Remembering Childhood Days

Many of my posts are about travelling. There is a Polish saying – Travels educate.  Yes, they do and I like to travel maybe because I like to learn new things. Learning according to some psychological test is one of my core strengths. I also like to experience new things. New landscapes, unseen before art, food not yet tasted, new people . I have rather eclectic approach here. And now when I came to my Australian home and will stay put for a while, I still travel. Recently, I have been travelling in time. To my childhood holidays with my grandparents.

It was a village in the eastern part of Poland, not far from the Russian border. The times when I visited my grandparents distance felt different to how it is now. Everything seemed so much bigger than now.  The village seemed like a whole universe to me. I did not have an idea that the Russian border was so near. To me it was not.

The distance from my grandparents house to the church seemed like a really significant one. Minutes seemed longer than they feel now. At that time I did not try to achieve in the same way as I leant to expect of myself over the years. With my current expectations I feel each day that I do not measure up to my life appetites. Something needs to be done here, but this is another topic. At the times when I was spending long months with my great parents, the days were full of activities and new experiences but I never had feeling that I should have done or achieve more. I might had plans for the next day, I might had been nicely tired after a full day but I did not think I felt guilty that had not done enough.

Now when I think about those blissful times I often think about my grandpa. Lovely man, a bit of a softy when dealing with his grandchild. I felt really loved by him. He was not an ideal man, of course. He suffered of asthma but smoking was one of his pleasures he could not resist.   However there was a very energetic and bossy grandma in the picture. According to her, smoking was strictly forbidden so my grandpa had to resort to  deviousness. He was working from home so my grandmother kept an eye on him during the whole days. I was sometimes sent to buy him cigarettes at the kiosk next to the church at the other end of the main street. It was a special village. It had a main street, a church and a school.

My grandparents lived opposite the school almost at the end of the main street. 

The village has only 6,000 people but the pupils come from the whole district. Such a small Polish Oxford on a grammar school level

The very end of the street was a couple of houses further and was marked by a cross. As I am writing about a catholic country it was only fitting that the  church marked the other end of the street. That was my destination when sent on the mission to supply my grandpa with his poison. I am not sure how he organised his private money, grandma was very bossy and wore pants in the household. I suspect that she took care of the family finances. But we are able to do even seemingly impossible things if we really want to. He had money to buy cigarettes.  My very gentle and honest grandpa was able to skim to protect his moments of pleasure even if he was damaging  his health. Well, we not always do what we should.

Strange country Poland, such a big church in such a small place

On reflection I was getting rather bad lessons in lying with and for my grandfather and supporting his behaviour which I should had been condoning.  Hmm... But I still love the memories of those days and my disobedient grandpa.

After a break

After such a very long break in posting as mine it is very difficult to resume.  It is time thought. I am not sure if anybody missed my writing, but I did. This is a good reason enough to start again.

I am back in Australia, my home. It is really emotionally complicated for me having two homes, two home countries and loving them both even if in a different way. Some of my friends consider me lucky to be in such a situation. And I am grateful that I can taste and understand the two so different cultures. Poland is always more dramatic and the current situation is not, what I call, safe for Poles. There are many good things that happen there if one forgets Mr Putin for a while.

Some time ago I wrote about the Polish Prime Minister. I am very proud now that he will be the President of the European Council for the next five years. Great and well deserved recognition.

This is just a “let’s get me going again” post. I even do not have a proper subject for my writing today. I just wanted to make a move in the right direction. 

Remembering Warsaw Uprising 1944

I am still in Poland and a lot is happening here but I was sidetracked by some health issues so I am writing with some delay about a very complex Polish historical issue. I am not quite sure if I managed to sort it out for myself already but my thoughts are a bit more clear. I am talking about the Warsaw Uprising of the first of August 1944. This year is a big anniversary and a big discussion on the subject. I was brought up on literature, films and propaganda presenting images of those horrible times. There were many years when communistic propaganda did not allow true presentation of the events and their meaning. Home Army was the Polish resistance movement in German-occupied Poland in allegiance with Polish Government-in-Exile. They organised and fought in the Warsaw Uprising. The communistic regime was on the other  side of political spectrum and very critical about anything related to the Home Army. This is putting it very mildly as there were times when people associated with the Home Army were considered an enemy of the communistic system and were savagely persecuted after the war the same  as by Germans during the war.

The uprising started at 5pm (W Hour) on the 1^st of August 1944. Every year sirens of Warsaw joined by hooting cars lament in memory of the tragic times. Actually more and more towns freeze for one minute to remember and pay respect to those who so willingly gave their lives in attempt to free Poland.

                     

For many years I just thought it was patriotic, tragic and unsuccessful but I did not judge. Later I became angry that the Uprising was called at all. It was doomed to fail and the young people, children really, were called to form an unarmed army. They were sent to a certain death by politicians in London and Home Army superiors. I was angry that 200,000 people died in the senseless fights, that they were so young, many in their teens, that Warsaw was destroyed in carpet bombing to punish the nation. I was angry at the willingness of Poles to die in romantically patriotic senseless uprisings. There were many of them in Polish history. All but one lost. 

                                     

I still am angry at that, but I have learnt to see the need to pay tribute to the people who gave their lives and I do not protest any more that there is so much fuss over the anniversary of the 1^st of August. 

How can one loose weight in Italy?

I was not able to even if I thought that I might. It was an opportunity, in a way, walking and walking during days of sightseeing, no fridge around to make trips to in moments of weakness. However it did not work that way I intended and I am not sure why. Three meals a day, no excesses, hmmm...Many would laugh at me thinking – Italian food and slimming??!! Think of those Italian mamas. The mama image must have been created for a reason. Well, yes, maybe... But when I looked at the Florentine people, no matter what age or sex they were slim! Maybe I was selective in my noticing examples of skinny Italians. Maybe, but they were many slim people there anyhow.  Maybe Floretines are different to the other citizens of Italy, I know they think themselves better and more sophisticated.

So what do they eat, the same as tourists? Pastas? Risottos? Gnocchi? Cheese? Gelatos? Focaccia? Panini? Do they drink Italian wine as so many of non-Italians do? I am still puzzled but I also have my little insight to the mystery. I met a very slim, elegant  lady in an elegant shoe boutique. We engaged in a conversation, she spoke very good English and was keen to talk. After some polite remarks and some girly chat I plucked up the courage to asked her the question : how come you can be so slim having all this food around you? Do you eat it? The answer was – yes, once a week I eat what I like in moderation including gelato and tiramisu. I thought – this is clever. I will then declare Saturday to be my day of pleasure. I will eat nice things in moderation with a glass or two of champagne or a good wine, maybe even Vin Santo  with a biscotti? Do you know they dunk biscotti in Vin Santo? Fantastic! And such a simple delicious desert to serve your friends!  Wow, I am dreaming of it already.

When I was in Florence, I actually behaved as it was two weeks of Saturdays. We ate what was available and this was not particularly healthy but we hardly had any choice. In our palazzo accommodations we had coffee, tea and biscuits for pre-breakfast snack. After few days I skipped the biscuits. I still do not know what Italians eat for breakfast but in cafes there are only piles of focaccias or paninis with bocconcini or other cheese, prosciuto  and sometimes a symbolic leaf of something green. This was our regular breakfast which we ate on our way to some church or gallery. Plus two cappuccinos served without any chocolate as it is in Sydney.  Coffee is much nicer this way.

Big coffee to get us going

Our lunches were light another white bread sandwich, sometimes a salad with a glass of wine. So far not that sinful. 

Around seven we were making our way to Santo Spirito for dinner. By Italian standards it was still very early for diner, but in my book it was already late. We did not eat anything excessive really, but this was time for a hot meal. Italian eat in a different way to what I am used to, vegetables are ordered separately to the meat and one somehow forgets about them when faced with other choices and they do not land up on your plate automatically. Each dinner stared with compulsory white bread that landed up automatically on our table, not like it was with vegies, together with  fragrant olive oil or black olives tapenade. One simply had to eat it. In our  favourite restaurant we typically ordered a big salad to share and half size  portions of either pasta or some delicious Italian main course speciality. Excessive? I do not think so.

This was really nice

On our way home it was time for gelato, we passed two of fantastic galaterias and one just had to sample the flavours. My companion was very particular about what she ate so there was always a research stage before she made her choice. I was more overwhelmed with possibilities and they all seemed fantastic to me, so I did not fuss.

One of our favourites Galateria La Carraia. Serious stuff! This was only part of one of the two counters, hence problems to make a choice.

                                               

Three friends - three crucifixions

I am still on the subject of Florence. Now I got to the art part of my visit there. I am reading and discovering things I only glimpsed when in Florence.  Having time to reflect on my new interest I started to really appreciate what I have seen and what I still must see. As it is with the art in Florence, there is no escape from religious subjects. Actually I do not want to escape it but my motivation is not of religious nature even if I write about crosses or Madonnas. Come to think about it may have been rarely motivation for the artists of the times.

There is a lovely story about two friends Brunelleschi and Donatello. I believe that originally the story comes from Vasari’s Lives of the Artists. I got it second hand though, so I am not sure. I am sure though that the three artists (Brunelleschi, Donatello and Masaccio) were friends. There is enough evidence of that. 

Here goes the story about Donatello Brunelleschi rivalry.

Donatello was the first one to sculpture Crucifixion and he showed the sculpture to his friend Brunelleschi. The feedback was perhaps friendly and meant to be constructive but is was scathing. Brunelleschi obviously had different idea of aesthetics and the way the Christ should look like.   In his opinion Donatello sculptured an uncouth fellow, somebody like a simple peasant with tragic hair cut. Brunelleschi was disgusted.

            

Donatello was not fazed by the criticism. In his opinion there was a place for ugliness in art. He said – Why don’t you sculpture your own version then!

When I look at the Donatello's Christ from Santa Croce, I see a beautiful suffering face. Taste must have changed through centuries.

Brunelleschi thought that he will show his younger friend how it should be done and got to work on his own cross, the one in Santa Maria Novella. It is also extremely beautiful work. The artist, pleased with the result, wanted to boast a bit. He arranged to have lunch together with Donatello at his place and two friends after getting their food shopping were walking to Brunelleschi’s place. The host wanted his friend to have time to appreciate his achievement in private and said – I’ll get us some wine and you go ahead. When Donatello entered the place and looked up at the wall where the cross was hung, he dropped the shopping, eggs splashed on the floor and all lunch ingredients scrambled. He stood in front of the Christ in total admiration, muttering something like “Bloody hell, this is great!” Brunelleschi seeing the mess cried out – What have you done with our lunch! Donatello answered – Never mind the lunch, this is heavenly!

               

He obviously was not envious and was able to appreciate art without any prejudices. I wish I could be that magnanimous.

There is a third friend, Masaccio, and a third crucifixion, also in basilica Santa Maria Novella. When I saw it I was spellbound. Thankfully I was not carrying any lunch, I could drop. It was supposed to be a fresco for grave of married couple – Lenzi, the couple pictured at the bottom. And it is a fresco but with a difference. Masaccio using perspective masterfully created something which looks like a chapel not only a two dimensional fresco. It took him only 30 days to paint something that great and innovative, wow!  

                                            

Would you be able to pick up your favourite crucifixion? I cannot. Love them all.

I want to go back there!

I have been writing for a while about Florence. This was one of the best holidays I have had, most educating at least. I already wrote about living in a palazzo, about Santo Spirito, about Florentine men and values of Florentines (each time I write the word an image of biscuits comes to mind).

I will make Florentines on my return to Sydney

I have been impressed by so many things about Florence and now thinking, reading and learning about the place and its treasures I just realised that I need to go back there. I had been like many tourists unaware of what actually one can see there, even if I knew about Uffizi, The Doumo and Academia.  About Giotto, Fillippo Lippi, Donatello and Michael Angelo. Even about Brunelleschi.  I knew  that Florence is the place for Renaissance art. I heard that 3-4 days is enough to see the place. I, myself thought that two weeks will be plenty. And it was in some ways. It was enough to get the taste of the place. To get confused, enchanted, spellbound and fall in love with the place.

I have been a fan of galleries for many, many years but I thought that Italian Renaissance was not my cup of tea. I love Impressionists and Dutch XVII century paintings with Vermeer my absolute favourite. I was not all that keen on religious scenes of earlier paintings and I would say Florence is mostly about that. At the same time I wanted to see it, not expecting that I will develop a deeper interest. I was wrong. Coming back to my Polish home, impressed by what I had seen, I started to read books about Italian art and Florence in particular. And I realised that would so much like to go back there and see it all again.

Andrea della Robbia - ceramic sculpture in Santa Croce

Many things made an unexpectedly big impression on me and some I expected to take my breath away did not do it. So, what was the biggest joy for me to see? Very difficult to think of only one. San Lorenzo, Santa Croce, Boboli Gardens, Brancacci Chapel, Niobe room in the Uffizi (number 42) with marble sculptures of  scared Niobe’s children being chased to their death, Della Robbia pottery sculptures among others.

Brancacci Chapel 

I know that the seventeen sculptures in the room 42 are not the most notable pieces in the gallery but the atmosphere in the room made me shiver with fright as if I was myself chased by jealous gods. The Venus and Primavera of Botticelli  made me merely think – pretty. Everybody is, of course entitled to their own impressions and they are a function of the mood we are in. I also think that inflated expectations may be a cause of some disappointment. On reflection, I think that the most important thing for me is what is actually happening in the room. Making my way through pushy crowds makes it very difficult for me to appreciate art. Typically the rooms with the most famous pieces of art are very crowded and this is not the best environment for art appreciation. This strongly coloured my perception. By the way, the room 42 was, perhaps understandably, not full of people so I could take in the mood of the sculptures.

This only small example of sculptures form room 42

                 

I know that one of the things I want to put on my bucket list is another visit to Florence. Maybe another two weeks? This time I will know exactly what I want to see.  I already have a list which will grow no doubt.