It was mid-1970s, in Bari, Italy. A port in South Italy with a rich history
of Greek and Roman influence. Piazza del Ferrarese was where I walked every day
admiring the medieval habitational structures mix with modern ones. In early
morning, it was my favorite environment for B&W photography.
In my travels, Bari remains one of the three places I have discovered
historic Armenian churches where there were no or only a handful Armenians still
living. The other ones were The Armenian churches in Armenopolis(1) (Gherla)
in Romania, and in Singapore(2,3).
… As I came out of The Church of San Gregorio, I took my 1954 Kiev camera out of my bag,
which got the attention of a young artist who was sketching the church.
“Un purista!” he
exclaimed.
He wanted to see my
camera, so I sat by him.
“I like old cameras” I said “and I
like your work with charcoal.”
He rolled a cigarette and
asked why I was visiting the church.
“I am Armenian, and Saint Gregory the Illuminator is
the patron saint of Armenia” I replied.
While still playing with
my camera, he introduced himself:
“I am a student at the Bari Academy of the Fine
Arts, and the Church of San Gregorio is my project for this week. Before
painting, we have to learn the history of the monuments, so yes, I know about
this Armenian Church. Did you know it dates from the 10th century?”
So, for a short while we
talked about ourselves.
“You are the first Armenian I have ever known” he said. “Keep talking, but do permit me to keep sketching as the
shades change quickly with the light.”
At some point he said:
“You have been inside the church, did you see the
three navate della chiesa?”
I did not know what
navate meant.
“Each church corridor is called navata, amico. There are three navate in
this church, and the façade we are now looking at is tripartite matching the internal
architectural theme. My goal is to capture this façade in a way that my
painting tells the story of the three navate.”
We were quiet for a
while, so he rolled another cigarette.
“The shades are gone, I have to come back tomorrow” he said. “I hope you come back again to take photos with your camera
antica. This church has the most Romanesque façade in Bari. Maybe I will see
you again?”
I smiled:
“You called me a purist when you saw my camera – I
think I will be back. You and I wait for that moment to capture, that moment
that fleets, that moment that makes our experience uniquely shared with others.”
As he was packing his drawing
pad and pencils, he became philosophical:
“My teacher says Siamo Tutti Semi in Attesa Della pioggia (we all are seeds waiting
for rain) – maybe you were my rain today. Maybe my painting will incorporate
more than what my eyes have seen. Gracie!”
February 4, 2024
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2024
References
1. https://vahezen.blogspot.com/2016/03/armenopolis-romania.html
2. https://vahezen.blogspot.com/2015/03/a-stone-to-turn-page.html
3. https://liveingray.blogspot.com/2017/11/armenian-diaspora-salmon-syndrome.html
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