In the same way we define the beginning of the modern era with the work of Shakespeare and Cervantes, in hundreds of years from now future humans will describe the modern era as beginning with the 20th century. This era, defined by a modernist self-consciousness, led to revolutionary artwork and two wars that changed history. It is this self-consciousness that separates humans from the beasts, as anyone knows who has ever watched a dog stand in front of a mirror.
The World’s Greatest Painter?
Antecedent to modernist painting, which can be traced from Picasso and Matisse to Renoir and Cezanne, the greatest painters in the history of the world are Rafael and Velasquez. If there is any portrait greater than Pope Innocent X’s, it is the one that hangs in the Met, of Juan de Pareja. No one managed to capture the reality of a soul like Velasquez, though Rafael perhaps had a greater ability for composition, and Rembrandt for texture. Bacon also recognized this when he made his study for Screaming Popes (above), and the Pope himself knew it too when he was supposed to have said, “E troppo vero!,” upon seeing his portrait for the first time.
Considering architecture, surely one of the greatest feats in the world’s history is the Pantheon. Its long history of holiness and admiration, especially for being built at a time when feats as unprecedented as a nine meter oculus were hitherto unexplored, must place it near the top of the list of architectural masterworks.
Moving from the Galeria Doria Pamphilij we wandered away from the Via del Corso to the Pantheon, and before we arrived, entered into the church of St. Maria supra Minerva. Seeing two of the world’s masterworks in different realms of art in the same day is rarely possible, except in Rome, Florence or Paris. In these cities, it is a matter of which works you want to include in your list, since the Italian capital has an extra thousand years of history than the French or the Tuscan.
Stumbling upon a Michelangelo
In Rome, discovering the great masterworks of human civilization is as common as discovering hidden back alleys in New York or Rio de Janeiro. In some cases, the joys of discovering new works can be almost tiresome, in the same way remaining lost while exploring a new neighborhood can be exhausting. So by finding Michelangelo’s Cristo della Minerva followed by a series of Berninis, before entering the Pantheon, nearly destroyed me. A rush of guilt passed over me for thinking, “Another Bernini?” as I walked down the right aisle of the church past another tomb of marble as smooth as mozzarella.
Losing myself on the Aventine Hill
By mid-afternoon I was eager to lose myself in a simpler plane of joy. We walked up the Via di Santa Sabina and down the backside of the Aventine Hill, trying in vain to find the neighborhood of Monti, which we’d overshot considerably, though I didn’t know that yet since I didn’t have a map. No one else knew it either, since everyone I asked for directions was a tourist. Walking down Via Sant Albergo Magno, not knowing where we’d pop out, yet content for this very reason, feeling the sun beat on my cheeks and hearing the wind in the cypresses, I was satisfied and I didn’t care if I found Monti or not, this was enough.
Discovering the focused intensity of a masterpiece is a more transcendent pleasure than uncovering the beauty of an empty backstreet. Sometimes the traveler craves the equally, more basally gratifying, loss of oneself in the honest simplicity of sunshine and unfamiliar trees, and not knowing where the city will spit you out. Swinging my arms, I crossed the back of the ancient hill and participated in a joy not unknown to many travelers: that of trusting a city like I trust myself, to lead me an unknown destiny.
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