Vatican, Day 8

I was hit with food poisoning Tuesday, like an intestinal version of an IED, and dealt with it Tuesday night, all night. I was sick as a dog. In fact, I was sick as a whole litter of puppies. I stayed in bed Wednesday. This wasn’t something spoiled, this was e-coli territory. Gah. I blamed the person who handled the melon I ate at lunch. But let’s not dwell. I tried to think of it as a chance to catch up on the blog. Mostly, I slept.
Moving right along to Thursday, I walked slowly and carefully to the Vatican Museum doors, headed straight to the painting galleries, eased into a chair in the large, dim Raphael room, and sketched the kneeling Magdalene. The twist of her body and her fierce gaze tugged at me. I wanted to look at her a long time.

It wasn’t a very good sketch – let’s just say I did better with the drapery – but I got what I came for. She steps outside of the sweetness that is Raphael’s main fault and his greatest asset when he’s doing virgins. Wait, that didn’t come out right. Like La Fornarina, she’s colored outside his elegant, graceful lines.
Groups had flowed in and out of the space while I was sketching, and one group of college kids was led by a lively English woman, who was entertaining as hell. She threw herself into capturing their interest and aiming it towards the art. I’ve noticed that the most interesting guides have a theatrical bent and perform their material rather than recite it. No audience is more restive than adolescents and guides that can compel their attention are really good at what they do. I lurked at the edges, shamelessly eavesdropping. Her explanation for the death of Raphael was masterly innuendo. “Let’s just say, penicillin had not yet been invented.”
After Raphael, I moved to the painting of St George. I asked security via Google translate if I could position a chair facing the painting.  One guard shook his head and said no no no and the other came over, smiled and moved the chair for me. You never know, so maybe the lesson is I should just summon up the nerve and ask.
Another mediocre drawing, but I flipped the page and tried a quick sketch of just his head and found it. Sometimes starting over is better than erasing. He reminds me of Robert, of course.  Closing in on 11am and the tours groups were overlapping now. I noticed the room was opened that was been roped off before. I wandered in and found Caravaggio waiting for me. I said a quick prayer of thanks that I hadn’t missed it.

This is an amazing painting, pure Caravaggio with the intensely directed light and the deep, velvety shadows but what I absolutely adore is this thread. I meandered on, not expecting much. Turns out there were another five rooms. I recognized several pieces as works that were displayed at that Scuderie del Quirinale exhibition of items ‘requisitioned’ by Napoleon.  More than one model for Bernini’s angels, made of plaster over a metal and straw support, later cast in bronze. Such humble materials transformed to the sublime. I plonked myself down and drew again. This went better. Sculpture often does. Though I’m still a bit unsteady and my digestion uneasy, I walked toward the pinecone courtyard, which as become my favorite spot to eat a pastry and chill. Parts of the courtyard has been swathed in cloth while renovation work is done, and brought to mind Christo’s installation art. Partially Wrapped Vatican