What are the most important things needed to live a good life?
I think books, music and art make life worth living, once basic needs (food, shelter, safety) are met.
I got to go to an art show by a dear old friend from college last night. It is her first gallery show. In college, she was a double major in art history and religion. For decades, she’s worked as a museum educator and administrator.
She always had an artist’s eye and soul. We studied abroad in Italy at the same time and traveled together on our fall break. A fellow blogger’s post about the city of Bergamo (Italy) reminded me of that trip. We went to Bergamo, Parma, Verona, Venice, and Milan.
Her artwork involves deconstructing everyday packaging and reassembling in very cool ways.
A large piece by Julie Bernson on display at Gallery Kayafas in Boston
Julie taking a photo atop the Duomo in Milan in 1985.
I’d be miraculously transported to Rome, with no airports, passports or wait times involved. (Beam me up, Scotty)
I’d spend the morning shopping on the Via del Corso and then head over to Trastevere for the afternoon. I would replace the buttery-soft, knee-length black leather coat that I bought on my semester abroad (which was subsequently stolen in NYC) and also get some new black leather gloves and whatever the heck else I want (it’s a fantasy, right?)
I would have plenty of time to take breaks in outdoor cafés. The weather would be 70 degrees and sunny. My feet would not hurt. My husband would cheerily accompany into every single store and carry my purchases without complaint. The dollar/euro exchange rate would be in my favor.
My friend Andreada and me in NYC in 1988. This is the one and only picture of my Italian black leather coat. It was so soft. It got stolen that very night from my chair in a Manhattan bar.
I’m half Italian. My father’s father emigrated from Italy, through Ellis Island, in 1905. He was 15 years old and arrived with $12. His occupation was listed as “peasant.” He worked on farms, taking care of boilers that heat the greenhouses. He became a US citizen in 1913 and was a successful farmer himself, although the state twice took his land by eminent domain to build highways. Sadly, he died young from what should have been a routine surgery, when my father was just six years old.
My grandmother carried on as best she could, but eventually lost the farm when all the young men went to fight in World War II (nobody was left to work on the farm). After that, she had factory jobs, but was able to raise her four children successfully, with two of them joining the Air Force, including my father who was then able to go to UMass Amherst on the GI Bill. He studied electrical engineering and eventually co-founded his own company with another engineer. They sold it in 1983 and I was able to go to a fancy private college on the proceeds, without incurring any debt at all.
So we went from “peasant” to “liberal arts major” in just two generations. I took all sorts of useless classes in college—poetry, drawing, art history, concert choir, etc. It was great. In my defense, I did take both economics and calculus my first semester, but dropped calculus because I didn’t think I could pass it and also be in the musical. Priorities, people.
One of my many fun classes was Italian. I took three semesters, one of them in Rome. What a beautiful language. I’m not much of a cook, so I’d have to say that the aspects of Italian culture I’m most interested in are the language, art history, and music. And by music, I mean opera, not that cheesy Italian pop.
My hardworking grandfather Giovanni in one of his greenhouses