crucifixion or Madonna is on display. Once inside, we all crane our necks at the wildly ambitious ceiling art. There is so much going on above our heads it is nearly impossible to absorb it all. I remain convinced these churches should provide beach chairs so that visitors can lie down and properly surrender to the spectacle.
Today they are off in search of green space while I do some of the work I proposed to do while here. Focus remains elusive. I keep telling myself I will process all these visuals later when I am back in my studio, far from the palazzo and the watchful eyes of a network of secret agents.
