The smell of ancient olive groves, the resident cat Narina, a sleek, stealth creature who glides effortlessly in and out of the studio chapel, past watchful eyes as she tries to join us for dinner in the dining room. The fuschia blooms of geraniums in the courtyard welcome eager morning- eyes of travelers about to embark on a days' adventure. More sights, more towns: gargoyles and fountains, steeples and chimneys; ancient ruins and medieval marketplaces, cobblestones and narrow streets, colors both muted and bright, ancient and modern. Cappuccino anyone? Will you walk with me in quiet reverence through the painted tomb of the church where the bones of St. Francis of Assissi lie? The Sea lies within a mornings' drive, the sparkling waters of which for centuries have greeted kindred spirits: fellow travelers. It is not wine-dark like the Aegean, but magnificent azure blue, dazzling, glistening, and it alone may hold the key to the mystery of the ancient residents who lived along its shore. A museum nearby holds fragments of their Etruscan story--audacious sarcophogii and intricately decorated pottery--the rest left to be filled in by the steady work of archaeologists, and our imaginations.
La Romita. A peaceful haven midst our busy, art-filled days, a perch above the modern comings and goings of the city Terni, which has hidden within it more sights and treasures to explore. What! An Italian Cosco? Not quite, but an equally as compelling busy modern shopping mecca filled with cell-phone clutching shoppers rushing about in five-o'clock fashion. Something old, something new around every corner as we make our way back to the bus and up the winding, impossible hill to our Italian home. The sun sets and the dinner bell rings. We gather filled with stories of the day--and anticipation of more to unfold--our sketchbooks painted with life, old and new, memories formed and noted in azure blues and olive greens, deep reds and ochre. La Romita. The wine is served while evening descends with starlight spectacle, and laughter erupts midst the singsong flow of animated conversation. People linger over dinner and Narina brushes by my legs as I stand outside in the courtyard watching the moon rise over the ancient olive groves. "Home is where the art is", I think, and move with anticipation towards the studio to paint with the students who have gathered there.
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