Civita...
a dying city in the clouds of italy

It was June in Italy, but the weather had been unusually cool. Fortunately, our lost luggage with my brushes and Lewis’ coffee pot had been found and delivered from the airport to our Olive Farm villa in the Green Heart of Italy. Our Italian adventures could now
officially begin.
Our trip to Civita was outside the Umbria area toward Rome, but still in a very remote area. It would rate as a most unique experience because it is a town that has been attacked by nature and man so harshly over the past centuries. Civita can only be visited by walking across a 600’ narrow foot bridge which swoops across a deep cavern. The same cavern has already consumed untold homes, churches and acres of prized olive trees. First in a terrible earthquake many centuries ago and then bombed by enemy fights during WWI, the city continues to decrease in size, but not is charm.

By winter, there are no more than 30 residents on this island in the sky, but during the warmer months the population grows to several hundred. Arriving early in the morning, during a blowing rain, we carried our daily needs and painting equipment across the long and slippery walkway.

The sky cleared a bit allowing me to take my place in one of the small streets in what seem a deserted island in the sky. Flowers bloomed everywhere in clay pots and urns. Around a stone wall from where I sat, was a manger so old and bare you had to wonder how long it had been since it had held a living creature.

In a town that appeared almost totally deserted, I began to paint a scene of a grand old facade. The path made an soft turn as if to continue down the cobblestone street but just around the corner, it came to an abrupt halt where the neighboring homes, gardens and animal shelters had fallen into the clouds below and were now part of an unseen puddle of history below. It bothered me to imagine being so close to such disaster and I backed against a stone wall and comforted myself with thoughts of how many centuries the little city of Civita had stood among the clouds in a land that seemed connected to no part of my reality.

To my side and across the little intersection was a set of worn stone steps leading down into the dark earth. Vines almost completely covered the opening, but at a closer look, a heavy set of wooden doors were at the bottom were standing open as they probably had for many years. The sun slipped through the blossoms of the Jasamine and I could see the frame of an old potters kick wheel. The potter was obviously long gone or maybe in the buried rubble below, but the wheel would always be a part this island sky as it could never make the trip across the long foot bridge.

I began painting and my existence became nothing more than the colors and lines of my own creation. I was working quicker than ever in a effort to capture what time would surely take from me. The sky had opened into a glorious blue and I realized I must be closer to heaven than ever before. The colors of my palette seem to pale against each color of my view and I challenged myself to paint more with emotion than pure pigment of earth.

The air around me filled with strange voices and my work shadowed over. Sitting on the smooth cobblestones, and under the cover of a very large and floppy hat, I chose not to acknowledge the droves of voices that moved over me making foreign sounds gestures. Giving each nation and its representatives a chance to look over my shoulder and check the painting with the view on the edge of the island I enjoyed being an unknown artist who was greedily gathering an experience for my own pleasure. With all their chatter, I feared they might leave without ever noticing the true magic of this sky island.

How one can select so many deserted places to paint and then to find themselves covered with traffic was becoming a common occurrence for me. I had been painting on Civita’s “I-95.” Of all the varieties of people from across the world, most are respectful, speaking quietly and not moving so close as to make me fear being stepped on with the exception of other Americans. I say this knowing that most Americans are kind, but we have allowed a few to escape the farm before learning how to keep a soft voice in public and respecting the personal space of others. I would love to recapture this quality for all of us so others would not fear our arrival at their front door. The world is not ours to consume and leave, but to visit with gracious respect and hopefully be invited back.
The rules of polite behavior are so simple we tend to underrate their value.

Suddenly the wind became cold and hard and the clouds covered us and everything around us. The Gods of the Civita pillars were called us to take cover. Plans had been made for us in a small warm cafe down a deserted narrow path that seem to disappear between 2 very old stone structures. A few feet down this forgotten path, four narrow stone steps led up to a narrow door. Inside a fire warmed the room and every table was filled with open carafes of wine. On the wall was a simple assortment of famous faces from around the world made with the family that rushed from table to table to serve our special group. it was early in the season and such a group as ours had create a fury in the community when the cook and his lonely wife had called family from the town across the bridge to come and help quickly.
The meal was delightful and we drank, ate and appreciated all their offerings. The chef introduced his wife and proudly told how they had served
Julia Child and not known who she was until the photos had been
developed and hung on the wall. At that moment, sitting in an old wooden chair as a guest in a borrowed world, it was confusing to imagine how they could have been so impressed by anything from our world.

As we left the warmth of the hidden cafe, we sensed a warm light coming from a small window below. The cold rain continued and we dreaded the long high walk back across the deep earth to the little town where we trusted our cars were waiting.

Under the steps, a narrow door with a faint glow showed through a frosted pane of cold glass. We stepped inside to find brightly colored puppets and fairies hanging from old timber beams in the earthen room. Behind a small desk stood a small, quiet man with a fixed expression that matched the artificial arm at his side, We paused to wipe our feet on a rag rug and greeted him in our best Italian greeting. He broke a faint smile and invited us to come inside. He watched our interest from object to object and eventually came across the room to speak in a polite tone to explain the significance of each toy. Books filled with magical folding pages covered with mystical creatures might well have been living in a room in the back of this very shop.

As we made our purchases, a pleasant wife came from a back room to help. They had been to America and had especially enjoyed Georgia. It was nice to hear they had seen more than our big cities to the north and I privately trusted they had been a kindly treated there as they were being to all of us as we dripped and shivered in a shop that was as clean and kept as any I have ever seen.

I located my art supplies which had been protected from the fowl weather by an ancient earthen shelter near the old church in the piazza I knew I would not be able to come back and the absence of people in a town that refused to die was already haunting my thoughts.

The footbridge back to civilization was slippery and felt centuries long. A view of the valley below, if indeed there was one, was no where to be seen. As I walked, I felt parts of my Civita experience fall off and join the past under my feet.

I tightened my grip on my paint satchel and thanked God for another day in a world I would try so hard to remember.

note: The #3 sketch is from Civita and available as a hand painted print (means original watercolour washes on a print of the sketch which is considered an original).
Available in 2 sizes.

Our standard hand painted images that you have seen on the web and in our display are are about 7.5 x 10" which fit in an 11 x 14" frame with a mat. The Italy works below will also be available in 11 x 14" size to fit in a 16 x 20" frame using a three inch mat. $45. each for the smaller size and $95. each for the large size.
(Mats and frames are not included.)

Titles:

#1 A Walk In Italy

#2 An Italian Romance

#3 Old World Charm

#4 Home of A Lady