"You may have the universe if I may have Italy."

Giuseppe Verdi

Confession: when I told people I was heading to Umbria, Italy for ten days to paint, I only “kind of” knew where Umbria was. Turns out, It’s that gloriously pastoral region in the middle of Italy, where the hills almost paint themselves. My destination was La Romita, a converted Capuchin monastery that now hosts artists instead of monks. The days were sunny, but not too hot, the skies clear and blue, and the evenings had a soul soothing coolness to them that felt like a dream. This was Umbria? How did I not know about this place sooner?

Arrival: The Art of Jet Lag

My travel companions were fellow members of the Washington Society of Landscape Painters…a group I still pinch myself to be a part of. We convened in Rome, some having come early to sight-see, others arriving just in time for the shuttle. Once on the road to La Romita, we got right down to the business of comparing paint brands and colors, discussing our set ups, and talking over itinerary options. By the time the dinner bell rang, we had a plan. What happened next isn’t exactly clear; I either suffered a bit of jet lag, succumbed to an allergy attack, and/or drank too much wine. In any case, on the morning of day 2, I was not well. I skipped the morning excursion, took a borrowed Zyrtec, and went back to bed. It was the best decision ever. I woke in time for a late lunch feeling exuberant. My advice to you beloved, whether at home or abroad, take a nap if you need one.

But We Came to Paint

All settled in and rested up, it was time to paint. We painted in big towns: Assisi with its lovely pink stone, and Orvieto, all geometry and drama with a Duomo so ornate it made my (only recently clear) head spin. We painted in small towns, Montefalco, “the balcony of Umbria,” Lake Bolsena, so many boats, Marmore Falls, so much water, Todi, so much gelato…you get the idea. The perfectly preserved medieval town of Stroncone was my favorite though. Perched on what can only be described as a vertical incline, it was seemingly uphill in every direction, and ruled by stray cats. The angles and perspectives were dizzying, but they had the most charming front gardens and it was impossibly picturesque. Even the laundry on clotheslines high above the cobblestones appeared to have been color coordinated by town ordinance. I was smitten. I want to live there.

Our Daily Itinerary:

Arrive in enchanting hill town
Visit the most beautiful church. Pray.
Walk cobblestone streets in the shadows of actual Saints
Find somewhere to paint
Feel both energized and woefully inadequate
Paint anyway
Eat gelato

Back at La Romita

Between excursions, we painted flowers and courtyards, amongst the butterflies and bees, chaperoned by Blondie and Carmello, the two stray dogs adopted by our Italian hosts. Meals were served family-style, which is Italian for “we will keep feeding you until you cannot breathe.” Conversations flowed from art and philosophy to current events, then back to art, and artists we love, (and some we don’t). We laughed, told tall tales, debated, and even occasionally agreed to disagree. Our dinner conversations were as nourishing as the food, and one of the best parts of the trip.

Lessons Learned

I learned that I should have done more time on the treadmill before tackling Italy’s hill towns. I learned that “un po’ di vino” means “just enough to lose your footing on the cobblestones.” I learned that bug spray is not optional, and that even the stray cats of Italy are chic. Mostly, though, I learned that painting in Italy is an act of joyful humility. The light is too perfect, the vistas too vast, and the silvery greens too elusive to ever feel like you’ve fully captured them. As Titian once said, “Art is not to be learned, but felt.” And in Umbria, I felt it.

Coming Home

When our ten days ended, I was ready to come home, but also not nearly ready to leave. We had gotten to know each other, come to love our Italian hosts, and developed a deep appreciation for the pace of Italian life. Back in Maryland, as I paint my landscapes and still lifes, I see traces of Umbria everywhere. Tiny bits of warm rose, ochre and olive-tree greens sneak into my work, unbeknownst to me, and remind me not to forget.

There is something about painting in a place with so much history. It rearranges your sense of color, time, and what is actually important. Family is important. Painting is important. Community is important.

I’ll go back; maybe not next year, but certainly I will go back.

Until then, Ciao.

Chris

My Painting Pilgrimage to La Romita

Lighten Up