)(( hannah mello ))(

jazz = morelli = vesuvius = poetry

jazz =
who would have thought that little pomigliano d'arco would be a jazz mecca. every year in july, greats travel from the clubs of dimly-lit chicago and smokey-grey new york (even from every possible jazz-infused corner of the globe) to a park in this loveable, dumpy town i call home.

i discovered the soundcafe jazz club on a solo-exploration jaunt one day. twice this month, i've sat near the very same piano photo-ed below, smileless, breathless, speechless and still while fast fingers made chaos divinely smooth. last night i returned, adding to my company not only my australian housemate bianca (who had joined me before), but joe, sarah, and antonellio.





after jazz, and after an italiano-overdubbed jim carey in 'dick and jane' at the cinema (i laughed nonetheless), our company visited a wine bar-- also park-side. in this small little hole, i was enraptured by the scene. a passionate, dark and long-curly haired host (who knew antonellio when he was a boy) popped on chicago jazz for joe (who's a chicago boy), handed me and bianca jazz cds to keep and enjoy, presented sarah (who's from germany) with a photography-infused poetry book in the napolitan dialect. all the while, i sipped the rich vino roso in amazement at the drippy lines it formed on the sides of the elegantly curved glass. this man and his passion. this man and his jazz. it was magic. pure magic.

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morelli =
i first saw 19th century, napolitan artist domenico morelli on the giant billboards in napoli centro publicizing a castel sant'elmo art exhibition . when in la feltrinelli (the barnes and noble superstore of italia), i poured over the exhibition's guide that catalogued every art piece. still not having seen the exhibition, january arrived and peter, my housemate, gave me the best christmas gift: two tickets to castel sant'elmo. two weekends ago, i climbed the napoli hills in vomero's funiculare to the castel.

his art is striking.
at first, the colors are surprising. prints and internet-copied jpgs don't do it justice. the colors are deserty. you can touch earth in your mind with his work in your scope.



his subject matter is unique. caravans, muslims praying in the desert,



women in bath houses in pompeii,

an egyptian maiden, a tempted saint, jesus in the desert with the mamed and disturbed, an arab man singing and playing a harp-like music-maker... such earthy earthy, dusty colors and all subjects that aren't often painted. i loved the world-traveler themes... the forgotten peoples...

all of the exhibition's commentary was in italiano-- including a short film which i watched. i'm getting so used to not understanding communication but appreciating it and gleaning so much regardless. however, today, i used the nifty 'translate' internet option and read not only the exhibition's commentary but his story.

i splurged and bought every .75 euro cent postcard i could of the art that struck a chord. some of the pieces, sadly, weren't in print form. they're printed on my mind instead.

it really was a sort of pilgrimage up to castel sant'elmo...


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vesuvius =
at the beginning of december, i took these photos in posillipo-- the sea-side region farthest from napoli centro storico.

a few notes:
- for the longest time, i have been baffled by the unexpected mix of colors i constantly see on italian houses and in art. however, the more i see of nature here, i can link the sources imitated. for example: the pastel-ly greens pictured here are that of the sulfatara volcanic fields of campi flegrei.
- i was struck by the bit of swirly barbed wire that framed off the scenes. maybe it's symbolic of how past inprisonments are altered into something almost beautiful by the eyes of freedom.
- mount somma is north of the more famous volcano vesuvius. in these photos, vesuvius is the mount on the right of the two.

(another fun bit of language: storie in italiano means both 'history' and 'stories')













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poetry =
i'll close this entry with a poem from another 19th century great: giacomo leopardi. on friday, my 48 year old student gabriella-- who i've taught to speak english from the ground up-- was able to tell me his story (in english!!) and why she loves his way with words.


'the infinite'
by giacomo leopardi

it was always dear to me, this solitary hill,
and this hedgerow here, that closes out my view,
from so much of the ultimate horizon.
but sitting here, and watching here, in thought,
i create interminable spaces,
greater than human silences, and deepest
quiet, where the heart barely fails to terrify.
when I hear the wind, blowing among these leaves,
i go on to compare that infinite silence
with this voice, and I remember the eternal
and the dead seasons, and the living present,
and its sound, so that in this immensity
my thoughts are drowned, and shipwreck seems sweet
to me in this sea.

posted by )(( hannah mello ))( @ 8:42 AM