Gallery 360, Boston. March, 2011

My friend Peter Madden has been collecting things since he was a child. In a good way. So good, in fact, that many of them have found their way into the wonderful artworks he’s been producing for years now. Peter is generally recognized as one of the trailblazers of artists’ books and the two included in the show I saw this day were exceptional -- hand-sewn pages within hinged wooden covers display his witty narrative skills, his twisted Catholic background and his ability to find beauty in objects that others might pass by. A small key found on a windowsill. A matchbook from a dangerous bar recommended by a late-nite transvestite. The quirkily fastidious documentation of a romance gone south. Wonderful all. Seen here, part of half of a recent work, a collection of fruit stickers, assembled and fixed, serving as the “negative” for a cyan print (the second half of the work) that turns the colorful display into a blue-and-white study of geometric wordless shapes. He’s clearly found his “voice” and continues to extend it. Nice work, Peter.

Rome. October, 1980

Long before bling became a thing here in the states, the Romans were high-stepping with these extravagant, twinkling heels. And while they may not be made for distance walking, these little accessories sure did light up the window of this shoe store (one of many in shoe-conscious Rome.) Why didn’t this glittery high-heel “look” ever catch on here stateside? Different strokes. I was once told that the only sure-fire way to spot a tourist in Italy or Spain is to look at his or her shoes. Try it, as I have, and I think you’ll find this axiom valid. The German tourists wear practical and completely unfashionable hiking shoes. Ditto the English and, mercy, the Swiss. The French must be taken on a case-by-case basis. I should talk. I wear sneakers almost all the time because of the great amount of walking I do. (I switch to black sneakers for evening wear.) But no one beats the Italians and the Spanish. The old, the young, even in the supermarket or out walking the dog, these leather lovers sport loafers, lace-ups and boots that command respect and set them apart.

Edirnekapi, Istanbul. June, 2007

Look at these guys, “noble ancestors of Christ” if we can believe the guide, all decked out in their bold geometric prints. Hard to believe that such modern designs were in fashion back in 1315 when the mosaics here in the Holy Savior in Chora church were created. Sometimes mistranslated as Saint Savior, this Byzantine church (first built in the 5th century, converted to a mosque in the 16th, and made into a secular museum in 1948) is one of the glories of Istanbul. A bit out of the way (chora = the country; the church was originally outside the city walls), but your efforts to get there will be rewarded by an up-close visual spectacle unlike any other in this visually spectacular city. The tour groups are all back in the city center, too, so take your time and enjoy the uncrowded show. And, if you like, top it off with a superb lunch at Asitane right next door.

Piazza Bellini, Catania, Sicily. October, 1984

When I look back through my photos from trips to Italy over the years, I’m always amazed at the formality that some of my Italian friends assumed as I focused the camera. Stiff postures. Unsmiling faces. Rarely do they look into the camera. What gives? Is this some cultural thing instilled in them from childhood? This photo is not of friends of mine. It’s a group of card-playing men I saw in Sicily, and look...not a smiling face among them. Isn’t anyone having any fun on this mild evening in one of the most beautiful squares in Catania, named for the town’s hero-son, the composer of such operatic works as La Sonnambula and Norma. (Nearby, earlier that evening, I’d dined on Pasta alla Norma, a namesake dish made with rich tomato sauce and slices of fried eggplant.) These guys are clearly no-nonsense types when it comes to cards, and I remember being somewhat hesitant to take the picture. (As an aside, there had been a police/Mafia shootout in another Catania square earlier the same day.) I suspect that the pasta dish must have given me the little bit of operatic courage I needed.

4th Avenue, Tucson. March, 2011

Tucson has always been the most inked city I’ve ever visited. But this time I even saw a car that had been tattooed. This sporty number was stopped at a red light on a warm evening along the Saturday night place to be, 4th Avenue. We’d just come from some gallery openings and a pizza dinner at the packed Brooklyn Pizza Company when this eye-popping vehicle materialized. And as the driver was clearly enjoying the attention he was getting from the crowd, he took his time moving on when the light turned green, earning him some honking from envious motorists behind him and cheers from young enthusiasts on the avenida, many of them abundantly inked themselves.

Piraeus, Greece. October, 2011

Where in the world are we? One thing (just the first) that was initially confusing upon docking in Piraeus was our having to rely on signage not only in a different language but in a different alphabet. Our ship pulled in here to the port that has served Athens since antiquity early in the morning, midway through our Istanbul-Rome cruise. And we’d planned to hop the metro into Athens 15 minutes away, climb to the Acropolis, work our way downhill through the Plaka, see the market, buy some gyros, some yogurt, then head back to the boat. And that’s exactly what we did, alphabet notwithstanding. Nice to visit this bustling city with no luggage in tow, no hotel room to find. And nice to collapse in our stateroom upon our return.

Cambridge, MA. Winter, 1982

OK, since you asked. Here are the snows of yesteryear. Or at least one of them. A count-your-blessings tribute to 2012’s “winter that wasn’t.” Unlike a year ago, when our Watertown yard looked pretty much as our old Cambridge one did here 30 years back. Winter 2011 was brutal and relentless, not good for runners like me. Also not good for drivers (not like me.) It sure did make one long to be anywhere but here. Preferably someplace sunny, warm, with good food and a language other than English? Maybe that’s why we were un poco envious of happy for our friends David and George who enjoyed a Costa Rican cruise. Or why we’re thinking that it’s about time for us to plan our next vacation. Sailing from Venice to Barcelona? With maybe a little Croatia and Sicily en route? No snowshovels needed.