Our little Caesar...
Archive post June 16, 2019…
I suppose, I ought to consider myself lucky when You-know-who makes a dinner declaration that it is not along the lines of… I need some new white shirts! How unexciting. Thankfully, such a pronouncement has never brushed pass his Italian lips. Instead, You mentions… as per the other evening… and stated between heaping mouthfuls of a stunning risotto d’asparagi e salami di cinghiale I had labored over, the gnawing desire for a statue… A Bust, no less!!!… to keep company with the two cement & fruity festoons lately bought & brought from one of his forays of flea-markets in a distant Italian backwater. I did not automatically reply. I don’t ever. This is mean of me. Yet, knowing You as I have for the last twenty-one years, he’d badger me anyway even if I did reply. Why ruin his fun? His ever ascending crescendo of any current obsession normally spans cene, pranzi e colazioni, and drives to run errands, to grocery shop, fill-up with gas, call on neighbors. I don’t even get a Good-night Kiss without him broaching the subject one-more-time before a smooch.
You had been on a week’s vacation with us of the Codiponte Dog Team. I rewarded him for several long days spent tending to our garden here at il Poggiolo with a drive to Forte dei Marmi and our favourite though -spensive garden ornament emporium… www.recuperando.com. The car had not come to a complete stop and You was out amongst the many statues, gates, obelisks, wrought iron furniture heading to the bust scaffolding/shelving in the centre of the outdoor establishment. He hankered for a caesar. Now, who do you know who has that for an ambition? God gave you ten fingers to spare. Well, I found him his caesar. Made from an impasto of cement & marble dust. Handsome.
Sadly, the imperatore looks to have suffered acne as a teenager. But let’s over-look that by saying he also resembles the great Italian actor, Vittorio Gassman. It’s the nose, folks!
There was a minor debate about the color not complimenting especially well the darker, richer cement impasto of the two festoons. I am happy to report My Aesthetic Judgement prevailed. Oddly, You did not harp upon the Question of which emperor was he? I stayed mute. Won one battle. I was on a roll. And, I didn’t loose another, as the Roman gentleman now conveniently graces our courtyard’s wall. Mark it down as yet another yard ornament for il Poggiolo’s garden. Come to think of it too, I’m lucky You doesn’t want to collect The Seven Dwarfs!
Urns...
Archive post March 14, 2019…
Buon Giorno a tutti…
Before I proceed with this week’s blog-post, I would like to ask the 3 followers of this blog…
if there are more of you out in there in the Blog-o’-sphere, please make yourselves known. It’s a Question of Moral Support…
to take a Great Big Sniff of the left-hand photo below. Il Poggiolo was a farm for 800 years, of humble roots, and the house & gardens nearly disappeared into a sad destruction, thanks to the indifference of its previous owner, a woman, who benignly allowed the roofs to collapse and the garden to become a garbage dump for the locals. I was told she NEVER set foot in what she had inherited. I am the Hero here.
There is, however, a person near & dear to me, who believes himself to be il Vero Salvatore del Poggiolo. Much contrary to this Other Person, I feel it’s silly to maintain any pretense that il Poggiolo a Codiponte could ever become a physical kindred & equal to, say, a noble Tuscan villa, such as the Villa Mansi in Lucca, just by planting an urn in the garden. My Barbaric American Voice does not come heard.
Our blog-story harks back several years when You… Dottore You-know-who, to be exact, he who labors diligently to save people’s eyesight, occasionally pointing a laser at them to do the job… discovered with the help of his Hospital Nursing Staff… an unsavory congress of persons, a thoroughly Bad Influence upon Our Dear Dottore… found the urn in the photo on the extreme left on an Italian garden ornament website specializing in historical stuff.
You has not been the same since.
Led him to a career dallying continually on the Internet with that Staff of his. When DO THEY work? Managed to collide head-on with catawiki.com. An Internet auction house. You says it is too much fun and saves him bunches of Euros. (Says there’s a trick to win what you want spending few Euros. I am contractually PROHIBITED from divulging it. Sorry. Those are my Orders.) Anyway, a dialogue… Catawiki? How nice, Dear. Have you found something delectable to bid on? Oh, yes! They arrive on Saturday. And so they did. At the local mechanic’s officina. Two tall, heavy-weight cement statues of Dr. Bacchus and Mr Hercules. Middle 19th Century. Had to pay for their transport all the way from il Veneto. Cost a pretty penny. The Other Person was not carrying his wallet. They now grace certain panoramic sectors nel Poggiolo’s garden. There’s one in the middle left photo. The rather swish stance of Mr. Hercules. Greek. Probably Gay. Lots of trials for it too. Myths are tough.
I declared You insane.
More disasters. Helping a client to dabble with the Italianate for her centuries old tower, now a enormous house, You & I developed a close & affectionate collaboration with a stuff emporium, a paradise of the old, copies of the old and a few things truly antique. Heaven. Ambling around & through the depository during one visit, You happened upon an urn. A terracotta urn. Shortly, money passed hands, the AUDI was loaded with not one BUT two of the things. And, a few hours afterwards, they too graced certain panoramic sectors nel Poggiolo’s garden. Che gioia. One of them is nestling in its spot in the middle right photo.
Thought I might sign myself into an asylum.
Many months passed, the Seasons came & went, the calendar changed years too, without n’er a Grecian urn acquired. Then, I had a moment. Just last weekend. Innocently touring the famous antiques-to-vintage market at the oddly Chinese looking pavilions of the Parma fairgrounds, I came upon love in terracotta. Though mildly unfocused, I panned an impromptu exhibition space outside of Pavilion 5… an overflow of stuff from a stand inside… and there, at my Adidas-clad feet were two lovely, oval, elegant, terracotta vases. Urns. The pair’s faces were quite nicely done too. Love. Big Love. VERY BIG LOVE. Can happen to anyone. Even the innocent. Terracotta Love. At first sight. Alas unrequited. A minor problem erupted. Someone was in rapt negotiations with the Neapolitan owner to purchase & carry away My Terracotta Loves. Seemed a done deed. I walked away and with one last look, I snapped a pic and whatsapp-ed it to My Resident Urn Expert with a sort of an apology… Got bitten but they got away. The End