This diary was written despite my resolution to have a totally relaxed holiday in Praiano for two weeks, without painting or writing. The weather was the factor that changed my mind. I hadn't been to Campania during May before and I hoped for solid sunshine, blue skies and warm sea. I should have remembered a five-day holiday in Venice in May a few years ago, when the weather was extremely cold, though bright.
If I'd looked back to that, it wouldn't have been a surprise to me when I found the Amalfi Coast chilly and showery for the first week of my stay there. It was invigorating rather than relaxing and I began drawing and writing most days. I hired a car for the second weekend and drove north to see Spoleto, in Umbria, where I'd been told there was a picturesque mediaeval town waiting to be discovered. The day that I drove my hired car out of Sorrento the weather changed and for the last six days of my stay it was hot, humid and intensely sunny, both in Spoleto and on the Amalfi Coast.
By this time I was enjoying drawing on the Amalfi paper I'd bought locally so the sights of Spoleto gave me new impetus. I didn't regret driving to see the town at all, and in all I made ten sketches on various local subjects, in Praiano and Spoleto. Below is the short record that I kept while I was in Spoleto.
My hotel in Spoleto was a real "find". I thought a hotel costing less than 40 euros a night would be harder to find than a blue tomato - and less appetising if you did find it. But my little hideout was just great. It's just at one of the gates to the historic centre of Spoleto, and surrounded by interesting buildings. I never actually went to the modern section of the town, I was too absorbed in the ancient part.
I arrived there at about 5.30 on Friday and when I'd settled in I went for a walk and began to see its possibilities. As I'd come round the corner in the main road to the town, I'd been taken aback by the sudden view of the fortress above the town.
This is the kind of castle I used to build on the beach - thick battlemented walls and square towers, all perched on a huge mound. I could see the castle from the hotel when it was floodlit at night. I set off towards it, through the town, that first evening in Spoleto.
I was surprised to find the Historic Centre was under wraps, most of it. It took me back to the eighties (or was it the seventies?) when an artist called Christo used to wrap up all sorts of things - Miami Beach, for example, and I know he gift-wrapped at least one skyscraper.
Spoleto may have been visited by Christo and turned into a work of art, or perhaps they're getting ready for the annual arts festival at the end of June. Anyway, there's scaffolding, tarpaulins and cranes everywhere. Every time I thought I'd spotted an interestingly weathered patina on a building further down the street, investigation proved it was a weathered sheet of hessian or poythene, covering maintenance works.
There are some beautiful and interesting buildings in the historic Centre of Spoleto, and I am looking forward to seeing the results of this programme of restoraion. Here's the Town Hall, the facade of which is clear of wraps, though there is work going on nearby.
It was a pleasant surprise to come across the unwrapped Duomo of Spoleto, at the foot of a wide flight of shallow steps - more like a bumpy ramp really - down into its huge piazza. I visualised the pageantry that the Catholic Church must have enacted here, with the backdrop of this stunning Gothic facade. Like every other tourist, I documented my progress down to piazza level with a series of photos.
Promising myself that I'd be back to pin the image of this Basilica on Amalfi paper, I walked on and found myself on a belvedere overlooking the valley below the castle.
It was nearly eight o'clock now. The castle was closed and I had to skirt round its hill. I came to the entrance to the huge Roman aqueduct that runs across the valley from the castle's rocks. It was still light enough for photos and I photographed the deep wooded cleft in the land as I followed the other tourists across the bridge that runs where the water must have flowed originally.
It was starting to get dark. I retraced my steps, past the wide vista of the valley, past the deserted Duomo steps, past the art shops and the souvenir shops and the leather and wood workshops, now closed, back to the ancient gate where I'd started. I had dinner in La Sacristia which is a pizzeria and restaurant housed in what from the outside is a crumbling ruin with weeds growing out of its rotting structure but which inside is a most cheerful and welcoming eating place, patronised solely by Italians when I was there (things will be different at the end of June I suspect).
And I had a bath in my English cast iron bath (the only one in my hotel, the manager told me - but it had a shower attachment as well, which I was glad about) and slept well.
Saturday May 24th: A very sunny morning today, and a sky of pure blue. Tomato juice, cappucino, cereal and croissants were on the menu for breakfast. I always eat well at breakfast, in case I don't get around to having lunch.
Today was a drawing day. I'd primed myself with Amalfi paper from a shop in Sorrento and put a new cartridge in my brush pen, so I was ready for the Cathedral.
The cathedral in Spoleto is big but simply proportioned. The main facade is Romanesque in its proportions and a very nice arcade was added in the 16th century which complements the older work beautifully. The campanile has a pointed spire.
The sun shone. I drew. The tourists above me breathed "Bellissimo" at the Duomo and later, as my drawing developed, "Complimenti". One lady wanted to photograph it and in return I got her to take a souvenir photo of me drawing it, on my camera.
As I walked back up from taking another closer look at the Duomo I noticed this sculpture outside the Chiesa S. Eufemia, in strong contrast with the church (which is undergoing restoration). There was no identifying placque. I thought of Marino Marini but this is more abstract than his images of horsemen and riders. Something urgent and windswept about it.
In the afternoon, I settled down in front of the Chiesa San Aseno, on the road back to the hotel. This is a robust seventeenth century Mannerist facade. It has huge capitals on top of pillars that run the whole height of the facade, dwarfing the entrance. It's a bravura piece of architecture. Two hours into the drawing I was ready to let the forms flow. I'd miscalculated the scale, though.
I have a photo of the whole facade and I'll probably do another study using that together with my drawing, when I'm back in England.
I ended my day with a meal in the restaurant I'd found yesterday when I was looking for the way into the carpark of the Hotel Casa San Borromeo, where I was staying. This is based in a building behind a coach park - not a very romantic setting, to be sure - with a facade so ancient, tumbledown and weed-encrusted that it's a surprise to go in and find a well run pizzeria and restaurant inside. La Sacrista was very busy, full every night of the weekend with locals and holiday makers, all Italian when I was there. The manager was helpful and friendly and there was a very welcoming atmosphere that made me go back each evening that I was there.
Its name suggests that it was originally the sachristy of the Chiesa S. Rocco, across the modern road into Spoleto. This church is also very old and I would have enjoyed drawing it if I'd stayed longer. It was closed for repairs and parishioners were redirected in a notice on the door to attend mass at San Aseno, further into the town.
Sunday 25th May: another brilliantly sunny day. I walked back into the old town of Spoleto to finish my picture of Spoleto Cathedral. I'd left it half complete the day before, intending to come back at the same time as I'd started it, to get the shadows right.
After I'd finished that little painting, I went on up to the Rocce de'Albornoziana, the fortress on the hill above Spoleto. It was about twelve o'clock and very hot. The banks beside the steep track up the hill were full of poppies and mallows. I even saw a large purple iris in the tangle of weeds and flowers.
The imposing walls of the castle were even more impressive seen close up.
The castle was built by Albornoza, a Spanish cardinal to the Popes Innocenzo VI and Urbano V, in 1360. The architect was Matteo di Giovanello from Gubbio, known as il Gattapone. Its position was originally chosen because it's highly strategic; it commands a view of the countryside for miles around. It was also intended to provide a court of honour for the cardinal, from which to govern the city and administer justice. At the end of the eighteenth century the administration of the city was moved inside the city walls, and the fortress reverted to its original strategic function. In the nineteenth century it was used as a high security prison.
Inside, the soldiers who guarded the city against invasion in the fourteenth century seem to have led an elegant life-style. Their dining hall, gallery and guardroom were covered in frescos, many added in the seventeenth century. Even when it was first built, the guardroom and dining hall were highly decorated with plant and flower forms, though the only lighting then came from narrow arrow slits in the thick walls. More windows have been added over the centuries.
Most of the remaining frescos were painted between 1400 and 1644. They are damaged but when they were complete the effect must have been very rich. The loggia which runs round the top of the central Court still has the remains of brightly coloured coats of arms and trompe l'oeuil paintings on its walls.
In the Camera Pinta, there are two cycles of frescoes commissioned by a Neapolitan family, the Tornacelli. The subjects are very Neapolitan, narrative scenes of courtly love and knights and ladies enjoying hunting and fishing in the country. (This information is from the information leaflet that came with the 7.50euro entrance ticket. As it's in Italian I hope I've got the facts right.) I enjoyed the frescos in the Camera Pinta and spent some time reading into them narratives that may not have been intended, as it looked as though someone had died beside a well in one of them. Perhaps he had just swooned for love of the lady who was looking on. There was also a battle scene with an audience of knights and ladies, which made sense once I'd read the pamphlet that explained the courtly subject matter.
I took some photos and enjoyed the peace and calm of the castle. Most people were having lunch so there was almost no-one there. Paradoxical to go to a place built for war and find peace there, I thought, but the building has been so cleaned up and immaculately presented, it's hard to imagine soldiering or brutal incarceration going on there. Papal functions, yes. I don't know whether its huge hall and two exterior courtyards are used in the Spoleto Arts Festival, along with the Piazza Duomo. I suspect they are not.
I photographed my way down to the old town again and called in to see the Roman house that is signposted near the Duomo. It was cool and dark, with some glass cases containing the bone hairpins and shards of pottery and glass that have been excavated from the site so far. I wondered what they will find when they excavate my house. Safety pins, single earrings that I've washed down the sink, and contact lenses, I suppose.
I returned to my base and climbed up to the Chiesa San Pietro. Today I had also planned to draw the carved relief panels on the facade of this big fourteenth century church across the main road from my hotel. Last night I went up there, too late to begin anything. and found it under restoration - almost a building site - but I got up close and saw the amazing Romanesque sculptures on the facade. The panels tell stories, no doubt well known to mediaeval parishioners. Parables from which to learn how to live - and die - successfully.
The sculptured reliefs are full of birds, beasts real and imaginary, and pious imagery. The good man on his deathbed is ushered into heaven by St Peter with his great key. In another scene, the sinner has his doings weighed and the sins are heavier than his good deeds. He's dragged from his deathbed by the hair and thrown headfirst into a very stylish cauldron, by smirking demons who are surely modelled on men behaving badly in the twelfth century as they can do today. The woodman with his axe who meets a prancing lion (but finds the lion is a friendly one whose injured paw he has treated in the past) is an archetypal image of aggressive fearful man. The lion is fierce and convincing.
There are twenty rectangular panels, mostly narrative but also containing a range of birds and beasts, including the four beasts of the Apocalypse. I had time to draw only the panels on the left hand side as you look at the facade, and didn't finish all of the painting I want to do on them.
I was befriended at the point where I was drawing the lions by a little cat (as opposed to a great cat). He was a tabby and he was looking for a kind hand to stroke him. I do speak Cat - it's mainly a matter of raising the vocal pitch to a gentle squeak and saying things like, "puddy-puddy-puddy, who's a nice little pussy cat then?" and not touching except if you are given a specific invitation to do so. This cat was full of invitations to stroke him and in fact kept insisting on climbing into my lap (I was sitting on the ground on a couple of pieces of marble rubble from the building work.) I was highly flattered. We reached an agreement that he could sit on my lap every now and then as long as he kept his paws off my sketch of the mediaeval reliefs.
I had gone past the barrier that said "Entrata Vietato" with impunity as it was a Sunday and there was no-one working on the restoration to stop me. A few other sightseers turned up and did the same, and a man who lived behind the site drove in and greeted me cheerfully without mentioning the barriers. My assessment that this was an Italian "Vietato" - a rational, pragmatic, flexible forbidding - seemed accurate in this case. The only potential for trouble was in the shape of a man who told me he was from Belgrade and suggested that I might like to see the interesting cupola at the back of the church. I explained to him that I was only interested in the facade and he shook my hand amiably, tried to kiss it politely, and went away.
I didn't finish my drawing - this is as far as I got:
The only image of the whole facade that I have is a postcard that was given to me by the owner of an antiquarian shop at the top of the steps to the cathedral. This kindly man chatted to me while I was drawing the Duomo in the morning and I took the opportunity to ask him about the big church on the south side of the town, because there was no sign of its name. He was very helpful, told me about San Pietro and said the reliefs on the facade are very important in terms of art history. I thought I had taken some photos of my own but I can't find them. What with the drawing, the cat and my acquaintance from Belgrade, it seems to have slipped my mind.
And next day I drove back to Praiano and spent three lovely hot days on the beach. Now I'm back in rainy England, at four in the morning, desperately missing the sun, the seas of deep acqua blue, tomato salads, pepata di cozze, garlicky gamberoni, and all the other Italian treats that draw me back there constantly.
But I expect I shall be back.
