(no subject)
*gutteral choking noises*
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD.
I had high, high goddamn expectations for Vatican City: I mean, who wouldn't? But I am not sure anything could have prepared me. I think aesthetic shock was inevitable.
I am known to exaggerate and rave over museum visits. They're like pilgrimages, so today = mother-of-all pilgrimages.
I mean, just to take the journey down to the Sistine, our first on Dennis' hit-list: We were hearded like cattle and taken for the most roundabout possible way, through miles of Raphael paintings and frescos, wall-to-wall people, then shuffled painstakingly slowly through nearly single file down plummeting staircases. "After all this work," I heard Alison say, "we'll appreaciate it even more."
She was probably right about that one.
On the last stretch down the stairs, you could start to hear this sound... I remember this bit quite clearly, because my nerves were all a-jangle and prickling, because I knew were almost there, and was still unsure what to really expect. So I was starting the hear this sound, like that inside-of-shell ocean sound, that must be the hundreds of people in huge room. Emily even said she could just feel the heat of the crowd approaching.
And then, bam, there she was:
(I liked this photo because it gives a feel of what its like to smashed in there, with all those other people.)
I'm happy I was standing with Dennis, among others while I was there. First of all, I think having the company kept me from over-indulging myself and fainting, and secondly, he was sharing the most wonderful and insightful things. The huddle blathered on about Michelangelo, and his spirituality, and his hidden self-portait(?), and the progression from one side of the vault to the other, where you could see his work get bolder, bigger, less busy and tentative.
But it was certainly busy. My god was it even more detailed ridden-than I thought it could be-- it was smaller than I imagined, too, so minuteness of some of the details was a shock. As were the small panels where the restorers had left samples of the soot and filth prior to the cleaning. I simply cannot picture the last judgment with a black background-- without that sweet, sweet cobalt blue!
It was quite impressive when the guards made announcements ordering everyone to be silent, and then there were these weird, eerie moments of silence and reverence. But these lasted for a mere few seconds before the mummer started to crank up the volume again.
But good god, that was only the beginning. My eyes, as the expression goes, are ready to burp. I mean, the Lancoon?
AhhhhhhH!H!
And this Caravaggio? What the fuck? How is it that the Pope got first snatch at all of this?
I am in love with the weird animation this thing has: From the figure in the top right all the way to the bottom man, clutching Christ's legs, it seems like one person in action. Throwing up their arms in grief and then eventually stooping to pick him up, it's a perfect arc.
Finally making it over to Saint Peter's was quite a treat. I accompanied Dennis since I had managed to get seperated from everyone else, stopping on a bench to draw the ancient bronze pinecone. I mean, the Swiss guards...
The fact that MICHELANGELO designed these makes it out of this world. Beyond belief.
What else is beyond belief is St Peter's itself. I thought I was going to get a nosebleed from looking up at the sheer height of it. Those catholics sure know how make you feel teeny-tiny, itty-bitty.
We concluded with the pieta. Nothing more needs to be said.
