Spanish Steps.

The Spanish Steps are a crowded place. When we arrived there was even an angry man with a bloated paunch standing in the fountain shouting. Everywhere one looks people are chattering to eachother in their own language, only the sullen carriage horse makes no noise. The steps are a fountain of humans. I watched the stream of people ascend the steps only to cascade down again. It seems that all the excitement generated by the environment (this may also involve the close proximity of the many luscious designer stores) may over-power one of the secret laws that demand that no one climb steps without the prospect of a profitable destination. Rarely is the acting of climbing the end-in-itself.

Encounter #2

As we walked out of the Campo de' Fiori, a young girl in a purple dress ran up to one of the women and gave her dress a strong tug. Twirling, she ran away laughing and smiling as if she had gained some point. No one else showed any reaction.

Encounter #1

As we walked along an alleyway near Piazza Navona, a man with a yellow beard and a grimy face hobbled past us, as he did so, he barked in one of the girl's ears.

Climbing the Walls.

At night in the Camp de' Fiori, if one looks on the walls, one can see that around the lights are scattered roaming geckos. If one watches closely, they may also occasionally see the geckos lunge for an invisible insect.

Perspective.

Walking up the road to reach the Parco Savello one is hemmed in on either side. All lines draw toward a gate which may or may not be locked. One must choose. I found this view compelling. I wanted to move forward. In fact, I felt that my line of sight was being drawn toward and through the gate, and then over the cliff of horizon. It only added to the topological symbol when upon drawing closer, one found that the road bent to the left rather than terminating at the gate, it gave surprise and an ethereal sense of hope.

At one point the form of the a person appeared behind the gate. Because of the sun, only the silhouette was visible. This was vaguely unsettling, particularly when I looked back to find that area behind the bars empty again.

The Forum: A Meditation on the Uses of Location

In the Forum, one can walk in places that have been soaked in history. Looking in one direction one may see the spot where Mark Anthony gave his famous speech. Further on one can stand near the location where Julius Caesar's body was burned before a terrible mob, his soul ascending away in the symbol of a captured eagle released from bonds. Yet what real significance does a location have? Flood after flood have washed away all trace of the soil that may have dirtied the sole of Nero's foot, or stained the garments of an otherwise pure vestal virgin's garments. Centuries pass, atoms dissapear to take another form in some distant region of the atmosphere, or far in the quiet depths of the Earth. The Earth inself has changed its rotation about the sun ever so slightly as to make it impossible to stand and look at the sun the same way as a triumphant gladiator may have seen it. Some will say that we visit monuments to learn about history, and yet would a book in a quiet library not tell us more in a single page than a load of rubble behind an iron rail. I maintain that to experience a historic location is an act of the imagination, it is a catalyst to see in the past. The historic landscape is the most obscure and subjective of any text, but in the same way as a fictional text, a landscape can prod me into allowing my mind to recreate not the facts found in a text book, but the sensations arroused by the muggy, stale air, the swarming flies and crowd that inhabit both the Forum of Caesar and the Forum of the modern postcard salesman. To fully appreciate any historic sight, one must make this leap of the imagination. But of course one must first have the historic information. Otherwise the Forum will indeed only resemble so many white stones.