I’ve aways thought that the greatest benefit of travel to other countries is that it compels you to think afresh about your own. Our visit to southern Italy certainly has had that effect–of which probably more anon. The most dramatic effect on this occasion has been the state of profound puzzlement in which I find myself in relation to the religious culture of that region. There were some very good bits, but several experiences left me in a state of perplexity. I’m afraid that for a good part of the time I found myself in the frame of mind appropriate to an anthropological field trip. Here is just a sample of my findings.
Italy has become almost a synonym in Britain for good coffee (despite the several big chains of coffee shops with Italian names). Is this a regional thing in Italy? I don’t think that I had a really good cup throughout out visit to Puglia. I wonder if coffee culture is a feature of urban life rather than a national trait. (It does seem as if I ought to be applying now for a research grant.)
How on earth might it have come about that a startlingly prominent theme of folk culture is the danger of being bitten by spiders, and what to do about it? I was reminded, by depictions of young women dancing themselves to death, of The Rite of Spring.) We saw no spiders, but I am tempted to produce a ballad or two based upon encounters with mosquitos.
On a more serious note: I have travelled quite widely, and become used to the idea that if you want to follow the history of European art you have to spend a good bit of time in churches. In this spirit I paid several visits to Italian churches over the past week and have to say that the experience was quite shocking. I can only describe the prevailing spirit of the places I visited as sado-masochistic. Never before have I been faced with crucifixes in which such loving attention has been paid to the wounds of Christ, or to images of the “Sacred Heart” in which that organ is being plucked in a disturbing way from the chest of the redeemer. The image which disturbed and perplexed me most was the statue of St. Lucy presenting the viewer with her own eyes on a plate. What’s going on here?
What worries me most, I suppose, is the fact that the dominant visual image in these places is one of powerful, regal women who appear to be presiding over torture chambers.
I’m certainly not “anti-Catholic”, and have a lively sense of the importance of the diverse resources of poetic imagery which is offered within different religious traditions. Nevertheless, a trip to Puglia has left me with quite a lot to puzzle over.