Venice Churches and Sights

Posted on May 5, 2013 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued

Water overlapping a doorway, across the canal from our hotel

Late in the night, we hear the aqua alta (high water) sirens go off. A website tells us the following:

So, first a siren is used to alert everyone of the high tide alarm.Next, a signal indicates the expected level of high tide – this signal has between 1 and 4 notes.

1 long sound (8 seconds) on the same note = 110cm level of high tide
2 sounds in an upward scale (4 + 8 seconds) = 120cm ” ” ” ”
3 sounds in an upward scale (4+4+8 seconds) = 130cm ” ” ” ”
4 sounds in an upward scale (4+4+4+8 seconds) = 140cm and above

But we are sleepy and tucked in our bed in our perfect hotel, so can’t quite distinguish the sounds. It is interesting, though, to think that all around you the sea is rising, covering sidewalks and plazas and streets.

Breakfast is a smaller array, fitting for a smaller hotel (only five rooms, with one on the canal–no, we didn’t get that one).

The breakfast room is cheery, and the woman who is running the breakfast brings us fresh-fresh-fresh croissants with chocolate, another warm roll and some hot cocoa.

Just outside is that waterlogged door at the top of this post. We enjoyed the picturesque setting for our breakfast. I always love the little “trashcans” that Europeans put on the breakfast tables to hold the trash you might generate (the silver tin).

The cocoa is served in a double-walled glass mug. It was the best of the trip, I’d say.

Lingering effects of the aqua alta in the night

Over breakfast the reality of the high water does change our itinerary for the day, as we’d planned to jet right out to Burano, but read that when Venice has high water, Burano will have it worse. Since we don’t want to borrow the boots from the hotel, we decide to see some churches in the morning.

A high water barrier in a doorway. We saw many of these.

Walking the high water walkways–moveable platforms that criss-cross affected areas.

We step out of our hotel to see this: a cobbled street, still wet from the high water, and lovely vine growing across, bringing some greenery to the brick walled passageway.

Just down from us is this market. When we’d passed by it late in the day, none of this was out, and then *poof* in the morning it all pops out.

We are so happy to see the sun, and enjoy how it lights up the Venetian buildings.

Walking in Venice is always a series of ups, downs, take a right–no, left–through that plaza, up those stairs, down those steps, so even getting out and getting around is an adventure, a lovely adventure.

And while we’re walking, I snapped a few photos of shrines. I noticed that the coin slot for this one had been filled with cement.

I’m a sucker for this rich cornflower blue, no matter how it is used.

The flag of Venice, with its Lion.

Behind me is what’s known as the jewelbox church, as the marble slabs on the outside of the building are in many colors. It’s a perfect little church and when we first came to Italy, we could go in with no charge. Now they will sell you a “church tour” ticket for about 15 euro each ($20 bucks) that lets you in there, plus four other churches that we’d never heard of. We pass. Here’s some photos of the outside. It’s in tight quarters, so hard to get the whole vista.

Must be laundry day. I rather think we saw so much laundry hanging out because of 1) we were in less-touristy venues, and 2) the sun was out so the clothes could get dry.

What we do a lot here: study the map.

We spot the Civil Hospital–Yay! we’re almost there. We’re actually headed to the St. Peter and St. Paul church, which is right next door. From Wikipedia: “The Basilica di San Giovanni e Paolo, known in the Venetian dialect as San Zanipolo, is a church in Venice, northern Italy. One of the largest churches in the city, it has the status of a minor basilica. After the 15th century the funeral services of all of Venice’s doges were held here, and twenty-five doges are buried in the church.” Now you know.

You don’t see much graffiti here in Venice, but here’s some.

The exterior doorway. There was a modest fee, and then we were free to explore the church. It’s cavernous, with many chapels, funerary monuments in the walls, and the sun was streaming in, lighting up the church.

I love this shot of the ceiling that Dave took. He does “landscape” or big picture shots really well. Somewhere along the line, between here and Burano, his camera developed a problem with the sensors and so went out of commission. I remember when we used to travel and had only one camera. Travel is much nicer now that we both have our own, as our photographic interests compliment each other: I like the details and he likes the bigger picture. After Burano, we shared my camera, but only had a day before we left.

A side chapel. The ceilings were wonderfully ornate, but I kept taking pictures of the floors, as they were interesting-to-me interlocking patterns. (I won’t bore you with photos. Okay, maybe one.)

Back to the ceilings. Do you think they built scaffolds and did all the plasterwork and painting while laying on their back, or made it down on the ground and then affixed them to the ceiling? I vote the latter.

Beautiful, subtle colors of the aged glass.

What is this? A layered image of a painting in a chapel and the chapel’s glass door reflecting the stained glass window on the opposite wall. It’s also a sign that the tourist has Church Sights Fatigue and needs to get out and walk around the town.

From the sacred to the utilitarian. This clutch of boats has all kinds: construction, delivery, personal water boats. But we turn left out of the church and head to San Francisco della Vigna, a church I’d read about on a blog I love to read: Venezia Blog. The writer of that blog is living my fantasy, of having a home in Venice. But it’s only that. . . a fantasy, not real. But I wouldn’t mind if for a month or so.

More glowing buildings.

After walking for a few minutes, passing delivery people, a postman and residents, we come down this narrow calle and can see the front doors of the church.

Because Dave’s camera is on the fritz, we didn’t get an overview of this quiet church, done in grays and blue-grays, but here’s one (below) from the web:

This is the first church that Palladio built in Venice, and it reminded me of Santo Spirito in Florence (except for the garish touches of red in the above photo–I don’t remember those when we were there). I made a beeline for the Virgin and Child Enthroned, by Fra Antonio da Negroponte, a painting described as the most beautiful painting in Venice that most tourists never see. I’d agree.

I spent several coins keeping that light going, trying to get a photo of this.

I love the putti swimming in the celestial waters above the Madonna’s head.

But the one the priest wanted us to see was Bellini’s Virgin and Child with Saints. I’m standing on the steps to this side chapel, as the priest was mopping the floor. I thought of how our congregations back home clean our church, but I’d never seen it in a Catholic church. This made me suppose that this was a poorer church, as it didn’t charge admission. That’s one reason I was happy to donate my coins to the light box on the other painting.

Ceiling medallions in nave.

This was the “gift shop,” a side chapel filled with postcards, magazines and newspapers. I bought three postcards of the glorious Madonna. One adorned our refrigerator for several weeks after our trip. The painting is huge, tall, so the postcard didn’t do it justice. Such is life. I find that often when I get home from a trip, with the sights and memories fresh in my mind, all my photographs are fairly disappointing. They are so puny, so lifeless, compared to what I saw. But after a while the two–my memories and my photos–seem to come to a point of balance, of stasis, and I now, several months later, I find they do an adequate representation of our trip.

Just for reference, this church is in Castello (upper right), just over the border from Cannaregio (upper left). Our hotel is in Cannaregio (sited at about where the “r” is in Cannaregio). That notch in Cannaregio on the upper side of the island is approximately where we will catch the vaparetto for our trip to Burano. We’re getting antsy now, and really want to get to Burano, so we retrace our steps to pick up a few things at our hotel. Some of the sights as we quickly walked back:

Looking left out of the front door of the church. Apparently this courtyard stood in for the Police Headquarters in the German television series based on the Guido Brunetti novels.

This little girl made us homesick for our granddaughters.

Next post: Burano.

Venice, at last!

Posted on April 29, 2013 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued

Marble Sign next to Convent Door

We’d been reading about the Acqua Alta — high water — that had flooded Venice this year, and seen the photos of tourists wading up to their knees in San Marco plaza, so we decided to stay a while longer in Padua to do some shopping. That would have been a great idea, but it was All Saints Day, November 1st, and most all of the shops were closed.

So we stopped and listened to some street musicians, had a sweet at a fancy cafe, then walked back home. . . in the drizzle, packed up and headed to the train station, where we grabbed some lunch and caught a train. There was some discussion about that, as the train that was supposed to be on our track wasn’t, yet there was one on the track behind us and everyone seemed to be going over there. Of course we can’t understand the announcements over the garbled loud speaker, although we pretend to listen and try to catch something, anything, of what was said. In the end, we boarded the train behind us and hoped to play Dumb Americans if it didn’t work out.

Venice Train Station. Notice the woman leaning over taking a drink? She’s wearing rubber boots that go to her knee. Nearly all the “real” Venetians had some of those on. We queued up for the vaparetto pass (long lines) avoiding the few puddles that were on the pavement, and bought ourselves a 3-day pass.

We caught a vaparetto down the Grand Canal to our stop at Ca’ D’Oro , and then a short-didn’t-get-too-lost walk to our hotel.

Hotel Alla Vite Dorata, Cannaregio, Venice, Italy

Looking out to the small side canal from the breakfast room.

Breakfast room.

We checked in, dropped the bags, and like true web addicts, checked to see if we could get on the internet–PERFECT! Happy, we went out again.

We could see evidence of high water: the elevated walkways, puddles, damp pavement, and the vino guy sweeping out his shop (notice the soggy bottoms of his barrels). Apparently Cannaregio has less high water than San Marco, and in addition, the hotel was up two steps, and we found out later that this was done expressly to cut down on high water problems. We watched people bringing empty bottles to this shop, then taking away filled ones. Maybe that’s one way they get their wine?

We are pretty happy to be here: Venice is familiar and it’s not raining, even a bit of blue sky. This was just down the street from our little five-room hotel.

We walked down the shopping street for a while and found a quilt shop–unbelievable prices, so I didn’t buy any fabric, but it was still fun to see.

We saw a lot of these, and remembered the Guido Brunetti novel where these purse sellers figured prominently into the plot line.

Several street merchants sold these glowing lights; this shot was taken on our return home.

True Venetians. The city is mostly overrun with tourists like ourselves, and those who live and work in Venice are dwindling. There was just enough language that we could communicate with so we understood that they were residents. They obliged me with a photo at our vaparetto stop.

Finally we are here. Finally we were on a boat headed down the Grand Canal. The sun was behind us, making the water dark and lighting up the buildings in front of us, and yes, the Rialto Bridge is still here. Everything is still here, and it feels lovely to be out on the vaparetto taking in the sights. Dave and I can’t stop grinning like the pair of happy tourists that we are.

Rialto Fish, and sometimes, Produce Market.

I’m always in love with the hues and rich burnished colors of the buildings, as well as the interesting shapes of the windows, the tiny patios and big balconies, the rich heritage of Venice. I don’t think you go to Venice to see something new; it’s always about the old, and perhaps the art and the food. But always always it’s about the Grand Canal and the water.

Wouldn’t this little glassed-in room be a great place for a study? Although you might not ever get any work done because of looking out the window constantly.

The wooden span of the Accademia Bridge.

Detail at top of building as we round the corner to see San Marco Square and the Doges Palace (below).

We are headed one stop further away from San Marcos — down to San Zaccharia.

We cannot believe the crush of tourists everywhere. We’ve been several times to this city — from December over the Christmas holidays to June in mid-summer — but we’ve never seen it this bad. We also had a hard time getting rooms in a hotel and we did this four months from departure date. Someone in the paper shop later that night finally explained to us that all the countries that are Catholic have these days off from school and work, so everyone took a weekend holiday. . . to Venice.

We remembered how to get to this church, San Zaccharia, for I wanted to see the Bellini Altarpiece. They’ve improved it with a light (.50 euro) and I gladly contribute as it’s easier to see. My photo was a bit blurry, even with the light, so here’s one from the web:

Across the courtyard, a shop selling soaps.

We walk on, headed to the torrone shop. The best kind ever is purchased here, in Venice, and it doesn’t really keep. I did bring some home in my suitcase, and it was all gone within a few weeks after being home.

I love how this gondoliers is pushing off of the post with his foot; many of them use such resources to keep the boats from jostling or hitting each other.

See that golden sign up there that says “Per Rialto?” We learned to follow these toward our destination as we wended our way through the labyrinthian Venetian streets. Yes, we had a map, and sometimes it even helped. Mostly you accept that getting lost is part of the experience.

I love the small shrines tucked into the walls, and I determined I would try to photograph more of them on this trip. Notice the small door with the barely visible coin slot underneath. Coins for alms, for an extra miracle?

We’ve arrived with the thirty billion other tourists at San Marco square at twilight. The pink light made the marble glow.

It is a lovely evening.

We linger in San Marcos plaza, watching the street vendors pitch the toy of the moment: a whirring, spinning light which they launch high up into the air–a flying globe of wonder, which drops back down to the plaza, sometimes where it was supposed to. The bells begin to chime and we are surround by the voices of the crowd, the pealing sounds from the bellower, the excitement that everyone feels for being out in the beautiful twilight, in beautiful Venice.

We start walking toward home, up and over and avoid the tourists. It’s made a little more difficult by the presence of the aqua alta walkways that go right up the middle of the “street,” cutting down the available walking space. And of course, we have to stop for pictures like this one.

Dinner Stop. And yes they had a menu in seven different languages, but we are near San Marco, so expect this.

This was the best part of the meal: a moderately delicious bowl of minestrone. And the waiter spoke English to us and the two other American couples in this place. I’m pretty sure the Italians come much later, if at all, to these touristy spots.

After dinner, more winding ways back to our hotel. I have to say it feels like a big party out here, with lots of people, lights in the shops, action everywhere. We stop at Il Papiro, a favorite paper shop of ours, then push on. We found another shop, Paolo Olbi. That’s Mr. Olbi up there, wrapping up the purchased folios for me to carry home to America. I rather like this shop–better than Il Paprio, I have to say.

A shrine with the face worn off, just under the Rialto Bridge.

Where the gondoliers shop?

The view from Rialto Bridge at night, looking San Marco direction.

When we see this beautifully lit Murano glass chandelier, we recognize where we are–two more turns and we are home to our hotel.

We let ourselves in with our key, and there’s another Murano light in our hallway. We check our emails, get ready for bed, which includes pulling the shutters on the window slightly shut, and head to bed. The only unfortunate thing in this nearly perfect hotel are the pillows: one is a slab of foam about the size of a bread box and the other is longish pillar of foam about 5″ in diameter. There were some more regular-looking pillows but they had fancy pillowcases on them, so I thought they were decorative. It’s when you travel you realize how much you like your own bed, your own pillows, and your own home. But it is grand to be in Venice!

Menu II

Posted on April 27, 2013 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued

I left off after that first night in Bologna, at the place that had a giant golden tortellini hanging outside its door. The next morning we went to the breakfast area in Hotel Porta San Mamolo and saw this:

It’s really easy to become a glutton when you see a spread like this.

I took one piece of this but it was coconut cake. Not a favorite. I swallowed my bite and gave the rest to Dave.

Our choices.

The breakfast room. I just want you to know that our breakfasts at home look like this. Every day. Right. This room is a courtyard between the three buildings that has been renovated into a warm and cozy place to dine, as long as you weren’t caught in the draft between the two doors.

For lunch that day, after bebopping around Bologna for a while, it was like someone rang an invisible gong and all of a sudden all the trattorias on the “food” street were packed. To the brim. When last in New York City, we’d wandered through Eataly in midtown Manhattan and after ducking in and out of several lunch places, we went upstairs in Eataly — in Bologna, Italy. The waiters were moving at warp speed, as shown in this photo. We snagged a table for two after only about a ten-minute wait. We felt blessed, frankly.

After placing our order, we looked around.

We were on the second level in a small alcove with pasta on one side of us for sale and vinegars on the other side.

After lunch I would pick out a vinegar, trying really hard to approximate what I’d seen in the farm and have it wrapped up in bubble wrap and carry it in my suitcase all the way home. It arrived safely, and I pull it out and feel like I’m in Bologna again. Plus, I loved the heart-shaped dollop of sealing wax on the top.

Dave’s dish was some kind of circular noodles, with pork, leeks, and vegetables. As usual, we played the game of what we thought we ordered was not what showed up on the table.

I ordered Taglierini Bolognese, of course. After all, we were in Bologna. The noodle could have been tagilatelle, though. I didn’t quite get which one. Apparently they only serve the Bolognese sauce with this thin, flat noodle. Mine was divine. I could have it again tomorrow, if I were in Eataly. In Bologna.

That night we tried a couple of places for dinner, but they were already booked up. We had been warned by the hotel concierege to make our reservations early, but did we listen? No. We like to keep our options open, which meant that we only had one option for dinner: Osteria Le Mura across the street from the hotel.

We were the only ones there at 8:00 p.m. We came in, and no one was around–we called out–and finally, from the back the owner/chef? came out and seated us.

He brought around the chalkboard, which was our menu and patiently went through EVERYTHING on the menu. He tried to sell us on one of the 46 euro fish, but we didn’t quite have that in mind.

We must have waffled a bit too long, because he said “momento” and returned with this, showing us our fish possibilities. Um, that doesn’t really help, but at least we know this is fresh fish. I think we ordered the pink one.

Bread basket with the requisite vinegar and oil for our salad. The bread in Italy runs the gamut from very good to eh. This was eh.

Really terrible picture of our fish with vegetables. Maybe I should take this down, but here it is. We didn’t have any dessert, but after paying, walked across the street and went to our room.

Here’s a few more sights and sounds of Bologna food: first, a celestially decorated frozen yogurt shop.

A cautionary sign near the tomatoes.

An array of artichokes, like a wedding bouquet.

Sinewy radicchio. All of these vegetables disappeared back into the shops during the afternoon lunch break. Actually the whole town about dried up and disappeared. They take their afternoon lunch hours very seriously.

I’d read in one of my Guido Brunetti books about fave, an almond-flavored small cookie that is only sold around All Saints Day. I exclaimed excitedly over this basket in one of the shops. We bought one in the morning, and one in the afternoon. They were delicious.

This was our last meal in Bologna–warm ham and cheese sandwiches, purchased from the train station. This is one of those times that the bread was amazing–a foccacia with just the right amount of saltiness.

For some reason, we thought that eating at BREK cafeteria in Padua would be a good experience–after all the guide book that came with our Padua Tourist Card said it would be great. Bad idea. Imagine high school cafeteria does Italian food.

Dave was the enthusiastic champion of eating here (we were tired and hungry and it was close by), but after he tasted my entree, even he agreed that it was pitiful. On the way home, we sampled some of previously-purchased chocolate and mine, again, was “icky,” as I wrote in my journal. Maybe we were just tired–tired of traveling, tired of fighting the internet at our hotel (it never did work properly), tired of the rain, but just like home where some meals are just cheese sandwiches or their ilk, some meals while traveling are equally forgettable. This was one of them.

These pictures show our breakfast choices at this hotel. While it looks like quite a spread, I think we’re homesick for our hotel in Bologna. The girl running the breakfast behind the counter stared at us the entire time, like we were some captured species in a zoo (we were the only ones there). At one point, she stepped outside on the balcony leaving the door open and smoked a couple of cigarettes, which “perfumed” the entire breakfast area.

This was a really strange hotel. We took to calling it Hotel California, if you know that song. We walked over to the marketplaces and enjoyed all the sights of the markets. See the regular Padua post for more photos.

We’re still talking about this veritable vegetable with a fractal design, apparently known as Romanesco broccoli.

And one stall’s version of prepared foods: bags and bags of different kinds of grains mixed with dried vegetables. I liked this presentation where you could see all the flavors and ingredients, and found it more enticing than our boxed-up supermarket foods.

Before coming to Italy, I’d done a bit of homework and looked up a couple of restaurants. We made our way to one for lunch, Enoteca Ristorante La Corte dei Leoni. We stepped in out of the rain, and felt like we’d come back to civilization.

You’ve got to understand: we’ve been in rain about 90% of the time since we’d arrived in Italy, and the warm red wall, with the fireplace that contained a painting, and lovely place that was oh-so-different than last night’s dreck-at-BREK was like heaven.

Luckily, the waiter could translate the menu. I wrote down what he said so he wouldn’t have to repeat it.

This is the Insaltona Vegetariana, with lettuce, greens, tomato, apple and other stuff, which I have no idea–I think they were squash seeds.

I ordered the pork with mushrooms and roast potatoes. I think Dave had the exact same thing because we only have pictures of these two items. But for dessert, we chose differently:

I had the Panna cotta with fig and apricot in chocolate sauce.

Dave had “Sugolo di uva fragola con yogurt magro, which we thought was panna cotta with grapes. No, it turned out to be grape panna cotta in yogurt sauce.

In the back we found Guido Brunetti’s newspaper that he reads–we love that we read so many of those mysteries before coming back to Italy. The waiter tells us about the special Halloween menu–it’s all pumpkin. I laugh, and we decide to make reservations and return here for dinner after seeing Scrovegni Chapel.

I paused to take a photo of their fall display in the courtyard. Apparently in the summer, people gather to come and have a lazy moment or two with some wine and live music. but now, we dash through it to get to Scrovegni on time.

Another display was there when we returned, along with a lit Jack-O-Lantern (which didn’t photograph well).

The special Halloween Menu.

First up is a pumpkin flan, which was pretty interesting. And no, I can’t remember what that dark thing on the top is.

Dave had the culatello, which is one reason why I wanted to return here so badly. I’d heard about this cured meat–kind of like the Ritz Carlton of cured meats. It was really tender and delicious and reminded me of prosciutto in terms of texture. But it was oh, so, amazing.

Next course for me was the pumpkin risotto, which I had Dave help me eat. It was a lot.

Dave had a salad, with that really great vinegar.

He had some kind of spaghetti carbonara for his entree.

Mine was medallions of roast pork with pumpkin sauce.

I’m wearing the necklace I’d purchased from the market–pumpkin-colors all around!

For dessert, these two little sweet treasures. Your guess is as good as mine. The restaurant is on Via Pietro d’Abano 1, in Padua, and is on a side street just north of the Piazza della Fruta. Our last meal in Padua was another really great focaccia sandwich, again in the train station, as we waited for our train to Venice, but I have no photos of that. You’ll have to imagine it.

Scrovegni Chapel Images

Posted on February 27, 2013 by Elizabeth

Scrovegni Chapel, Padua

Posted on February 27, 2013 by Elizabeth

Italy 2012, continued

This is all you see from the outside, and of course, no photographs are allowed on the inside (all my photos are from the web). But I’d done my homework, creating a slideshow of the images and titles of each, and had been reviewing them for a few weeks before we left. I’d first heard about Scrovegni Chapel when I was taking Art History at my local community college some twenty-plus years ago. The woman who taught it did not hold a degree in art, but she was well traveled, loved art and museums and was really knowledgeable. She told us all that whatever we did in life, we should not miss seeing Giotto’s frescoes in Scrovegni Chapel. So the seed was planted. We’d tried a couple of other times, on trips to Italy to get here, but either we couldn’t warp the itinerary around it, or else it was closed for renovation. All the stars aligned for this trip.

We walked around the side to see a small glass room with an airlock door. The procedure was that you would enter with a group, sit and watch a video while you acclimated to the chapel’s temperature and humidity levels, then they’d let you out the other side into the chapel. The door would airlock shut, then the outside door would open–for just three minutes–then it would begin again.. We could see the video going on, and the chairs were half-empty: not a crush of tourists today. We stood there, wondering if they’d let us in early, when a whole tour group walked up behind us. The tour guide spoke English to these tourists (Americans?) and asked us if we were on her tour. We explained we were there early. The group in the chairs got up and filed into the chapel. The airlock door opened. I got a crazy idea. (Best not to consult with Dave on these things.)

I leaned over to the tour guide. “Maybe you could ask the guard, that since there is room in your group for us and since our time isn’t until the next opening, that maybe we could stay for two visits?” She scowled. “They won’t allow it.” “But could you please ask?” I said. A miracle occurred. She asked. The first Scrovegni guide/guard said he’d have to check with the second guide/guard. We sat down with the group, wondering if we would be able to stay twice, as they have a strict fifteen-minutes-and-you’re-out policy.

We went in with the group after our acclimatising video had finished, pausing to look enquiringly at the second guide/guard, listening to the few spoken words in Italian. He gave the briefest nod, as if to say, Yes. You may have two times. Dave and I squeezed each other’s hand and filed in.

Scrovegni Chapel is not large, but it is tall, and an average person’s eyes would be about even with the first row of frescoes. There are three rows of frescoes detailing the life of Christ, plus some history of his parents. We tried to verify that particular history–it’s not in the scriptures–but a touching story nonetheless. And at either end are more frescoes, and in between are small paintings of the Allegories and Vices.

The English-speaking tour guide was giving it her go, loudly coughing (along with the rest of the group; they sounded like they belonged in an infirmary) and loudly narrated the cycle of frescoes. Dave and I went quietly to the other end, located the beginning and I narrated for him what I had learned. The older Joaquim took the virgin Anna for his bride, and unfortunately they remained childless. Joaquim fled to the wilderness in grief, feeling like it was his age that contributed , and takes refuge with shepherds, falls asleep.

He has a dream where an angel visits him, and when he awakes, makes an offering to God. I love the detail of the hand up in the sky, blessing his offering and accepting it.

He rushes back to the city where he meets Anna and they exchange a kiss–all is forgiven, as she is pregnant with Mary–having been visited by an angel announcing this turn of events.

Giotto was on the cusp of art that made room for the body in paintings, breaking from the tradition of stacking iconic saints up like fence posts in paintings. His colors are rich and dramatic and he makes use of diagonals to draw the eye into the important parts of the fresco. Dave and I work our way through the frescoes, working around the loud tour guide (bless her! bless her!) and her band of hacking tourists, and we work our way through Christ’s birth, his childhood, baptism. A loud chime sounds, the voices raise, and Dave and I move off to the side. The second guard comes in and says something, the tourists file out. He looks at us, nods with a hint of a smile while the next group files in. We continue with this amazing work of art. (There is a slide show of all the images after this post.)

Giotto made use of transparency in this fresco, showing Christ being baptized. While the frescoes have been restored, many sections are still in disrepair.

We continued through the Betrayal, the Crucifixion, and when we got to this image, I fell quiet.

The diagonal begins in the upper right, leading the eye to the central figure of Jesus, cradled in his mother Mary’s arms. John the Baptist, in the center, is distraught, his arms flung backward in disbelief over Christ’s death. The artist rendered the horrific reality that the crucifixion did occur, that Mary and Mary Magdalene and John and apostles were all there, perhaps wondering how this could have happened, wondering what they would do now. It is all too much to take in.

And then Giotto’s skill comes forward with this little angel, hovering over the body, profound grief on his face.

There in that little chapel in Italy, on a rainy, dark day, the story and impact of his sacrifice came full force to me, and I could not speak, nor hold back the tears. Christ was slain, all was lost, all was gone.

But the story does not end there. Christ returns, then ascends to His Father, like we all may do. Dave and I stood quietly together, the voices whispering in Italian around us, which left us to our own thoughts and emotions.

We stood for a few long moments, and we noticed the breaking of the border of the canvas denoting another place, more space. Heaven.

We moved to the The Last Judgement at one end of the chapel, noting the different figures in different places, the writing souls in Hell, the whole scene as Giotto and his workshop must have imagined it.

And then our time was up. The bell chimed. We took one last look around, then walked out into the falling rain.