Leaving Paris, and random blues

Tuesday, 3/25/03
Imbecile (im-betch-eelay) is my name
Idiocy in authenticity is my game.

At length our bus finally came. We checked in at the airport with no further ado, but right afterward I realized I didn't have my jacket. "Where's my jacket?" I cried. I realized I'd left it on the bus. I dashed outside and thankfully retrieved my jacket, for the bus hadn't left in the full hour we'd been there. Next, since we were all ravenous and as the airport food prices were ridiculous, we made an amazing escapade to...McDonalds. It was a 20 minute walk around the entire runway area and it was so dark we could only see our feet when cars passed, shining their headlights at us. We were all in goofy mood, especially Val and I on the way back. I think I have a great talent for dramatizing life into cliches. I think of ways to describe "adventures" that all sound very familiar. And I quote movies too much.

So when we got to Milan we decided it would be easier to catch a train in the city of Milan, instead of Bergamo, where the airport really was. So we rode the bus to Milan and got to the train station at 12:45. The last train was at 12:30.

We had a nice see-what-it's-like-to-be-homeless adventure. The train station was probably in the low 50s Farenheit and we had to spend the night there. I slept maybe 30 minutes. The rest of the time I walked around or read standing. The restroom opened at 4am and we payed the 60 cents to get in (or Carmen did, and we followed her through the automatic doors) and we just hung out in there for an hour, because it had a heater. We took the first train of the morning at 5:30, even though it was a more expensive Eurostar. I don't like Eurostars. They're faster, but you have assigned seats.

We got back to Castiglion at 1:20 but before climbing the hill, I spent an hour at Anti Graphicke, finishing my project. I got to Santa Chiara at 11:45, just when Paolo was having a meeting about the war. I was like, "Forget that! I'm taking a shower." Lunch was divine, the tomato and cheese meal.

Dear Father,
Why am I so sad?
Is it because of what happened to Elizabeth Smart?
Do I fear what I don't understand?
Am I sick for home?
Is it because I'm frustrated with the art that is expected of me?
Am I reading too many fairy tales?
Do I know the real world?

I will know the real world, and I will go to class with a new determination to squander my frustration and do what Paolo wants me to do. I'll be cheerful and nice to people around me. Maybe. I can't stop hurting about what that demented man did to Elizabeth Smart. And it's things like that that make me read fairy tales at the wrong time. I must take art in moderation. If not, my life is spent hiding in art from reality. Emotionally, art can make me cry. Reality can turn my heart into a sick cavern. Thank goodness it's not often.

"Glory is light, light brings happiness, and happiness is the pleasure of the spirit" --Gaudi
"Beauty is the gleam of truth, and the gleam captures everyone; because of this, art has universality." --Gaudi

I just had a thought. What is the difference between idealism and realism? Beauty is organization and presentation, so what realism is, is communicating sadness or despair, etc. in an idealistic way. All art, therefore, is idealistic.

I just had a breakthrough. I want to go to graduate school. Not in architecture, though. Something along the lines of art history. The reason is because art history includes the trends and ideas of civilization, how they are manifested in art, and how art has influenced the courses of these civilizations. The only drawback is if I'm only studying and not using, I might lose sight of what it means to me practically. But I want to study what encompasses the nature of beauty, and psychology, sociology, and philosophy. Art encompasses all of those things because those things are manifested through art. I can study ideas through a creative window and not get so immersed in them that I become frustrated with them.

New ideas always make you understand the set ones more because they make you think and question. What I love about here is that no one is afraid to talk about religion, in an artistic or psychological sense. How can we be? Two of the classes center around religious art, and the psychology of religion. But it's still hard because I'm not getting the same spiritual instruction as usual. I know I shouldn't need the instruction for my own personal study, but I really miss discussions in church without the language barrier, and institute.