Interesting you should raise this particular question, Allie. A couple of years ago, you might say I nearly lost my life because of Caravaggio. And it was due to the fact that my mom and dad had recently taken a continuing-ed class in art history at highly respected Bard College in New York's Hudson Valley, in which this artist definitely made a big-time impression on them.
And so when I took them on what a trip to Italy, I thought we'd have yet another grand round of Medicis, Michelangelo and macaroni (sorry, I'm an editor and alliteration addict). Anyway, that was all well and good, and indeed came to pass, but the folks had some other ideas, too. As in, they launched into a mission in Rome to see every square inch of canvas the dude ever laid his hands on. So we found ourselves dashing from church to church, dodging nuns and schoolkids and other Caravaggio-crazed tourists -- but I must admit, our hunt did give what would have been yet another garden-variety trip to the Eternal City a pretty interesting twist.
Unfortunately, for the Holy Grail of our visit, the Madonna dei Palafrenieri in the sumptuous Villa Borghese, we needed time-specific tickets, and none were available until the day before my folks' flight home. We did what any red-blooded American tourists would do: we bought the tickets, took our excursion up to Umbria and Emilia-Romagna, then, on the last day of our trip, proceeded to hurtle down the highways in a rental car with no working horn (need I say, a real challenge in Italy). I'd sworn to leave the car on the outskirts of Rome and take the train in, as I've always felt that only fools and madmen drive in that city, but the clock was ticking on Caravaggio, and so that wasn't an option.
So it was that I found myself frantically dodging Vespas that swarmed around our car like flies on speed, while three hysterical passengers each shouted conflicting directions at me. It was, I can safely say, the longest, most harrowing drive of my life. Finally at the Villa Borghese, literally FIVE MINUTES before they shut the mighty doors, we were able to convince the guard that we really meant to just check the Caravaggios in the entrance hall, and they'd be rid of us. With a classic Italian shrug, the dude let us in, and we were finally able to lay our eyes on the unnaturally luminous image of Baby Jesus stomping on a snake and so forth. And as a bonus, afterward I even managed to talk my dad and myself into the closed museum shop to buy the catalog ("loro sono venuti dall'America solo per vedere queste opere di Caravaggio!" I begged).
A suitable coda to a grand and very memorable family trip.
So, hmm, has Caravaggio overtaken Michelangelo? Can't really say -- but on this family on this trip, I'd have to say: Michel-who?
Replies
And so when I took them on what a trip to Italy, I thought we'd have yet another grand round of Medicis, Michelangelo and macaroni (sorry, I'm an editor and alliteration addict). Anyway, that was all well and good, and indeed came to pass, but the folks had some other ideas, too. As in, they launched into a mission in Rome to see every square inch of canvas the dude ever laid his hands on. So we found ourselves dashing from church to church, dodging nuns and schoolkids and other Caravaggio-crazed tourists -- but I must admit, our hunt did give what would have been yet another garden-variety trip to the Eternal City a pretty interesting twist.
Unfortunately, for the Holy Grail of our visit, the Madonna dei Palafrenieri in the sumptuous Villa Borghese, we needed time-specific tickets, and none were available until the day before my folks' flight home. We did what any red-blooded American tourists would do: we bought the tickets, took our excursion up to Umbria and Emilia-Romagna, then, on the last day of our trip, proceeded to hurtle down the highways in a rental car with no working horn (need I say, a real challenge in Italy). I'd sworn to leave the car on the outskirts of Rome and take the train in, as I've always felt that only fools and madmen drive in that city, but the clock was ticking on Caravaggio, and so that wasn't an option.
So it was that I found myself frantically dodging Vespas that swarmed around our car like flies on speed, while three hysterical passengers each shouted conflicting directions at me. It was, I can safely say, the longest, most harrowing drive of my life. Finally at the Villa Borghese, literally FIVE MINUTES before they shut the mighty doors, we were able to convince the guard that we really meant to just check the Caravaggios in the entrance hall, and they'd be rid of us. With a classic Italian shrug, the dude let us in, and we were finally able to lay our eyes on the unnaturally luminous image of Baby Jesus stomping on a snake and so forth. And as a bonus, afterward I even managed to talk my dad and myself into the closed museum shop to buy the catalog ("loro sono venuti dall'America solo per vedere queste opere di Caravaggio!" I begged).
A suitable coda to a grand and very memorable family trip.
So, hmm, has Caravaggio overtaken Michelangelo? Can't really say -- but on this family on this trip, I'd have to say: Michel-who?