AMBASSADOR (am bas′ə dər, -dôr′) noun

Ambassadors of goodwill are activists, celebrities, artists, environmentalists;

Ambassador-at-large is one accredited to no particular country;

Ambassador extraordinary has a special diplomatic mission;

Unofficial ambassador is one with all;

& unofficial am I!

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

what a small world it is.... Fra Filippo Lippi

Fra Filippo Lippi
Autoportrait of Fra' Filippo Lippi
Fra Filippo Lippi

AKA:                Filippo Lippi
Born:               c. 1406
Birthplace:         Florence, Italy
Died:               10-Oct-1469
Location of death:  Spoleto, Italy
Cause of death:     unspecified

Gender:             Male
Religion:           Roman Catholic
Race or Ethnicity:  White
Sexual orientation: Straight
Occupation:         Painter

Nationality:        Italy
Executive summary:  Coronation of the Virgin


What a small world it is....
In 2005 I studied art history at the Lorenzo Di Medici Art institute in Florance, Italy for 2 months. During our summer of classes, we the students had to choose 1 renaissance artist to study and recreate a new work of art that some how paralleled the story of this chosen artist from the past.


I chose Filippino Lippi the son of a Italian Monk, Friar, or Brother of the Roman Catholic Church. His father was Fra Filippo Lippi.


Today at my blogging headquarters, caffè  letterario, a tourist couple from Switzerland kept asking me where is the museum with the famous renaissance paintings. As any good ambassador would respond I said "whaaaat? We don't have that type of museum here..."


After pulling out my library card for 1 hour of free internet service on the boxes of shit we call computers here, I started my search... What I found out is that the father of this artist child I had studied the life of, actually lived here in Spoleto, painted the famous frescoes at out Duomo and in fact died in Spoleto. Hum, I thought... time for me to do some researching...


Then this evening I researched his father and found some mixed opinions of him floating out there in the world of internet information. 


The rumors ranged from he was poisoned here and killed by Umbrian folks to he father several children and was a despicable Friar who was was endlessly committing sins. 


The indisputable story he is was an amazing artists who then taught he son to be an even more remarkable artist. He was a man full of passion for the love of one beautiful woman and strayed between his desires for her and the church.


Here below are the 2 mains stories that seem to take different directions on one man's life which ended here in Spoleto in 1469 about 542 years ago.


http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/09278a.htm
The great artist lived in the continual embarrassments caused by his deplorable morals. Never was anyone less fitted for religious life. His portraits show us a flat-nosed individual with a jesting, but vicious looking, thick-lipped, sensual face. To compel him to work Cosmo de' Medici was forced to lock him up, and even then the painter escaped by a rope made of his sheets.


His escapades threw him into financial difficulties from which he did not hesitate to extricate himself by forgeryCallistus III was obliged to deprive this unworthy monk, "who perpetrated many nefarious crimes", of a benefice. In 1452 the Carmelite was requested by the commons of Prato to paint the choir of the cathedral.


At length, despite his evil reputation, Lippi succeeded in having himself appointed chaplain of a congregation of Augustinians. Here his misbehaviour was no less flagrant than elsewhere. It is significant and shows plainly what were the ideas of the Renaissance that Lippi was not punished for his bad conduct. Glory or genius then constituted a soil of privilege and a warrant of impunity. Talent placed its possessor beyond and above the moral law. Not only did Cosmo di' Medicimake merry over what he called the "folly of the frater" (Letter of J. de Medici, 27 May, 1458), but Pope Pius II thought he could do no better than to release him from his vows and permit him to marry. A son, Filippino Lippi, had already been born to him. He afterwards had a daughter (1465). In the midst of these intrigues and disorders Filippo continued to paint his greatest works.


http://www.nndb.com/people/825/000084573/
The close of Lippi's life was spent at Spoleto, where he had been commissioned to paint, for the apse of the cathedral, some scenes from the life of the Virgin Mary. In the semi-dome of the apse is Christ crowning the Madonna, with angels, sibyls and prophets. This series, which is not wholly equal to the one at Prato, was completed by Fra Diamante after Lippi's death. That Lippi died in Spoleto, on or about the 8th of October 1469, is an undoubted fact; the mode of his death is again a matter of dispute. 

It has been said that the pope granted Lippi a dispensation for marrying Lucrezia, but that, before the permission arrived he had been poisoned by the indignant relatives either of Lucrezia herself, or of some lady who had replaced her in the inconstant painter's affections. This is now generally regarded as a fable and indeed a vendetta upon a man aged sixty-three for a seduction committed at the already mature age of fifty-two seems hardly plausible. Fra Filippo lies buried in Spoleto, with a monument erected to him by Lorenzo de Medici; he had always been zealously patronized by the Medici family, beginning with Cosimo, Pater Patriae. 

Francesco di Pesello (called Pesellino) and Sandro Botticelli were among his most distinguished pupils.

Monday, May 16, 2011

my eat, drink & have fun historical center Spoleto hang outs


Caffè letterario - VIA BRIGNONE 14

BAR PREMIATA PASTICCERIA TEBRO - VIA MINERVIO, 1


OSTERIA VECCHIO CAMINO - VIA POSTERNA, 21 

TAVERNA LA LANTERNA - VIA DELLA TRATTORIA, 6


CAFFE' DEGLI ARTISTI -  PIAZZA DEL MERCATO, 32


 RISTORANTE PIZZERIA TRE FONTANE - VIA BENEDETTO EGIO, 1












Sunday, May 15, 2011

my 9 cat lives -poetry look back how I know death

HOW I KNOW DEATH

Bike/car accident            Classmate from elementary school
Suicide                         Fourth grade teacher across the hall
Bike/car accident            David Berlow, middle school class mate
Illness                         Aunt Sadie, First open casket funeral
Euthanized, old age        Crackerjacks, my Irish setter
Sleeping                        My loved Grandmother
Car accident                  Shaun, our Siamese cat
Cancer                         My Grandfather
Murder                       Young pregnant homeless woman, sheet pulled over
Murder                        Man being taped off by police
Car accident                 One airborne car flies into windshield of couple
Cancer                         My beloved mother
Cancer                         Peter Lapcheskie, business friend
Murder                        Vicky Diamond, friend from high school
Cancer                         My father
Pedestrian/car accident   Young man lying in the street I swerved to not hit
Cancer                         Janet Greene, my friend
Car accident                  Princess Diana
Suicide                         Ginny Jurgens, client and friend


Francesca
November 12, 1997

my 9 cat lives - poetry look back at the way we were

Our Relationship

The way we are…
The way we were…
The way we have always been…

The way we dreamed we could have been…

The life we know…
The life we live…
The life we lost we wanted most…

The life we resent we know we live…

The ways we gave…
The ways we took…
The ways we hurt inside…

The ways we hurt each other…

The dreams we aborted…
The dreams that disappeared…
The dreams we’ve given up on…

Are the nightmares of resentments that we share…

The ways I blame you…
The ways you blame me…
The ways we hold no hope…

Are the ways we share despair…

The ways we lost what we wanted most…

Francesca Owens 

August 30, 2001

my 9 cat lives - poetry look back at REALITY

THE REALITY

The cries of adulthood: not normal, damaged, desperate, less than perfect, seasonally depressed, hopeless, lonely, fearful, worried, afraid, needing to escape, abandoned, desiring to be rescued, unlovable, too sensitive, unrealistic and unforgiving self standards for physical beauty, not valuable, carrying lies of sole blame and fault.

The honesty of adulthood: intelligent, attractive, creative, accomplished, empathetic, communicative, educated, calculated risk taker, passionate, out going, vivacious, blessed, deep, talented, caring, giving, go-getter, intimate, fun, lovable, appreciative of life.

The fantasy of childhood: deny, bargain, fantasize, believe and rebel.  "It's my fault..., otherwise he would of...", "If I..., then it wouldn't of happened", "I will escape to... where it is beautiful and perfect", "Please promise you won't drink tonight, my friend is sleeping over", "When I grow up, no one will ever do this to me again".
  
The truth of childhood: I was not too sensitive; in contrast I was very perceptive at a young age seeing this horrid home life for what it was.  I forced to loose my opinions, thoughts, feelings, beliefs and perceptions.  Brainwashed then validated to believe it was me who saw this picture wrong.  Nothing I could do, neither right or wrong could/would change his behavior nor make me ever responsible for this hopelessness. I'd lie awake at night in the dark listening to the fights, no wonder I am afraid of the dark and fearful of much.  I lived broken promises day after year.  Rewriting my world through my Barbie doll being rescued by her prince, wonder why I'm attracted to this reality in relationships?  Separate and numb from my feelings and body; a valued survival tool used frequently later life.  My mother's strength in words to not repeat this life became etched in my brain like the wall of china.  The sights of seeing and living my childhood lended itself to an easier path to follow.  Enmeshment with my mothers was her silent way of validating my accurate perception of this sick reality.  I was her friend listening to her plans of escape.  Too emotionally weak to leave the relationship, she chose self-illness and quietly abandoned the family.  Too young, too enmeshed... I hurt to understand.
 
The reality of adulthood; now why is it I wonder where these... periodic, desperate, reoccurring feelings of hopelessness come from?  Laced with harsh self-criticism, self-invalidation and doubt of my own intuition and ability to exercise good judgement?  I wonder where and why?  I don't think so!  I break down these voices and share with them the true reality.  I remind myself when they forget... that's right, I am not normal.  I'm extra-ordinary, phenomenal, talented, polished, brilliant, luminous, beautiful and blessed.  I am blessed with the wisdom to peel back my scarred layers. To cleanse these lifelong wounds. To nurture and repair the damage, to parent and support this growth.  To commit to experiencing this found childlike innocence and self-love, the innocence that was taken away and the self-love that was never taught.  I now understand.  I see my reality clearly.


Francesca      
April 6, 1997

my 9 cat lives - poetry look back of Rue Cler

RUE CLER
Delight your senses, palette and soul at Rue Cler
wander down a cobblestone community laced
with iron work balconies and grand antique shutters above,
colored awnings receive you as you meander through its local commerce
an experience to nourish the spirit... and charm the taste buds of
every fortuitous visitor,
where miniature dogs, especially Yorkshire terriers are the pet of preference
and if chance would have it, being awakened to a morning "Bonjour" yelled across the market from a newfound American friend,
where street performers play Persians tunes live by accordion and
merchants offer delights of tastes, each truly connoisseurs of their trade!


      What indulgence will be your affair?  What delicacy will fancy your excursion?

Tarte shop            apple, raspberry, custard, chocolat, citron, or mandarin
Fleur store           buckets and baskets of brilliant flowers, what’s your favorite?
Crepe stand          ham, egg & cheese, fruit & sugar, nutella, pineapple or cream
Vin shop               red or white, choose from the wicker baskets out front
Confiserris            over 100 different chocolat, pralines & candy to choose from
Boucher shop                 poultry, lyons hanging, pork chops as big as you hand,
Boulangerie           fresh baguettes, quiche or fluffy cream and ham sandwiches        
Fruits de mer                 fish on ice, shellfish, lobster, crabs, octopus,
Produit                ripe tender vibrant colored berries, peaches, tomamoes
Fromage               brie, gruyere, neufchatel,
Corner Cafe           expresso and a flaky choclat croissant standing at the bar


Francesca    

July, 1997

my 9 cat lives - poetry look back at a legacy

RICH OF THE SOUL

I feel like the lucky one, living life to the fullest.  I look around and see others who let their life pass them by.  One day their life closes in on them and they never even catch what could have been.  I feel so alive, I feel so passionate about the blessings in my life and the simple events of my days.  I look at some of our great artists and writers living overseas.  I picture them at cafes in Europe and I feel the passion and wisdom in their life.  I understand this intimacy and peace.  I see the richness of their experiences.  I see myself living life, this life, my life.  I see my difference from all others around me, who are caught up in the incidentals.  Little do they realize that these things which they believe to be life are truly incidentals.  Focusing on these incidents blocks their ability to see life clearly. 

I wonder where I am on this growth line.  How much more I need to grow and live.  I think about making a difference in other’s lives, possibly leaving a legacy, pretty big thoughts for someone as simple as me.  I think about what will be my mark on society?  Will it be with writing or will it be with deeds?  Will it be with my character of style or just a mark on family and the ones I love so dear?

I know I’m different.  I know my thoughts and feelings are so out of line with the norm.  I used to feel like the “misfit” but now feel I’ve found what most others never find or even know exists.  So once again I come to a place where I say thank you, thank you for allowing me to be a chosen one, privileged to carry the inner light.  I walk my days with a happiness that shines from with in.  I open my eyes and let my light shine out in each smile and glance, and sparkle in my eyes. 

Francesca
January 10, 1999