Diane's Passeggiata

The Green Heart

 

It is so much fun arriving in Rome, Italy—when my adrenalin is just about on empty from the long plane ride, there is always a bustling café where I can refuel with an authentic and aromatic cappuccino. Popcorn is quite familiar with the routine—finally freed from her pet carrier bag, she is rewarded for her good behavior by sharing a freshly baked cornetto (croissant) with me. We then head to the autostrada and begin our two hour trek to Umbria.   About an hour into the ride, my bleary eyes start to awaken as I watch the landscape take shape to remind me that I am almost home.  Blue mountains bloom in the distance, and rolling hills with the textures of olive groves and vineyards and medieval towns replace the flat farmland that I saw as the plane descended into Rome.

It isn’t until I exit the autostrada, though, that it fully registers where I have taken us. Shifting gears along the winding road, my jet-lagged brain finally begins to shift gears as well. The cypress trees and steep hills bring me back to a memory of sitting at the café in our small town, and an elderly man talking to us about how beautiful Umbria is. “Ah, Umbria é bella” (Umbria is beautiful) he says, with a passion to rival that of Pavorotti. And then he half-heartedly added “anche Toscana” (also Tuscany) with an expression as if not to offend the many tourists that flock to Tuscany every year.  

Umbria. The Green Heart of Italy. The Cradle of the Renaissance. Is it fair that one small corner of the world can harbor such riches? A place where dogs hunt in autumn to discover a hidden gem, the white truffle, the white gold of the gourmet world. Where archeologists still hunt for remains of the first civilization in Italy, and where artists long ago studied and painted and created the foundation of the great Renaissance.

Umbria. The green landlocked heart of Italy, where mountains rise to provide the perfect backdrop for medieval towns and where the serene Lago Trasimeno supplies the ideal salve for any racing mind. Who would not agree with my friend at at the café, yes-- Umbria é bella! 

 

A Silver Lining For A Texas No Cloud Day

So, the news is out that June was the hottest on record in Texas. Not surprising to hear after experiencing day after day of 100+ temps, with bright blue skies and no clouds in sight. Now normally I just love bright blue skies, but not at 3:00 pm when the temperature is in the 3 digit range and continuing to rise. A cloud or two to provide a little protection from the relentless sun would be such a gift, but we had no such luck. So, last week, after one too many days of venturing out into what was feeling like a furnace, I decided to find a silver lining to the cloudless day and treat my heat exhaustion with a lazy afternoon in my studio. I pulled out two of my favorite "inspiration" books from my art library, and made myself a cup of "almond biscotti" tea. Sinking into my comfy apple green chair with Popcorn, in a nice air conditioned room I perused through Frederick Franck's books "The Zen of Seeing" and "Zen Seeing, Zen Drawing". 

 

As I found myself lost in the pages of his books, I remembered why when I teach, I always place his books at the top of the “recommended reading” list. I don’t think there is another artist who has expressed so well the “why” of art. From prehistoric times, man has been making marks, which have connected his soul to the world around him. Today, the tools available to us may be much more sophisticated, so much so that some of us even choose to express ourselves with super hi tech, hi speed computers, but the impulse to create art is no different than that of Cro Magnon man. Whether we are drawing with charcoal or painting with pixels, we connect via our art. And what a wonderful connection it is—skies are bluer, trees are greener and cute little dogs are cuter. We see, we draw, we connect. That is the "WAY" of art.

 

Change In Plans

 

Normally at this time of year, I start hearing Italian words in my head and begin dreaming of olive trees and vineyards. My husband, Phil, and I begin our annual ritual of preparing to spend our summer and autumn in one of our favorite corners of the world, Umbria. But this year, Phil got this brilliant idea that working on a construction project in 100 degree Texan scorching heat was a good plan, and would I mind going to Italy a little later. Before I had time to even consider the insanity of the proposal, Popcorn also decided that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to experience our first Texan summer---this way, she would be close to her favorite vet here in Dallas, where we have been making way too many trips recently. 

Thirteen years of an energetic poodle life, racing around the table 20 times, barking, begging for some biscotti  (yes, Popcorn just loves Italian biscotti), and starting (and losing) fights with her Chihuahua cousin, have taken a toll on her tiny 4.5 lb body. So keeping Popcorn cooped up for 15 hours in a Sherpa travel bag while flight attendants scold me when I sneak her out for a few minutes seems rather stressful, if not downright cruel, for a little dog who doesn’t feel well.  So Phil and Popcorn won out--100+ temps it will be this summer, and I get to figure out how I am going to make a nice cool lemonade out of this lemon. 

So… I decided to move ahead my schedule and start exploring this very large piece of real estate that is called the Lone Star State. My first destination was based on a tip from my neighbor with a giant green thumb, Dustin (more on Dustin later). I headed towards Tyler, Texas, which is known as the “rose capital of the nation” due to the minor accomplishment of being responsible for at least 1/3 of the nations Rose bushes. We started at the Rose Museum and were greeted by Sylvia, who proudly told us all about the history of Tyler’s Rose industry—she should know, because she grew up working in a rose nursery and many of the photos in the museum came from her own personal collection.

It was here that I learned of some Tyler magic. Being surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of beautiful roses, I became so absorbed with all the amazing varieties and colors that I no longer was conscious of the rising thermometer. It was a thrill to walk down and notice the different types, some of them being called “antique varieties” because they go back to the 1800’s.  I guess there must be something addicting about all these roses, because with all the species that already exist, at the Municipal Rose Garden they test for even more varieties, giving the best of the best the seal of approval (AARS).