Gary Peterson Art Blog
I had just finished reading that medieval epic Dante's Inferno when these words took hold of my mind: ___Ch__ la diritta via era smarrita___ - I had lost the path that does not stray. Like an acid flashback those words turned into an obsession. It wasn__™t the deeper meaning, but some hidden meaning that vexed me.
So I left for Italy with my brilliant colleague and travel guide Elise - a Scottish lass whose legwork can compliment a plaid miniskirt like nobody__™s business - to locate the source of my mental melodrama. We ended up in Florence.
___Why do we call it Florence when the natives call it Firenza?___ I wondered aloud as we made our way down the narrowing streets towards the ancient part of town.
___It__™s like DaVinci__™s ___La Gioconda,__™ or as it is known in English, the ___Mona Lisa.__™ It must be some sort of code!___ she said sarcastically alluding to a best-selling novel of contrivances.
As we walked, I saw women on scooters clutching purses between their knees and men clad in black leather arguing about politics as if the heat wave that enveloped us was all in my mind. My nervous excitement turned to paranoia as I looked over my shoulder and saw a man with a hash pipe the size of a battleaxe...
---End of excerpt. Read the entire essay in The Intellectual Handyman On Art, a book by Gary R Peterson (iUniverse)