Indoor/Outdoor
It was our first full day in Rome, and the city basked in clear blue skies and glorious spring sunshine. And so, naturally, Benny and I decided to go see an ossary. After all, Australia has plenty of bright sunshine, but relatively few artworks created from the bones of dead monks from the 17th century.
If one expected Il Convento dei Cappuccini to be a monastic order devoted to the spiritual contemplation of coffee, one would be disappointed (possibly devastated). It is in fact the home of the order of Capuchin monks. If one expected the Capuchin monks to be devoted to the spiritual contemplation of cute little monkeys, one would be disappointed too - the word “capuchin” refers to their hooded habits. In reality, the Capuchin order was a highly ascetic one, devoted to humility, poverty and an odd relationship with the remains of their dead brothers. No coffee. No monkeys. Frankly I have no idea why anyone joined.
The first reference to the Capuchin monks’ bizarre treatment of their dead came in 1775 from, of all people, the Marquis de Sade, who found it compelling but offputting… which given his predilections is saying something. The monks had been storing the bones of their dead since at least the early 17th century, and some time between the construction of the church in 1630 and the Marquis de Sade popping his reprehensible little head up in 1775, they had started using the bones and mummified remains as decorative elements in their crypt. Entire skeletons of little boys lounge on piles of skulls like morbid cherubs from a baroque painting. Delicate ribs form elaborate curving patterns on the ceilings. Vertebrae bloom like rosebuds in bouquets of bones. It’s creepy, sad and fascinating in roughly equal parts.
Personally, two things stuck with me. Firstly, all of these monks were tiny. The mummified ones, who haven’t been taken apart for decorative curlicues, are barely 5’5” or 5’6”. I guess it’s true what they say about our improved diets and general health resulting in our being much taller than we used to be.
Secondly, it’s clear from the thick layer of grey dust on the bones that no one ever dusts the dead – maybe that’s a bridge too far for their cleaning lady.
Once we left the crypt, we decided that it was time to celebrate life rather than death, so we walked a couple of blocks to the Villa Borghese Gardens, one of Rome’s largest public parks.
Benny was having a great time, until he fell foul of a local resident.
Once I’d rescued Benny from the Jaws of Certain Death, we repaired to what purported to be a local art gallery for a dose of both culture and coffee. But it turned out that there wasn’t much in the way of art there. It was more of a conceptual art space, into which one brings one’s own inner art. There were a lot of fascinating voids where art might actually occur, if only the violet-haired girls and skinny boys with facial piercings would would turn up to express it.
Fortunately the cafe had actual as well as conceptual coffee, so we could relax and get our little jolt of caffeine.
Even so, the cafe did have some artistic surprises. Embedded in each table was a perspex rod capped in aluminium, fixed to an aluminium pivot. There was absolutely no indication as to why.
I sent Benny in to investigate.
Then had to rescue him. That boy is proving to be kind of accident-prone.
If one expected Il Convento dei Cappuccini to be a monastic order devoted to the spiritual contemplation of coffee, one would be disappointed (possibly devastated). It is in fact the home of the order of Capuchin monks. If one expected the Capuchin monks to be devoted to the spiritual contemplation of cute little monkeys, one would be disappointed too - the word “capuchin” refers to their hooded habits. In reality, the Capuchin order was a highly ascetic one, devoted to humility, poverty and an odd relationship with the remains of their dead brothers. No coffee. No monkeys. Frankly I have no idea why anyone joined.
The first reference to the Capuchin monks’ bizarre treatment of their dead came in 1775 from, of all people, the Marquis de Sade, who found it compelling but offputting… which given his predilections is saying something. The monks had been storing the bones of their dead since at least the early 17th century, and some time between the construction of the church in 1630 and the Marquis de Sade popping his reprehensible little head up in 1775, they had started using the bones and mummified remains as decorative elements in their crypt. Entire skeletons of little boys lounge on piles of skulls like morbid cherubs from a baroque painting. Delicate ribs form elaborate curving patterns on the ceilings. Vertebrae bloom like rosebuds in bouquets of bones. It’s creepy, sad and fascinating in roughly equal parts.
Personally, two things stuck with me. Firstly, all of these monks were tiny. The mummified ones, who haven’t been taken apart for decorative curlicues, are barely 5’5” or 5’6”. I guess it’s true what they say about our improved diets and general health resulting in our being much taller than we used to be.
Secondly, it’s clear from the thick layer of grey dust on the bones that no one ever dusts the dead – maybe that’s a bridge too far for their cleaning lady.
Once we left the crypt, we decided that it was time to celebrate life rather than death, so we walked a couple of blocks to the Villa Borghese Gardens, one of Rome’s largest public parks.
Benny was having a great time, until he fell foul of a local resident.
Once I’d rescued Benny from the Jaws of Certain Death, we repaired to what purported to be a local art gallery for a dose of both culture and coffee. But it turned out that there wasn’t much in the way of art there. It was more of a conceptual art space, into which one brings one’s own inner art. There were a lot of fascinating voids where art might actually occur, if only the violet-haired girls and skinny boys with facial piercings would would turn up to express it.
Fortunately the cafe had actual as well as conceptual coffee, so we could relax and get our little jolt of caffeine.
Even so, the cafe did have some artistic surprises. Embedded in each table was a perspex rod capped in aluminium, fixed to an aluminium pivot. There was absolutely no indication as to why.
I sent Benny in to investigate.
Then had to rescue him. That boy is proving to be kind of accident-prone.
posted by Blandwagon at 9:19 PM
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