Luckily, SACI has internet in the 'lounge,' which is really just a room full of computers that is perpetually full of other students skyping and generally phuzting around. The area I consider to be the real lounge of SACI is this beautiful garden full of little hidden sculptures and pottery wheels and benchs and trees and all manner of things I love. When it gets warm, which hopefully it will soon, I imagine myself spending a good deal of time out there.
The other place I would consider a lounge of SACI is the cafe across the street. I am quite sure that the SACI students are solely responsible for the keeping the place open. It's adorable, cheap, makes a great espresso, and has really attractive proprietors (whom we refer to as our 'dealers'). The cafe is always full between classes and during the break we get in the middle of my drawing class, the whole class goes down for a cafe and, in the case of John (the professor) and John (the student) and myself, a cigarette. The break is hypothetically for the model of the class (It's figure drawing and so we draw from a model nearly every class period. We have also gone to the Academia and Piazza Signoria a few times, which is always lovely and also intimidating. John - "Okay, beginning drawing class, go draw the David."), but everyone needs a break during a three hour drawing class.
Anyway, I thought it would be fun to both keep and memory for myself and to show everyone what my home here looks like. I live in a SACI apartment with two flatmates, Lauren and Sara. We have two bedrooms, kitchen, and two bathrooms. We had a fourth roommate, Jay, who was mentioned previously as the 'LA girl,' but she moved into single a month or so ago. This means I have my own room, which is really nice, albeit slightly lonely every now and then. However, as anyone who has ever tried to live with me can attest, I am a disaster in my living space, so it's probably for the best.
This is the view after turning the corner from the front door of our home. It's always really exiciting to make it into the apartment, because it's so damned high up. That's my coat hanging haphazardly on the ledge there. You can't see in this picture, but there are also two small chairs against the wall that would be on the left of the photo, if it kept going. The stoves here are odd and take getting used to, but lighting them becomes automatic after a while. To light a burner: turn the handle on the wall that turns on the gas, turn the gas on for the burner you wish, and push the ignition button. Very exciting. I've had such a nice time cooking here. I love to cook and being able to pick up fresh food from the market to do some fills me with joy and rapture.
Lauren, sitting at the table later on that evening.
This is Sara and Laurn's room, which I creepily took a picture of while Sara was sitting on her bed. That metal thing in the right corner is our laundry rack. Noone has dryers in Italy (they use too much electricity, which is really expensive here), so everyone hangs dry their laundry. I must say, I feel like I appreciate my clothing much more, having to carefully hang dry each bit. It makes them feel more real, for some reason. I get this same feeling, picking out my food at the market, but I can't quite put my finger what this feeling particularly is.
Hallway, looking back towards the kitchen and standing next to Sara's door. The door further up along the hallway is a closet.
My room! It's a disaster, of course. But then, I live here. That chair sits in my front my desk and perpendicular to the doors to my balcony, which you can't see from here. I have all my books and postcards and things lined up on the wall above my bed. I'm a very stuff-having kind of person, so I couldn't handle leaving all of my things behind in Boston and I've already started to accumulate more stuff than I ought to here.
My desk and chair. I hardly ever work here, mostly because it's covered with stuff. I usually work at the kitchen table or out and about in Florence. All the work I do here is wonderful and I love it. I take pictures and read and write and draw and never read organic chemistry.
This is my chair on my balcony, on which I sit and smoke and contemplate at night. It's a refuge. It's quiet and still and I can see a man who sits in a window, writing at a desk every night. I have invented for him a life story that I hope dearly is true.
View downward from my balcony. So many things and houses and walls here are painted that wonderful yellow color. I love it. Also, this courtyard exemplifies for me something that is very true about Florence, but appears to be very false. The city, seen from above is very green. It's just that none of these beautiful gardens are visible from the street. If I couldn't see this area from my balcony, I would never know it was there. My professor Romeo, whom I love and adore and will speak on with greater length later, I'm sure, likes to say that this is because Florentines, while cultured and beautiful people, are very guarded. Thus, these gorgeous, but unseen gardens. It seems to be the case that the real and true Florence is still here somewhere, buried and hidden under the weight and pomp of it's Renaissance past.
This is what Florence feels like to me. Red tile roof homes and cypress trees and blue sky all just slightly out of reach.
Luckily, that clothesline reaches to my balcony.
Ciao, my friends.
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