The Light ...

Whether he is an artist or not, the photographer is a joyous sensualist, for the simple reason that the eye traffics in feelings, not in thoughts

Walker Evans

The light is everything in photography.  I can walk past the same scene one thousand times or more and not see what is there when a particular light shines on it.

Today Via Dante was lit up in a particular way.

Pietro Romanengo Fu Stefano, Confettieri, Genova

On Friday I spent some hours with Anna, from Beautiful Liguria, visiting the laboratory of Genovese confectioner Pietro Romanengo Fu Stefano.

Our tour was followed by an interview, one that opened a door to the confectioner's history, spanning some 234 years. 

The details were fascinating.  The machinery is only replaced if the new equipment leaves the quality of the end product uncompromised and so it was a tour of an older way of doing things.  Attention to detail was everywhere. 

I was offered the opportunity to taste as we wandered.  The delicacy of the products startled me.  I have never tasted anything like the marzipan, the pastilles, nor the chocolates, flavoured as they are, with real flowers and candied fruits.

I will write more but the pastilles below ... delicate and surprising, as they melt in your mouth, releasing the most divine liquid. 'The perfumed pastilles, known also as “ginevrine” (Genevans),  have a very ancient processing where the colour and the aroma given to the sugar are absolutely natural. They can be purchased loose in 500g bags with the taste of rose, banana, Chartreuse liqueur, aniseed, peach, marasca cherry, mint and violet.'

Drawing a Breath

On Friday, I was 12 hours out in the city ... and for 10 of those hours I was carrying my 6kg+-heavy bag of camera gear.  And still, it was sublime.  It was one of those dizzying days where it feels like I flew with the eagles ... perhaps.

I set out with Shannon, an American living here, and we wandered and talked.  She knows this city, 2 years living here after some time spent in New Zealand.  That's how she found me and my blog.  She searched New Zealand and Genova.

We said goodbye only when it was time for me to meet my traveling companion off the train.  It was a brisk walk through the city to Brignole train station.  Home for 10 minutes, refreshed and I was off to a confectionery laboratory that has been in the hands of the same family since 1780.

A tour that astounded me was followed by an interview with the loveliest gentleman.  Hours later, Anna, from Beautiful Liguria, and I walked back through the city and I had just a few minutes to change, to finally drop off that camera gear, before heading out to dinner. 

What a dinner!  If you find yourself in Genoa, you must try Ristorante Il Genovese because there is nothing about the experience that can cause regret.  And if you do, and if you love meat and pasta, then the Ravioli fatti in casa al 'tuccu'di carne is the one that I fell entirely in love with.

The sauce is 5 hours in preparation and you can taste the time and the care taken.  But everything, from the gnocchi di patate fatti in casa al pesto,  the cima genovese ricetta antica con patate al forno, the brandacujun di stocca fissoe, and the latte dolice fritto, even the canestrelli ... all exquisite.  And that was only what we actually ordered.

I know I read like I'm exaggerating but I was there with a Flemish Belgian, famous for being a people of few words perhaps.  He loved it too.  I think the secret lies in the attention the Panizza brothers pay to the details.  Quality products and a love of food.  It's an absolute must when you're here but remember to book.

And just as I thought the day might ending I received an email from an art gallery in NYC.  They would like to represent my photography in their gallery. 

So sleeping was a bit of an issue that night but I had to ... I was exhausted by the week I had just experienced.  The rings under my eyes were black and maybe a container ship could park inside of them. 

This is Genova for me.  I go high, I go low ... but oh how I live when I am here.

 

Meetings ...

One of the things I love about arriving in Genova, is catching up with the people I know.  Last Tuesday I had plans meet up with Outi, an ex-photography workshop client who lives here in the city. Like me, she fell for with this place but unlike me, she managed to move here.

We met where everyone meets, on the steps of Palazzo Ducale, and immediately headed inside for coffee and much-conversation. We had months to catch up on before deciding we would set off for the port area as Outi had international provisions to buy - spices from Thailand and Africa and,being a port city, there are two supermarkets jam-packed with foods from all over the  world.

Lunchtime rolled round and my idea was that lunch at Trattoria Ugo, where she hadn't yet eaten, might be a good idea.  Oh ... it was a very good idea.  They do things with anchovies that really need to be tasted rather than explained.

I worked through the afternoon, fighting a huge desire to nap, then met with Barbara for an aperitivo at the end of her working day.  She took me into one of the old cafes here, down in the ancient part of the city, and we caught up  on much over hot chocolate.

It was a talking/working kind of day.  A good day spent with good people.

The photograph below ... a glimpse of one of my favourite carruggi here.

In Genova Today ...

This morning began in Palazzo Ducale with Anna, Emanuela and coffee.  And then, after long and interesting conversations, we went wandering and they introduced me to some of the treasures that hide here in Europe's largest surviving medieval quarter.

Every shop was a story of generations and of families. The passion for what they were doing, their willingness to allow photographs, and to answer questions, was divine. 

It was 1.30pm before I remembered I hadn't actually eaten at all.  Well nothing besides a small spoonful of the most marvelous whipped cream at Crema Buonafede Caffetteria.  I'm being sent there for breakfast tomorrow. I have my instructions regarding my order.

I returned to the apartment, downloaded the photographs, the voice recorder too.  Enjoyed some warm farinata from the shop across the alley and then it was time to go out again.

This was an interview I was absolutely looking forward to.  Roberto Panizza is not only a remarkable businessman but he is a warmhearted soul who welcomed us in and sat down with us to talk for a while, despite his incredibly intense schedule. 

There is the restaurant he runs with his brother, Il Genovese and this website too, should you want to order some truly excellent Italian Food. There is much much more but there's an interview. I'll share when it's done.

And now, here I am, munching on potato chips and drinking a little red wine.  Exhausted but so deeply satisfied with all that I discovered and was introduced to in Genova today.  This city ...

Renzo Piano's Biosphere, Genova

But growing up by the sea, you get an idea of the infinite surface of the world, and you grow up with a number of desires. One is to run away. And I did. The other one is for light. Light is probably the most untouchable, immaterial material of architecture. I have another obsession: fighting gravity. In the sea, everything floats.

Renzo Piano, Architect.

But really, you probably should be encouraged to read more on this rather remarkable man from Genova.

njoying art is a personal matter. It's made up by contemplation, silence, abstraction.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/r/renzo_piano.html#bGUudFCEuzsJJYUH.99wonder if he imagined that someone might love his Biosphere, there in Porto Antico, simply because she loves the way it reflects Genova 

Harbour Reflections, Genova

It was 15 celsius out there as I wandered just now.  I usually settle down and work into the night and so there's a need for a good walk before starting.

And there are a million photo opportunities here in this ancient city called Genova.  You only need to look, anywhere.  The detail is incredible.  Layers of history on single buildings.  I think I could spend a lifetime here and still find something new everyday.

Anyway, it was reflections this afternoon.

This City ...

I experience every emotion here in Genova. I'm sure of it.

After a terrible night, a story too long to tell, I woke tired and wondered if I could put myself back together for the day ahead but I did.  Of course I did.

I was meeting Stefano, a good friend to me.  He had introduced me to a rather remarkable man some time ago and I had asked if I might return and interview Mr Giovanni Grasso Fravega for my book.

It was agreed and I have just spent the most delightful couple of hours with both men, asking my questions, having them translated, and listening ... wishing, as always, that I had learned Italian by now.

Giovanni Grasso Fravego is a gifted artist, with a career that spans decades, but he is also a man with a rather impressive historical knowledge of Genova.  I look forward to working with his words.  I took photographs too, as he has an exhibition there in the studio he shares with Pier Canosa.

Afterwards, Stefano took me over to the top of the highest building in Genova where I was able to take photographs of the city spread out before me.  It was stunning!  It's another clear blue-sky day here.

Then to lunch at one of the many delightful restaurants here in the city.  I don't have the name but the food was delicious.  I enjoyed a pasta dish, containing a sprinkling of dried and grated unmentionable parts of tuna, preceded by a plate of fried anchovies.

Sometimes I have I no idea how to ease myself back into the world after hours spent like this however there are photographs to edit and a recorded interview to organise. 

To give you a sense of today, here in Genova ... a first glimpse. 

On Allergies And Things

I woke at 6am, knowing I needed to finish my marketing assignment today.  It's bigger and more complex  than I expected but already I see the beauty and sense of what it is teaching me.

This course is all about authentically marketing your business.  It's not about bluff, bluster, or exaggeration.  It's about telling your story and telling it true.  But it's challenging.  It's demanding.  I like it.

If you were to watch the video of me writing this post, you might be tempted to send it viral.  I'm not sure but I think it might be amusing.  I woke at 6am, sneezing.  Nose running like a river in flood.  It's this thing that I do here in Genova sometimes. A small allergy I suspect but no, no anti-histamines thank you very much.

There is a mountain of paper kitchen towels next to me here.  I stop to sneeze 3 or 4  times every few minutes.   Then continue ... writing, finding the photograph.  Concentrating. Sneezing, blowing my nose.  Typing.  Laughing at myself as I became aware of the scene.

It looks like another blue sky day outside my window and Stefano's Righicam promises 12 celsius today. I will write and that's not to be sneezed at ...  because yesterday I was formally introduced to the Tramontana Scura.  The dark north wind.  It was cold and rained periodically.

This morning the sun has already turned the building down by Porta Soprana a pale gold.  My camera may come with me when I go out in search of that first espresso.  The light here, in this city of soft golds through into orange, is often divine but it's not simple to find.  You have to hunt for it. To allow for the fact that the narrow carrugio sometimes only see the midday sun. It is a city of mystery.  A maze of a city.


Rain and Reflections, Genova

It's raining today in Genova but even the rain creates rather exquisite photographic opportunities.

When there's rain here the puddles that form on the tiled sidewalks create beautiful reflections.  It seems like another world down at my feet.

I have been wandering, delighted to find that Caffè degli Specchi has reopened in my absence. I stopped in for an espresso.  Wandering on, I caught up with Francesca and bought pasta while there. 

It's wet and it's little cold here in the city but still beautiful. 

Settling in ...

I feel like a cat or a dog, turning this way and that, making my sleeping place comfortable before I settle down.

It's like that when I arrive here in Genova.  I come without language. I usually arrive alone.  And it's rare that things go smoothly for me.  There's always an incident.  I walk cautiously in these first days, breathing the air and loving the fact I am back, while settling into a new rhythm and way of being.

Since I was small I have had to leave.  I seem to be nervous about getting too comfortable and, in doing so, rendering myself unable to leave.  I like to leave.  As much as I hate it and regret the fact of another journey in the hours before flying.  It's an odd thing inside of me but it's always been like that and so ... I leave sometimes.

There's an exhilaration once I'm out.  And it's the same whether I escape on a bike, in a car, bus or plane.  It must be past life stuff, mustn't it?  I've been escaping since I could first climb the gate. And my parents were actually really lovely.  My childhood was normal.

I'm a chicken though.  Don't mistake me for brave. I am cautious.  I guess I am one of those creatures who feel the fear and do it anyway.  And I love being out here.  Sometimes retrospectively.  Cairo was like that.  I cannot tell you how glad I was to take my seat on that plane back to Belgium.  Cairo was really out there for me. I was staying in a local area, no tourists.  And it was a peaceful, non-threatening chaos.  There was only one mean taxi driver and you get them anywhere.  

My hotel was special, with padlocked chains on the fire escape upstairs, and 2 floors of apartments where the stairwell was sealed off so you couldn't walk down levels two and three.  The elevator and jumping from my 5th floor balcony were the only ways down in a fire.  The mosquitoes bit me and I decided to tough it out, slightly worried about the fact I was a mere kilometre from the Nile.  Did this mean malaria was a possibility.

Later I found it was a possibility and I should have gone to a pharmacy however that was one of those times when I gave myself a good talking to and did nothing.

But mostly, once I'm on my way, I'm the happiest creature in the world.  Although there is some tension.  Obviously.  I travel light financially.  That has caused me some potentially interesting moments but I think I have an angel or someone who watches out for me.  Maybe it's mum.  There's always enough for the 10euro airport bus home. 

I live simply but intensely.  Tonight I had my traditional Napoli pizza for dinner, the one with anchovies ... the pizza  that tells me I have really arrived.  Red wine washes it down.  I've only been here 24 hours but have already talked with some interesting people.   Genova's like that.  They all tell me that they are closed to outsiders and quite conventional meanwhile I have nothing but respect for them.  I like how they are and I appreciate any kindess that comes my way.  And there has been so much kindess.  It means more somehow.  You have to earn it.

So, the first 24 hours is done.  I was out and wandering today.  The rain stopped and we were gifted one of those divine deep-blue sky days that I associate with Genova.  I wandered all over the city and it was 2pm before I questioned how strangely dizzy I was feeling.  I hadn't eaten.  Just an espresso for breakfast and a slice of focaccia that the artists on Via San Lorenzo shared with me.

I forget to eat here. Anyway, I loved the name on this sign.  I was up in an ancient part of the city ... which is saying something when people have lived here for 2,000 years or more.

On Loving Genova ...

I arrived in Genova yesterday, ran my errands, and returned to the apartment just as the heavens opened. And I've been told there is more due tomorrow but today ... today is superb. 

The sky is the deepest blue. It was already 9 celsius when I headed out in search of my first espresso at 10am.  It's so very good to be back. 

I slept 11 hours last night.  6 hours is normal for me.  I need to  go outside again, just to be out in it all.  I wanted to download a series of puddle reflection photographs I just took.  See ... La Superba still is really.

Back in Genova

I woke to the alarm at 5.45am.  We were out the door by 6.40am.  The airport bus, the flight (1 hour 20 minutes), then another airport bus in Milan, and the train through the hills to Genova.  It's been a day but I love traveling.

I was lucky.  There was no rain as I walked along Via XX Settembre from Brignole Station.  I arrived, turned on the gas and heating, changed into more appropriate clothes and then was out again. Hunter-gathering.

It's good to be back in Genova. I love this city, so very much.

My USB modem is loaded to go for a month.  I have red wine, sparkling water, and not too much else at the moment.  I was counting on my favourite pizzeria being open tonight but it's almost 6.30pm and there's nothing happening there yet. 

It's pouring down here but that doesn't matter.  I've always loved rain.  When I lived in Istanbul people would call out compliments to me when it rained.  I sparkle in the rain but it's not surprising, given that I grew up in Dunedin and loved living in Fiordland later.  Rain is that thing that happens in those places.  Excessively at times.

So I have arrived.   Now, to start on the work that I came here to do.

Oakley the Labrador

As Oakely, the exquisite chocolate-brown labrador pup, inches ever-closer to my slipper-clad feet, I find myself moving my chair back from my desk to ensure he is comfortable.  Then I reach down and we have a wee conversation.  I stroke him some, rearrange his chin so it's on his beanbag instead of my foot and then I move the chair back to the desk again.

I've always been a pushover when it comes to a good dog.  I'm the boss but I'm not opposed to contact and conversation while working.  Occasionally he licks the bare part of my foot and it's okay, I'll survive. 

It's been 10 or 11 years since I last had a dog in my house.  After a lifetime of labradors, beginning at age 9.  Wandering the world dogless has been kind of strange.  They are true companions and there's nothing like a dog when it comes to beaches and rivers, and long lonely walks.  To working at whichever desk or table I've had during those days out here in the world.

Somehow, when a dog is involved, it's okay to talk outloud as you write.  Someone is listening.  And as I have written this, my right foot has become all snuggled and warm, as Oakley has sprawled himself over it ... using just one quarter of his beautiful beanbag.

So this is a first shot, taken when Oakley was more interested in being next to me than stepping back to a more appropriate distance for my 70-200mm lens.

Oh, I should truth-tell.  Jessie organised this.  She agred to dog-sit for 24 hours.  Last night she had him up in her room but this morning I have him while she is on the morning school-run.  I'm very happy about this.  She knows it.  Not having a dog has been one of the more difficult things about living in places not my own.

Thank you, Jessie.

 

 

From the Outside Looking In on Genoa

'When the uniqueness of a place sings to us like a melody, then we will know, at last, what it means to be home.'

Paul Gruchow.

Note: I wrote the following post back in 2013, for the Lovin Genova Blog and decided to crosspost it here tonight.  By the way, the Lovin Genova Blog is well worth visiting, if you find yourself curious to know more about that ancient Ligurian city I love so well. 

Genova is a city of layers, so many layers that contain so much history. It is an ancient port city, a city of traders, bankers, artists, and explorers …

But to begin at the beginning, with what struck me that first time I arrived in 2008.

There was this feeling of having arrived in a city protectively nestled, as it is, between the sea and steep hills. As a New Zealander I grew with a deep appreciation for the physical landscape and have a passion for both the sea and the mountains.

Then there were the colours of Genova. Perhaps each person experiences them differently but my over-riding impression was of a city painted in colours that ranged from pale yellow through into a deep orange. Deep green shutters, sometimes blue.

I am a photographer and I admit to being guilty of sometimes saturating the images I capture out there in the city but I defend this as an expression of the intensity of feeling I experience when I wander those city streets.

Paola, my Genovese friend, has gifted me space in her place located in the heart of the old part of the city and I have been able to return, again and again, over the years. I work at her kitchen table, first floor, located in a narrow carruggio – or small alleyway. I work next to an open window most of the time, listening to the life I hear out on the street … and there is so much life. Oftentimes I feel like I have a room in a huge house there in the city.

I hear my neighbours and the people who pass by out on the street, laughing and talking as they go about their day. There is the rattle of espresso cups as breakfast-time comes and goes, then the clink of cutlery at lunch-time. Dogs barking at one another when they meet, another suitcase rolls by, or maybe a class of school children wander past singing. I love the sound of it all.
I live with the ancient city wall almost pressed against the back of my building. The wall that was built to keep Emperor Barbarossa out as he rampaged across Europe in the 12th century.

It has to be known that the people of Genova were business people first and foremost. The saying goes … Januensis ergo mercator – or, Genoese, therefore a merchant. And in their roles as traders and explorers they were in possession of a rather magnificent shipping fleet back in 1155. Barbarossa understood he might require their assistance and left them in peace.

Today the wall still works as a defender … I think of it whenever I lean on my windowsill to get a better phone reception, and my USB modem hangs at the window too.

Each time I return, so many times since 2008, there is a sense of homecoming that surprises me. I come from New Zealand, I have lived in Istanbul, and Antwerp, and yet it is this city in Italy that has won my heart.

I suspect it is because I find everything I require, in just the right measures, in Genova. There is the geography that reminds me of New Zealand, the sense of isolation that comes from being surrounded by hills, and a history so rich, like that found in Istanbul but quieter. The Genovese culture appears to maintain a quiet dignity that I suspect so many visitors have enjoyed over the years.

When I talk to travelers, I discover much to my surprise, that Genova seems to be some kind of secret. It is passed over for the crowded trails in Cinque Terre or for the packed streets of Venice. Meanwhile Genova retains secret pockets of that quiet stately elegance that has won the hearts of people throughout the centuries. Havens of beauty at the end of a funiculor ride or via an elevator that takes you up a hillside to a panoramic view of the city. Tiny shops on ancient streets full of the most beautiful things. Churches and cathedrals with stories woven tightly around them and architecture that spans centuries of development within a single structure.

Those who judge this city externally or too quickly are sentenced to missing the density of experiences that lie hidden in its depths. It’s not an easy city but that, perhaps, is what makes it so very rewarding. It complex and character-filled.

Gustave Flaubert adored it, Petrach wrote of it. Flemish painter, Peter Paul Rubens modeled his house here in Antwerp on palazzi in Genova. And Richard Wagner wrote to Minna Wagner, back in 1853, ‘To offer you on your birthday what I deem the greatest gift, I promise to take you on a trip to Genoa next spring …’

The greatest gift, a trip to Genoa. Richard Wagner and I surely agree.

Source: Richard Wagner quote: from the Genoa Guide, published by Sagep Turismo.


Exile, Charles Mudede

The natural place for the writer is exile. It can be spiritual or physical exile, but they always have to be outside of their society, because writers are outsiders. The writer is out of place when they're in their place. They need distance. They need to get away to process what it means to be who they are. Think of Jonathan Raban, Lesley Hazleton, W. G. Sebald, James Joyce, Richard Wright, and on and on—the true home of the writer is always another country.

Charles Mudede, from James Baldwin in Istanbul.