Ravenna and all things mosaic

This past weekend was excellent: Michael visited from Rome, we went to Ravenna with the BCSP group, and saw some very creative musical exhibitions.

It's amazing what time can do to a city. Ravenna, once the seat of the Roman Empire, is filled with memories of its past, churches, baptistries, and most of all, mosaics. As you can see from my pictures, the mosaics have not lost much of their original luster, as the buildings have. For a few of the sites we visited, we had to descend several feet into the ground to be able to use the original door of the building, as the tides of time have made the ground level rise.

The mosaics were breathtaking. The great thing about art is that it is understood in every language. Professor Benevolo told us that the mosaics in Ravenna come from a "magical" time, that they capture the unique transition between classical Byzantine artwork and what it would become in Italy. I can't imagine how long it must have taken to plan where to put each little piece to make the larger design, and then cover the entire ceiling of a building. Another thing I was struck by was the mix of art types in the churches. As time went on, they would redo part of the church, making some things new, leaving some things old. This is really evident in the church of Sant'Apollinare (time to scroll down to look at the picture), where the walls, the ceiling, and the altar are all from different ages.

Lunch in Ravenna was incredible, if not only for the food, then for the fact that the program paid for it. Can't beat a free meal. Anyway, the primo piatto was tortelloni, always a good decision. Then they brought platters of grilled vegetables, tomatoes and peppers and zucchini, and more. Then out came baskets of warm flat bread, platters of assorted meats, prosciutto and the like, and bowls of soft cheese. And to top it all off, bowls of fresh fruit and espresso. Food is definitely an art form, and Ravenna is a very artistic city.

Saturday evening, while strolling through the streets of Bologna, Michael and I heard live music. We sought it out, and discovered a concert in one of the piazzas. A concert of five old Italian men wearing pullover sweaters and loafers singing songs from the Beetles, the Rolling Stones, and others, in very strong accents. At times their songs sheets failed them, as they sang "It's been a hard day's night, and I've been working like a log/ It's been a hard day's night, I should be sleeping like a dog." It was great, though, standing there in the group of Italians, being a few of the only people who understood the words, and watching the crazy little Italian children dancing around. Some of them had pretty good moves.

On we went, until I heard a sound that could not be mistaken for any other: a marching band. And it was a marching band. The twenty-person Power Marching Band came strolling (I really can't say marching...) the street with their hodgepodge of instruments. It wasn't organized or professional, but it was a lot of fun. The great irony of the situation was that just before we saw them, I had been thinking of the Notre Dame football game going on, and how my marching band was playing just at that moment. Small world, eh?

Signed, the Sengenblogger