Eat Pray Love

I am currently reading Eat, Pray, Love. It was given to me for my birthday by a dear friend of mine. "I don't know if you'll like it," she said to me as I unwrapped it. To this I thought, "What? This is a New York Times bestseller! It's being made into a movie! My roommate in Cortona said it was pretty good. I've wanted to read it..." But I think I'm beginning to agree with my friend. I'm not sure I like it.

The first third of the book takes place in Italy. THIS I like. My memories of Italy are simultaneously fading and becoming increasingly vivid. I'm remembering more of Rome than I remembered a few days after I left it... and not just because I'm reading this book. I remember streets and feelings and places and people, where they stood and what they looked like in those exact moments, whether there was a cigarette between their fingers or a backpack on their back.

I also feel many of the same thing she feels. She talks about Loneliness and Depression as if they are two unwanted detectives, lingering and stalking her as she travels about. These, I understand. They follow me a lot, too. Especially now that I am doing essentially nothing with my life. "SO! DO something." Thank you lingering voice, I love you, too. I'm trying. It isn't easy when no compass points north.


However, I have some serious issues with the book. It's obvious that she's going through a midlife crisis. She isn't really fooling anyone, and I hope she knows that. I have some theological issues with the book, but I won't aggravate you about that right now.

Anyway, and then she gets to Italy and all she wants to do is eat and speak Italian. Americans, she insists, are never very good at just taking in pleasure. We're good at being entertained, but not good at taking in pleasure. If we do, we feel we must earn this pleasure or have earned it.

Incorrect.

I am very good at taking in pleasure. Too good at it.

I get pleasure from reading books. I get pleasure from spending time with friends and noticing the patterns of blues, greens and browns in their eyes. I get pleasure from looking at stars. I get pleasure from looking really closely at blades of grass to see the little velcro-like hooks. I get pleasure from "accidentally" getting paint on my fingers while holding a paintbrush a little too close to the bristles.

I get pleasure from gazing endlessly at artwork. Oh, I could do that all day. Really, I could. Never go to a museum with me. You'll never get out. (I once heard the statistic that the average time spent in front of a work of art is approximately 30 seconds. 30 SECONDS... for something which the artist spent hours, days, weeks, months, even years to complete. And the most you can do is stare at it for 30 seconds! We spend more time watching the average youtube video which might have taken a few hours or days to make. Come on guys... really. Which brings me to another objection with the book.

She didn't go to one museum when she was in Italy (she says this regretfully...) and then she takes it back... she went to the National Pasta Museum. WHO DOES THAT? Honestly? What was the POINT? If you wanted to learn Italian and eat all day, you could have done that in ANY small town in Italy, learned more Italian and eaten better (and less expensive) food than if you had lived in Rome the whole time.

And this is why everyone hates Americans.

I am disgusted.

The loose ends

So for all of you who didn't know, I made it back home fine. I spent two weeks traveling in Germany and Turkey. It was good to have those two weeks, mostly to process the semester. Processing, I have decided is not only important, but also often overlooked. I was, admittedly, quieter than I usually am, but there were many thoughts flying through my head. I've decided to post some poems I wrote. I use poetry as a processing tool, much like I use art in certain situations. Both of these poems, I am sure, came out of the many visits to cathedrals and churches in Italy and thoughts on the Church. I am currently taking History of World Christianity and it is fascinating to see my thoughts on the Italian Church in context.

Cortona
Cigarette smoke and guitars
Fill our holy place. Brazen
Sparks shatter our dome.
We have lit our own rolled incense
And candles to lift our unsilent prayers.
The Hymns that pour into our cathedral
Are sweeter than any choir.

This is our sanctuary, and now we choke
On tears of forgiveness as we speak
Confessions and do penance for sins
Uncommitted. We must pack our relics
And graven images from this long
Pilgrimage into unworthy suitcases
And embrace our crosses to carry
Them away, never to forget this self
Made church, this body of believers.


I wrote this next one after a visit to a Church in Pienza. It was actually one of my favorite churches that we visited. I suppose it is distinct in the fact that it was incredibly sparse and thus reminded me of protestant churches. It is actually really unfortunate that the protestant tradition has done away with artwork within the church. (Really guys, we need to bring GOOD art back into the church. It will be a difficult task considering the watering down of Christian art... Christian art is now unfortunately usually equated with bad art, and also unfortunately, most of the time, in the modern context this is very true.)

The Altar
In this dark corner, I found God.
I was waiting for him. Every Cathedral tried,
Vainly, to capture that glory. I waited for Him
In Mary’s empty arms. I looked
In Christ’s stretched and mangled body. I looked.
He sagged under the weight of prayers unanswered.

But here in this corner
There was no sacrifice,
No cup, no cross.
And there, my heart laid itself
On the altar. It sought silence.
It sought to stop beating
So it could beat again with renewed
Vigor. He was not in the storm,
Or the lightening or the earthquake
But in the still whisper.



Anyway, I never said it was good poetry, I just said it was poetry. These are the best that came out of my processing poetry.

NOW on to something completely different!

This semester, I have been adjusting to life back at school and trying to finish out my time at Westmont strong. Thus far, it has been mostly successful.

I just got into my Senior Show, which is very exciting, considering it is a competitive event and four out of our 18 senior art students did not make it in. I encourage you all to come visit and see our Senior Show which will be up in Reynolds Gallery until May 8th.

http://www.westmont.edu/_offices/arts_at_westmont/arts_calendar.html

You all should go. It will be a great show with my fellow seniors. I've seen some of the art which has been submitted, and I have to say that I am very excited. I did some excellent charcoal drawings and I encourage everyone to come see those, at least. They are phenomenal, if I do say so myself. What I submitted for my senior show was a continuation of a project that I began in Cortona, so again you should all come up and see it. Westmont is beautiful and the art is fantastic!

Thank you all for reading of my adventures. I am working on setting up my own website, which hopefully will have its own blog section. This may take some time, but be looking for that update! Thank you all.