It's Time to Start Answering (Part Two)

The reason I'm finally getting to Part Two of this post is not because I've been too busy being like Ester (see Part One), but because I'm finding it hard to describe the (mental) health benefits of 4 days in Rome in August. For Americans it sounds like a Roman Holiday....the Trevi Fountain, red Vespas and gelato. For Italians it sounds like Dante's Inferno.   

My hot trip to Rome consisted of reconnecting with Chicago friends for one day, reuniting with myself for three and refilling my water bottle for four. With 102-degree temps in well-ventilated  Villa Borghese, it seemed wise to avoid the unventilated buses and metro. Contrary to E.M. Forster's quote, "In Rome, one had simply to sit still and feel," I walked myself off the map in every direction and felt Rome like I'd never felt it before.

I was out every morning before things had opened and out every night 'til after they'd closed. I like closed shops. If I'm taken by something in a window I can 'just look' for as long as I wish never disturbing the shopkeeper by 'just looking'.

The last morning as I wove through the backstreets my thoughts wandered to life after August. Just as I was promising myself (again) that I'd really start creating in September, I was stopped by a colorful painting of a body that blended, dripped and took shape exactly how I dream of my watercolors blending, dripping and taking shape. Framed below the painting was this quote. "I do what I do so that when I'm on my death bed, I can look back & smile." -Gilbert Halaby.

At this point, the details are unclear. I think the door was open, but I'm not sure I went in. I can't remember if it was a shop or a workshop. There were other paintings framed 'as is', torn from the spiral pad and displayed with their frayed, untrimmed edges. I don't remember the art, but loved the imperfection of the presentation. And in this little scene that is perhaps more fiction than fact, a man I assume was Gilbert appeared and instead of "just looking" I said, "Che bello!" and timidly walked away. 

Fifty feet later I was struck by more colors, textures and shapes. There were paintings, handbags, books, plants and furniture. More than just looking, I was feeling. When I'd noticed that the shop was called Maison Halaby I turned towards the window I'd just admired. Gilbert was still by his door so I looked back and smiled.

On the train ride home instead of silently reveling in the magnificence of the city I'd just left behind, I googled the shop. In one article Gilbert said that he likes the people that enter to feel at home and not burdened by a forced commercial relationship. He said every guest becomes a friend and while he serves them tea, he tells them his story and they tell him theirs.

My Chicago readers may have made the connection. From inside my studio on a backstreet in Chicago I heard a lot of che bellos. It didn't matter if there were no purchases, the che bellos were payment enough. Some brave souls came in and over packets of Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate (with mini-marshmallows) we became running partners, lunch dates and secret keepers.    

Gilbert's words are with me every day. When I don't find the motivation to do what I think I want to be doing, it's his words that have started pushing me to paint, write, study and run.

Anatole Broyard said, "Rome was a poem pressed into service as a city." I say Gilbert Halaby is an artist pressed into service as an inspiration. Thanks to him I'm waking up before reaching my deathbed and getting closer to saying that I do what I do so I can look back and smile.