Giornale 3: Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Moderna

Free for the afternoon, a small group of us decided to knock off one of our required journals by visiting the National Museum of Modern Art, located close to the Villa Borghese. We hopped on the Metro and exited one stop over, in Flaminio, though we quickly realized that we weren't quite sure where to go. Sure, a few people had maps with them, but when we walked outside we found ourselves in a district far dirtier than the Piazza del Popolo, filled with seagulls and cheap markets and a large amount of people. Retracing our steps quickly, we reentered the subway station and took the long tunnel out into the Piazza del Popolo area, though we still  had no idea where the museum was. When we realized that the tunnel had spat us out on the opposite side of the square outside the Piazza, we decided to just brave the untrodden waters, too tired to take the Metro two more stops to the Piazza di Spagna. So we set out, following the map-leader, climbing stairs through a small archway that led to a sidewalk carved up a hill, a large park sitting on the left. The walk was fairly tiring after my 500-something-step trip to the dome of St. Peter's dome, but it wasn't long, and along the way we passed a fleet of tour buses parked against the sidewalk, waiting for their respective tourists to return. As we neared the museum, we passed a beautiful fountain, built out of an almost spongy-looking rock, waterfalls cascading from the top and a fountain sitting on the lower level. A white archway capped the top of the rock-face, an eagle statue sitting in repose beneath the canopy of trees. It was beautiful, and I wished I knew the name of it, or the reason for why it was there. Perhaps it was meant to serve as a beacon into the museum, since its overall appearance was quite modern and unique.

When finally we reached the many stairs that would descend to street level and the museum's crosswalk, we saw two stationary automobiles erected out front: one a subway or tram, the other a locomotive, no doubt symbolizing the mix of new and dated art found within the museum. And I admit, I had my reservations when we were entering the museum. I was hot from the walk, exhausted from our day at the Vatican, and rather uninterested in modern art; I was only really there to fulfill the journal requirement, and I was pretty unhappy with the supposed 12 euro entry fee. However, my feelings for the museum did change. For one, it turned out that it only cost us 4 euro to enter (already enough to gain some of my affection). And yes, the exhibit was rather weird upon first glance. Despite the size of the building, when I entered the exhibit I thought it would be a relatively small trip, filled with displays that looked like giant cotton-balls slapped against a white background and paintings that were just streaks of color against a canvas. And for several rooms, that was what I saw—though I did find some interesting displays that piqued my interest, such as Dominco Gnoli's, whose simple titles like "Newspaper and Shoe" and "Tie" state exactly what they are but do not fully encapsulate how fascinating the pieces are. 

However, even this modern art museum, with its expressionist and abstract pieces, displayed works that I could enjoy. There were rooms upon rooms boasting paintings and statues, and there simply wasn't enough time in our two hour visit to see or appreciate them all. Nonetheless, I found two statues among all the ones in all the rooms that intrigued me the most—for the expression in the statues' features to the emotions that lay behind their simple actions. I found, while viewing these pieces, that they evoked far more feeling than what I'm used to with ancient Rome's statues, and I appreciated that difference; I also very much enjoyed the influence of ancient Rome on modern art, as that will always be my soft spot no matter the exhibit. One such statue that I enjoyed, and that mixed the Classical influence with the modernist range of emotion, was Benedetto Civiletti's Giulo Cesare Giovinetto (Young Julius Caesar). The boy Caesar, likely in the sixteen to twenty age range, sits sprawled against a chair, his chest naked as the cloth of his toga spills out around his waist. On his left hand, dangling in the air as he leans his arm against the chair back, a ring is visible on his ring finger, perhaps indicating his new marriage to his first wife, Cornelia. His expression is troubled, brow creased and hair rumpled, as if the artist means to indicate that young Caesar, who has lost his father and is in uncomfortable position around Sulla at this age, already has too many burdens that weigh him down. It's beautiful, black stone so unlike the marble statues of antiquity, and dares to depict Caesar not as the wizened imperator of his final years but as an uncertain teenager, poised on the edge of some decision. It's really quite intriguing, and his puzzled expression feels so life-like: as though you're standing there, witnessing him work through some profound calculation.

Another art piece I loved, actually in the same room, was Emilio Franceschi's Fossor. It seemed less like an artistic sculpture and more like a sarcophagus, dug up from some excavated site or else erected in a cemetery, like those in the Protestant Cemetery. It's a companion piece to Franceschi's Eulalia Cristiana, the depiction of a woman crucified on a cross, and it is a sculpture of a sarcophagus as it is being engraved by a fossor, or gravedigger. The worlds carved into the front read hic resquiescit virgo sanctissima, have et vale—here rests a most pure/sanctified maiden, hail and farewell. On the sides, Christian imagery—the Chi-Ro with an alpha and omega on either side, a fish, a dove, a lamb, and a cross—mix with the words pax tecum (peace with you) and Eulalia ancilla dei in pace (the slave-girl Eulalia [is] in the peace of God). And on the lid of the sarcophagus, still carving the name Eulalia, the fossor sits and lets his right leg overhang the side, his eyelids drooping and his lower lip protruding in a pout, as though he is fighting off tears. It's a very unique and heartbreaking piece, revealing both the tensions of pagan vs. Christian Rome—a theme near and dear to our class's heart—and the kinds of people who go on even after the death of martyrs. It was incredibly thought-provoking, and I'm quite glad I didn't just walk by the little details in the stone.

The Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Moderna certainly had more than these two sculptures, all different from the last in size, color, expression, and genre. To be quite honest, the museum was exhausting—even the exhibit part—because there was just so much to pack into one trip. However, even though I felt no real love toward the more abstract paintings and sculptures, I truly enjoyed a great portion (maybe even the majority) of the displays we saw.