Preface to the book: Claudia Esslinger
Walking into the hushed and soaring spaces of Italy’s churches stirred surprising emotional responses in me. My memories of previous visits muted in comparison to the sustained opportunities provided by living in Rome for 89 days as director of Kenyon College’s Rome program in the fall of 2019. No longer did I feel the urgency of a tourist gathering a limited number of experiences. No longer did the effort expended to reach a destination overshadow the scintillating, airy vaults. I could walk to the Pantheon, I could sit through the resonant music of a Mass. I could return to observe evermore detail.
The intent of the architects, artists and patrons to inspire awe and reverence was always palpable, despite the variety of eras and styles of churches I visited. It was clear that the elevated domes were meant to encourage parishioners to think about a heavenly afterlife, and the vast floor plan provided a communal gathering place on earth. The opulent materials and exquisite detail are evidence of competing ecclesiastical patronage. With over 900 churches in Rome, there were times when I nearly became numb from overstimulation.
Then my social justice antennae kicked in. What did this opulence mean for the poor? What if such money had been used for their needs rather than a gilded altar? I looked for evidence of this concern being addressed and found churches like Sant’ Eustacio near the Pantheon where I walked in on a dinner for the homeless rather than a group of tourists with cameras. On two Sundays we were welcomed into another tiny sanctuary fully alive with an African immigrant congregation. I don’t have detailed panoramas of these places because I didn’t want to intrude on what was happening inside, but they certainly left their impression inside of me.
Even though these concerns were real, I continued to find magic in magnificent domes and vaults, in gilded details, in marble sculptures nearly pulsing. There were times when I entered a church past a simple façade only to find my own breath catch in awe. There were times where I sat in stillness in a pew, wondering about the journey of my own faith, how it had ebbed and changed.
The panoramas here are jumbled forms that flatten the three-dimensional spaces into puzzles of perception. Rather than combining horizontal segments of a landscape into an expansive whole, these fragments reach in many directions in a three-dimensional interior, causing more distortion than a traditional panorama. The overall shape of the compositions reminds me of natural history specimens where discovered artifacts twist and curl into place. Indeed, these are cultural, historical specimens that reveal detailed curiosities and purpose when examined closely. They are captured mostly in churches I visited in Rome, though a few are from Umbria, Sicily and Puglia. Together they weave a story of wonder experienced during my extended stay.
Poet's preface here
home page here
Walking into the hushed and soaring spaces of Italy’s churches stirred surprising emotional responses in me. My memories of previous visits muted in comparison to the sustained opportunities provided by living in Rome for 89 days as director of Kenyon College’s Rome program in the fall of 2019. No longer did I feel the urgency of a tourist gathering a limited number of experiences. No longer did the effort expended to reach a destination overshadow the scintillating, airy vaults. I could walk to the Pantheon, I could sit through the resonant music of a Mass. I could return to observe evermore detail.
The intent of the architects, artists and patrons to inspire awe and reverence was always palpable, despite the variety of eras and styles of churches I visited. It was clear that the elevated domes were meant to encourage parishioners to think about a heavenly afterlife, and the vast floor plan provided a communal gathering place on earth. The opulent materials and exquisite detail are evidence of competing ecclesiastical patronage. With over 900 churches in Rome, there were times when I nearly became numb from overstimulation.
Then my social justice antennae kicked in. What did this opulence mean for the poor? What if such money had been used for their needs rather than a gilded altar? I looked for evidence of this concern being addressed and found churches like Sant’ Eustacio near the Pantheon where I walked in on a dinner for the homeless rather than a group of tourists with cameras. On two Sundays we were welcomed into another tiny sanctuary fully alive with an African immigrant congregation. I don’t have detailed panoramas of these places because I didn’t want to intrude on what was happening inside, but they certainly left their impression inside of me.
Even though these concerns were real, I continued to find magic in magnificent domes and vaults, in gilded details, in marble sculptures nearly pulsing. There were times when I entered a church past a simple façade only to find my own breath catch in awe. There were times where I sat in stillness in a pew, wondering about the journey of my own faith, how it had ebbed and changed.
The panoramas here are jumbled forms that flatten the three-dimensional spaces into puzzles of perception. Rather than combining horizontal segments of a landscape into an expansive whole, these fragments reach in many directions in a three-dimensional interior, causing more distortion than a traditional panorama. The overall shape of the compositions reminds me of natural history specimens where discovered artifacts twist and curl into place. Indeed, these are cultural, historical specimens that reveal detailed curiosities and purpose when examined closely. They are captured mostly in churches I visited in Rome, though a few are from Umbria, Sicily and Puglia. Together they weave a story of wonder experienced during my extended stay.
Poet's preface here
home page here