Marco Polo to Brunelleschi

July 4, 1298

Dear Brunelleschi,

My life has been pretty lonely.  I have been in jail for a while now with some guy named Rustichello of Pisa, whom is a writer. I’ve been telling him stories of my adventures to the Mongolian Empire and he is making a book about the adventures I tell him. The reason I'm in jail is that I commanded a ship in a war against the rival city of Genoa and they soon captured me and now I am in a cell of loneliness.

Although I'm in jail with someone, I still feel lonely. My mom died when I was very young and my dad left to go explore the other world when I wasn't even born. He came back with his brother, Maffeo Polo, and they invited me to go back to Mongolia with them. My dad, Maffeo Polo, and I are merchants. We find goods to sell in other City-states where they would more valuable. On the way, we had to avoid bandits and had to trade our valuable things for camels, water, and food for the harsh Gobi desert in front of us.

When we made it to Kublai Khan, the ruler of the Mongolian Empire, Kublai made me and my family go to the outer edges of his empire, since he could not see his whole grand empire. Our mission was to come back to him and tell him how the people in his empire live, what religion they practice, and lastly, how life is different from where the palace was to where they lived. When we got back to Kublai Khan, he gave us golden passports so we could come again with no one hurting us and stealing our supplies. After he gave us the golden passports, he wanted us to go back to Venice and get the pope and bring the pope to Kublai. 

When we got back to Venice, the priests were fighting over who would be the next pope. We only convinced two priests to come with us and this time we took a boat. We and the priests were the only people who survived the sail and we soon got to Kublai Khan with the priests. The priests could not believe what they were seeing. The Mongolians had a much more civilized empire than back in Venice. They had paper money, advanced heating system to keep their houses warm, and lastly, they were the civilization that protected the silk road.

When I came back to Venice, Kublai Khan passed and that was the end of the silk road. As I came home,  I told every one of my stories but nobody believed me. The Venetians claimed that they were the most advanced civilization and no one was as advanced as them. Now I realized sitting here with Rustichello, I traveled the whole silk road, only to find myself imprisoned by my own people. 

                                                        From the merchant, 

Marco Polo

Vivaldi to Giotto

Wednesday, March 25, 1741

Dear Giotto di Bondone,

I have heard about your paintings in Florence. Maybe we could share life stories when I die! I send this letter to your grave. Although you are dead, we will remember you for your artwork. I am currently traveling to a foreign land. Venice is so very nice and the history is impeccable. We have canals of all shapes and sizes. We have glass blowing on the island of Murano. I hope to visit Florence one day.

I was born on March 4, 1678, in Venice during the final days of the Italian Renaissance. My father’s name was Giovanni Battista Vivaldi. My father was also a famous violinist. My father was my violin teacher and we would tour together in Venice. My mother’s name was Camilla Calicchio. I am also the oldest out of nine other siblings. When I was born, they knew right away that I had severe asthma, but that didn’t stop me from writing music. Music actually helped me breathe.

When I was older, I became an ordained priest in 1703. Red hair runs in our family. People called me the red priest because of my red hair. Sadly, because of my asthma, I was kicked out of the church. After being kicked out of the church, I started to work at a catholic orphanage for girls. I started composing music on my violin during my career at the orphanage. I have to say that most of my music was written for girls to play.

I have written 500 concertos. Concertos are long pieces of music with three movements. The first movement is fast, the second movement is slow and the third movement is even faster than the first. I have also written 46 operas. I even write music for the church. There are many other composers, but one you might have heard of is Bach. He has written many gavottes and minuettes. Bach is one of my #1 fans. He has even translated some of my songs to piano, harpsichord, and viola.

Although I consider myself famous for the Italian Renaissance, most people find me famous for the Baroque period. One song that you may have heard is called the Four Seasons. I have made lots of money. I also seem to have an internal infection that could kill me, but I am not worried about that. I am not married and I have no children. In fact, I have only been in one relationship. We broke up yesterday. I have moved to Vienna. I moved here to play for the emperor and he would pay me, but sadly, the emperor has died and now I have to sell my pieces for a sad price that is keeping me alive.

How is life in the grave? Are you resting in peace next to Galileo, Michelangelo, and Leonardo? One day, I mean when I am buried, I hope that we can meet up to talk face to face about more famous people stuff. Maybe you could teach me to paint! I will see you in heaven, hopefully.

Sincerely,

Antonio Vivaldi

Gentileschi to Boticelli

November 15, 1613


Dear Alessandro di Mariano di Vanni Filipepi,


Sandro, how are you? I just moved to Venice. I’m sorry I didn't send word sooner but, alas, I was in such a rush. Now that I live in Venice I will be able to visit your grave. You have have inspired me so much in my career. I wish I could have met you but I was born almost 90 years after you died.

Let me tell you about me because although I have heard of you, you most likely have not heard of me. Let me tell you a little about myself. I was born July 8th, 1593 to Prudentia Monotoni and Orazio Getileshi. My father took me on as something like an apprentice at a young age. He never meant for me to make a career as a painter though. He tried to get me to join a nunnery several times, but I always refused. I made my first work of art when I was 17. It was titled Susanna and The Elders. I just married a man named Pierantonio Stiattesi and moved to Venice with him.

At the moment I am very busy painting the story in the old testament, Judith and Holofernes, in which Judith kills the war Lord Holofernes in order to get revenge because he besieged her town. Many people paint different versions of it. As you may know some draw her holding the head in triumph, while others draw her preparing for the battle. One man drew the scene in which she slits his throat. That picture has inspired me to do the same and draw Holofernes getting beheaded. But when it was drawn by Caravaggio, Judith was rather reluctant looking to kill. In mine, I plan to make her look very determined for revenge. Eager for the kill. I hope to someday attended the Accademia del Disegno. Going there would give me the freedom to buy paints and other supplies without permission from my husband, travel alone, and sign contracts. If I could do that there would be no point in having a husband and I would most likely divorce him.

As you read my letter, you are most likely wondering why I moved to Venice so I shall tell you. I moved here because my father Orazio Gentileschi wanted me far away from my painting teacher and his business partner Agostino Tassi. Let me start from the beginning, I was at my painting classes with Tassi. He grabbed me and said “ Not so much painting, not so much painting.” It was the most terrifying moment of my life. I then had to go to court for seven months just to prove he was guilty. I will not go into much detail of the assault in this letter, but in court I had to recount every detail of the assault. They used this method called sibille where they tied ropes around my fingers and tightened it progressively. It is meant to divulge whether or not I was telling the truth. It was very painful, I was losing circulation. Finally he was proven guilty and sentenced to five years in prison, but when I left he hadn't even started his sentence. I'm afraid that he never will. If I had not proven him guilty my reputation would have been ruined and I would never have been able have a career as a painter. I might even have had to join a nunnery, imagine that!

Venice is absolutely beautiful. What was Florence like when you lived there? I hope to go to Florence some day. I wonder if it has changed since you lived there? I think that you would have liked my friend, Galileo. He has some very interesting views on the world. When I go to Florence I shall drop this letter off at your grave.

Sincerely,

Artemisia Gentileschi

Andrea Mantegna to Leonardo Da Vinci

September 12, 1449

Dear Leonardo,

I heard Florence has been exceptional for the past year. I heard your arts were  even better than everything else. I am also pretty good at art, not to brag or anything. I live in Venice if you did not know. Venice’s population is growing greatly. There are many artists here and we have a major economy for glass blowing. Moving to Venice has been the best part of my life, except for my birth, which took place in 1431 in Isola Di Carturo, in the Venetian Republic.

I really enjoy the arts just like you, but I have a really important job as well. I run a workshop that is the head of prints for Venice right now but unfortunately I think it might die down at the year 1500. I have many paintings that are really popular.  I use perspective in my paintings by lowering the horizon and creating a greater sense of monumentality, which makes my pictures more realistic and more like sculptures and adds a stony affect. I really enjoy painting landscapes, that is why I think I am different from the other Venetians.

I learned to paint my special way of art from Francesco Squarcione. I started attending his classes when I was 11 and Francesco said I was one of the most exceptional artists. He also told me that I could have a career in art. Guess what happened? I became a successful artist. My first project was a painting of the church, Santa Sophia. Francesco said it was good for a first, but now it is lost somewhere. Then, I left the Francesco’s school and went to work on a project with a group of artists for the Ovetari Chapel. It was a very successful project. Do you think You could tell me how your first project went?

I have many projects that I would like to share in this letter. I am not going to share all of them but a few of them, so get ready. St. Jerome in the Wilderness, The Adoration of the Shepherds, San Luca Altarpiece, Presentation at the Temple, Crucifixion, Christ as the Suffering Redeemer, Agony in the Garden, and much more. They were all pretty good but some better than others some of them are famous in Venice and maybe even Florence. Maybe you could tell me if they are. Thanks!

My life in Venice has been amazing since I have moved here the arts are really nice, but the church is really strict. I have made many Florins lately using my workshop for the arts. I hope you are doing just as well as me, I definitely think you are but please tell me if you are. You are also really famous here if you did not know that.   

Sincerely,

Andrea  

P.S I can’t wait to hear back.

night in harlem

"why i just wish i could take a picture
of you two
right now"

says an older man
in harlem
as we walk to our friend's
basement for some
live jazz

i don't know
if it was the umbrella
used as a walking stick
the shimmer in the sidewalk
our hoods and hats
protecting us
the pep in our step
the holding hands
or the smile on our faces
but something

Buzzard's Banquet 4/30 - soda bar

a short haiku

if air were water

we'd see the currents we are

swimming in

welcome. please, don't stay.

Are you okay?

Stop whining.

This is a penal colony.

The rivers and

the oceans

are natural

moats

keeping

the maniacs

relatively safe.

Overcrowded

noisy

smells like a mass grave

Masturbating men

hurrying to train

always trying

to get somewhere important

Money is Jesus.

you buy lavish self-deceptions

and comfortable suffering

with Jesus.

No personal journies.

Getting laid

getting laid off

getting laid

again

A few years later,

another layoff

Getting

Laid.

jerk-off.

getting jumped.

A Serbian,

A Moroccan

A Turk

drunkenly swearing in a bar

they’ll break the legs

of the little boys

singing sad songs

at the

bottom of wells.

Not a fantasy.

Apocolypse.

Mutations. Evolution.

Lose this poignantly.

in Unexpected ways.

Hustle. Struggle. Fail.

Survive.

Sitting round a fire

singing mighty ballads

of tragic battles

kin roaring out.

of inside-out umbrellas

rent tumors

chewed up dreams.

Complain.

Never whine.

Avoid romantics,

strolling smilers.

How inappropriate.

no eye contact

no respect

wise, jolly scamps

provincial people

pretending to have

perfect pretext

to prefer

a port

with a kind of authority

just a long con

where

flecks of splintering

broken shards

in a shaken opera house

--under a plastic

tablecloth and

within indifference--

all add to your plight

leave and admit

you were a wimp.

i touched

the white

soft crevice

of my bosom.

and i found only

a small tendril

of sweat

and i thought to myself

why should i

work so hard

for so little

a tip?

so i tightened

up my shorts

and i tighened

up my bun

but i never

absolutely never

went to sharky's again.

how to stop the wind

fill the empty vessel

slowly, while holding tight

smooth river streaming

indecipherable oscillations of sound

ringing at a higher and higher

melody

carry the water carefully

as if each drop were worth

a thousand steps

weight on your back

a never-ending world outside of an oasis

place the burden

with the balance and precision

of total alignment

control and centeredness

turn the fire up from deep below,

slowly,

then... do not wait!

contemplate

meditate

accentuate the experience

in your mind

in your skin

in your blood

let it seep into your whole being

invest in the slow process

with the

the soft singing of patience

the eagerness of wonder

should you wait for the whistle?

as time grows shorter,

like the quickening dip of an almost set sun,

you decide to experience these last moments

of the steam

the soft song

the leaping of uncountable Oceanides

becoming pure

& just before the first Harpie

blows a sound of wind

you grasp it in your hand

and silence it

march 6 the day

i n d i v i d u a l i t y

most of the time we define society as the polar opposite of the individual. i believe society more easily has reigns on people because of its power in numbers. this weekend i had another epiphany about how to form my own identity within a society in which i don't perfectly mold into. at an art exhibit ini which the apprciators of alex gray created a drum and dance ceremony for the crimson moon of the lunar eclipse, i realized "this is clubbing to me: nag champa, crystal singing bowls, drums and wind instruments, the freedoms of dancing like fools and encouragement of expression." from this realization i have figured out why i have felt not myself somewhere- because i have finally felt myself somewhere else.

"~as long as a construct remains a concept in your mind you have not transcended it~" -j.high-

'society' 'race' 'class' 'gender'- all of these ideas, or concepts, are constructed. as long as we perpetuate them, and try to figure out what is wrong with them instead of trying to transcend them, they will continue to exist and we will never figure out how to purify them. there is no purity in constructs. they are creations of our own suppositions of 'order' and therefore do not birth from the essential.

memory and habit-

'i'm curious' she says, 'what is your way'...'and why did you choose it?'

my way is lit by darkness
and is darkened by light
it is embracing curiosities
confusions & mysteries
the unfolding of the layers
of life become told
& realizations become epiphanies
and then contradictions
my way is the transience of
our breathing
knowing the constant change
of life
defines the puzzles that
make life
...interesting

my way is the tunnel
the muddled sound
the incandescent light
the wind on my face
my way is within
not before entering
not the entrance
not the exit
not after exiting
it is without beginning
it is without ending
it is the wind
that is ever-lasting
it is the water
that is ever-flowing
it is now
and now
between the split-seconds
splitting moments into
infinities
my way
is eternal
between the transient breaths
it is the inbetweenness
it is the negative space
it is the unseen untouchable
inside the transient thoughts
it is the profundity
it is the absurdity
it is the mysterious paradoxes
my way exists
as i exist
my way finds me
as i find my way

Moon, Thorn, Love

The moon is our mirror
It's our mingling of souls
Dancing with a black curtain backdrop
Except in Sugar Hill
Then it's a pinkish blue (some might say purple)
   Landscape of poetry

The thorn a sacrifice
From beyond, our lives have touched
Because of some unknown, untouchable, intimate moment
Created by something somewhere somehow
Specific, right?

That is our love. It is your silhouette in my mind
It is our pavement walks late night talks
Bedtime strolls and sheet rolls

naragannsette nonsense

Listening to lisztomania looking out at the floating fellows flowing with the ocean waves close but far kept gettin closed in and we're in the mazda v6 drinking chai spicy and vanilla both flavors from cool beans jeannette's place in naraganssette after running on the rocks like little sandivers or sandpipers whichever you prefer dodging the white wash that slaps the rocks and attacks the docks preparing to pull anything light or slow into the ocean zone but us we trust that we are fast our feet neatly treated never seated ready to retreat and snap a photo these moments are solo mementos framed in time claimed as mine ours is a life of ventures not luxuries its the trails we take the tribulations we forage through we will never forsake the wind we face no matter the gusto or grace that makes us move with haste into the next new landscape laced like a lapse of art not in the lines we are not confined we don't wait in time we chase all the mimes and watch them stay silent defiant we don't buy it but we try it because what's a world without the words of all whether the words rise into the air or fall get big or stay small urgent or stalled we are patient with what one might call the crazies or the quetzels or quolls apricots attracting bees calamine-lotion  saving dumbpeople or elephants licking fudge like God likes his honey-in-my-tea inside igloos of jupiter where kookaburra birds lie on lions and monsters eating nuts are making origami or pottery but quetzels and rats get caught by sierra that's ull?

Half-Year, Half-June

June 14th, 2010

You know, it sounds pretty heavy for me to be writing to you about how you have changed my life, but as I look back at what 2010 has been for me thus far, I think about how you have truly affected my life and how positively different my life has been since I met you. 

Approximately, I have known you for half a year now; yet it seems so much longer than that. The other day I was thinking about where I was and who I was and what life was offering me on January 1st, 2010 (or even just in the month of January). The difference that you have made in my life from the first day I met you is incredible. 

When looking back I would like to be able to say that I was not an unhappy person then; but now that I reflect on January, I see that I was confused and lost and missing something and yes, I was in fact not happy. 

Here is a confession: I had insomnia in January. I stayed up many nights very unhappy with my life. I tried so hard to think of how I could fix my unhappiness, but I could not find any solutions and so just stood awake wondering what was wrong. I then tried to find ways to fix my insomnia, and could not solve the problem. I tried reading more, studying Spanish, writing to friends/family, writing just to practice writing, I simply tried to be productive and feel worthwhile; in the end, I felt depressed and worthless. I could not figure out why I felt this way. Perhaps it was because I had finished teaching two college writing courses in the fall and what lied ahead was only coaching little kids, a roster-less lacrosse team, and a few months of middle school basketball. Beyond February, I didn't see much purpose in what I was doing. I was 'just a coach'. I tried to come to terms with this idea that coaching isn't an easy and worthless job, that I was in fact doing some good, that I was improving myself in some way, but I could not actually feel inside my heart that my life was on the right track. 

Now, it may not seem that you have much to do with my professional life taking a turn for the better, but the way I see it you have everything to do with my life taking the right turn and getting back on track. Now that I look back on it, I know it has to do with love and finding the person I want to spend my life with, but I also see that it was much more about perfect timing. 

In my constant contemplating and wondering and dreaming I had this relentless itch to travel. I wanted to take off in the summer and leave New York forever. I also was traveling as much as I could to figure out where I wanted to go and what I wanted to do and why I really wanted to travel so badly. I wanted, in traveling, to figure out the mystery that was my mind, my heart, my soul. Within a couple months, I travelled to Colorado, California, Aruba, home, and--finally--Costa Rica. Costa Rica was the only place that taught me anything worth learning. The reason: you were in New York. 

I didn't want to travel to escape; I wanted to travel to find what I was looking for. Finally, I found it in you, in New York. That last trip to Costa Rica made me realize I had finally gotten to that point in my life where things would begin to piece together and truly make sense. You were the first major piece of that puzzle, and now being here in Quepos and getting certified to teach EFL/ESL I am discovering another major piece of the puzzle: I want to teach ESL and develop my teaching craft around language. I've always known that teaching was my passion, but it is narrowing itself and becoming more specific, more real, and more possible. 

I haven't had the best of luck with money or health this year, but I have struck gold in love and passion; and I've always known that those two blessings are the necessary ingredients to happiness in this life. 

Jumpy

Yesterday was just one of those days where my heart was extra heavy the entire day. Everything weighed a little bit more heavily on it. Not that I was down or out, but that I came to the edge of facing my biggest fear: losing what I love. An experience like yesterday only makes me realize how much I really do love Carlin.

Doc asked us how long we'd known each other in the tiny office at the Chinatown clinic: "2 months," Carlin shot back at him without hesitation. I think I was as shocked as the doc when he said that! Have we really only known each other two months? I am not scared about anything; I know this is what I want, this is where I want my life to go, this is my new path and he is the person I wan to share the long road with. After he collapsed into Anna's door yesterday morning and I pounded on his chest screaming "babe babe babe" and he came to suddenly, as I saw his eyes come alive and back to the world, I was absolutely positive that he is the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I am positive that Carlin is the love of my life and with him I am happy, no matter what else happens.

For crying out loud, I found out I got Head Teacher position this summer at my favorite job that I thought I was being let go from because they cut half the teachers. Instead of cutting me, a 2 year TA, they promoted me. And upon hearing such news, I barely reacted. I was so paralyzed and stunned still, not able to grasp my feelings on what had happened earlier in the morning.

Directly after he fainted, he went to the couch and I sat beside him on the floor in my towel, still shaking. It wasn't the most dangerous thing that I've witnessed, but I could easily put it at the scariest moment of my life. The person I love so much went limp in front of my helpless gimp self. His life was placed in my hands at that moment, and I didn't feel altogether prepared. I mean, I know what I would try to do if he hadn't come to so quickly. I thought, 911, CPR, call Jackie. I sat by the couch watching him recover slowly from a free fall onto the floor and I joked with him about his beard, and us living in Meg's Westy in the woods at the edge of town, and marrying him. He teared up and told me he had never loved me more.

Later on in the day, I realized he had completely forgotten that conversation. I am still glad that we had it.