Diane's Passeggiata

Secret Ingredients: One Woman's Recipe For Success

Three decades ago, Phil and I arrived in Italy, not knowing much of the world other than the busy, metropolitan life of New York City.  After a short stay in an apartment in Perugia, we decided to buy a 300-year-old house on Lago Trasimeno. We were soon told by the townspeople that the gypsies who first settled the town had built our “new” home. The house had survived earthquakes and world wars and felt as solid as a mountain. Two-foot deep walls constructed of humungous boulders and dirt “mortar”, exposed wooden beams that had petrified over the years, and an old fireplace that let in unwanted 4-legged houseguests made it easy for us to imagine life in another century. Geese walking in the street and women carrying “erbaccia” (weeds and grasses) on their backs all added to the sense of a world I had only seen before in National Geographic magazines.

 Although our home jutted out into the road, and the noise of high pitched Vespas and thunderous 18-wheelers frequently vibrated through our kitchen, the location of the old house became a distinct advantage for us. Directly across the busy street was the grocery store and post office, which meant that we were living “downtown” in the heart of the tiny (less than 1000 people) but self-sufficient town. We quickly became acquainted with many of the “key players” that kept the Italian village life beating smoothly. There was Quartillio, the owner of the grocery store, who kept us abreast of all the town news, and, more importantly, would yell out to me “Diana, la ricotta è arrivata” (the ricotta cheese has arrived). And there was, of course, La Postina (the postal woman) who would regularly joke with me that she had no mail for me and no one from my distant home in America wanted to write to me. And without fail, there was the daily bread and pastry delivery. Phil would watch from our kitchen window for energetic Laura to make the delivery with her small white truck-- he wanted to be sure that he would get his focaccia con cippolli  (focaccia with onions) before the competition (an 8 year old boy who lived down the street) would beat him to it.

Things have changed over the years. The grocery store is long gone and the large supermarkets in neighboring towns have replaced its function. I now wait for my mail to be brought by the internet rather than from a bubbly and talkative postina who always made me laugh. But Laura is still making and delivering bread and her smile is as bright and cheerful as ever.  I sometimes think we decided to move to Laura’s nearby town, 8 years ago, just so we could be within walking distance to her warm baked goods and heart. 

Bomboloni con crema (cream doughnuts). This is where all discipline breaks down for Phil. And Laura knows it.  So when we walk into her pasticceria (pastry shop), there is a familiar ritual that has gone on for, yes, decades. If there are some fresh baked bomboloni, she immediately grabs one from the case and pretends to weigh it with her hands. “Più crema?” (more cream), she asks Phil with a sparkle in her eye. And then she goes to the back of her bakery and fills the donut with so much cream that the donut now weighs double what it did before.

Laura never went to the Università for public relations, yet she is a master at it.  The life of a baker is not an easy one, yet that does not keep her from smiling every day. And no matter how busy she is, there is always time for her to come out and greet us and to frequently take a few minutes to sit and chat as we sip our cappuccinos. She laughs when I tell her how much Popcorn likes her biscotti, and is sure to give me a few extra to take home to keep the pooch happy.   This lively woman knows that joy and generosity combined with a fabulous product is the perfect recipe to make the customers come back, again and again. I’ve watched businesses come and go over the years, but Laura’s shop is still going strong. And it doesn’t hurt that she makes the best bombolone con crema in the world—just ask Phil.

 

I invite you to take a closer look at Italy through my free video series, "Italian Mystery Artists. Walk in the footsteps of Italy's master artists right along with me and my little dog, Popcorn!

 

Cleaning Out Nests—5 Ways to Keep Your Creativity Flowing

In my garden in Italy, I have lots of flowers, and when I walk by them I can hear the many bees happily working, minding their own business, and insuring that my pretty flowers are pollinated. The bees and I have a nice relationship--I leave them alone and they leave me alone. I have even grown to enjoy the sound of them buzzing away, and can appreciate how their humming reminds me to keep my distance as they work. 

But when it comes to wasps, there is no such peaceful coexistence. I am sure that Dr. Environmentalist, PhD would beg to disagree, but I happen to think that Mother Nature must have been just plain off her rocker when she added wasps to the mix. Wasps. Mean and aggressive, with stingers that can sneak up and plunge their venom into an innocent bystander. And so ungrateful—every spring they begin their squatting habits on my otherwise peaceful home, building nests and brazenly acting like it is their territory and we humans are the invaders.

So arriving at our Italian home, the first order of business is to remind the trespassers just who is in charge. This year, since Phil was still in Texas, and Popcorn is not much bigger than a wasp, the nasty job fell to me. I would have liked to acclimate for a few days before I started up the war, but no such luck. The morning after arriving,when I opened up the front door to let in the wonderful, fresh Umbrian air,  I noticed what I had missed the night before. A rather large wasp nest swarming with fast moving evildoers armed and ready for battle, positioned just outside the entryway. So, given my tendency to swell up like a balloon after being stung, there was no choice but to equip myself with insecticide and benedryl and spend the day annihilating the nests. 

Sometimes in Life, that is just the way it goes—whether we want to or not, we need to do some treacherous cleaning and exterminating before we can move forward. And for what is true for the external world is also true for our internal world. In our minds, hearts and souls, dangerous nests often begin to grow.  Nests filled with poisonous thoughts, venomous attitudes, and toxic emotions that can be lethal to our creative spirit. For those of us that are following an artistic path, we must be all the more diligent in regularly cleaning out these nests since our very left-brained world does not offer much support. 

The number of ways that these nests can begin to take root is probably as varied as the number of insects found in a tropical jungle. For some, it may have been the lack of attention for early creative efforts, while for others it may have been disapproving attitudes of family or school. Creative children are often non-conforming and may be ultra sensitive, two qualities that make both parenting and teaching more difficult. Even those of us who have been fortunate to grow up in emotionally healthy and artistically supportive environments have been exposed to pollution from a linear thinking and artistically barren world. 

Fortunately, there are many tools available to us to help us go on a search and destroy mission. Five of my favorites are listed below:

1. Spend time reading the blogs of other creative souls.  They are often filled with stories of their own artistic growth, and many share tips for dealing with some typical creative struggles. And it’s not necessary to limit yourself to artists that use the same type of artistic expression. An artist may learn from an actor, a sculptor may learn from a photographer. We are all creative cousins in the great family of the arts. 

2. Keep a journal.   Research is bearing out what artists have known for a very long time. Writing with feeling and reflection helps keep us physically and emotionally healthy.  One of the greatest advocates of this tool is Julia Cameron, author of the popular The Artist’s Way ---a book that I highly recommend for every creative person. Many creatives also feel that writing is a great way to connect with inner guidance as well. For example, Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray and Love considers her journal a method of conversing with God.

3. Let the Masters guide you. I can never stress enough how much the great Masters can teach us. A masterpiece that was created centuries ago and still speaks to us today contains universal messages. We know that the artist was “in tune” with the human spirit, and also with the Divine, to be able to communicate across time. When you come across one of these works of art that particularly moves you, (whether in a book, on the internet or in a museum), take the time to research the artist. See what you can learn about his/her personal struggles, and see if there is something that you may want to apply to your own growth. 

4. Form “open” relationships with other creatives. In this day and age, we are so lucky to have the means to communicate with other artistic people. We can join forums on the internet and search out clubs in our own community to find like minded individuals. Reach out and be open, but only where you feel comfortable, to find people with whom you can have a warm dialogue and safe exchange of inner artistic struggles. 

5. Find a Professional. Sometimes, there are nests that are so big, or so strongly attached, that you need to call in a “professional exterminator”. If you find that there is something blocking the natural flow of your outward creative spirit, make it a priority to find a professional who is experienced with working with creatives. Approach cautiously, and use recommendations, to carefully find that one person who may help save you years of inner creative struggle.

 

The Green Heart

 

It is so much fun arriving in Rome, Italy—when my adrenalin is just about on empty from the long plane ride, there is always a bustling café where I can refuel with an authentic and aromatic cappuccino. Popcorn is quite familiar with the routine—finally freed from her pet carrier bag, she is rewarded for her good behavior by sharing a freshly baked cornetto (croissant) with me. We then head to the autostrada and begin our two hour trek to Umbria.   About an hour into the ride, my bleary eyes start to awaken as I watch the landscape take shape to remind me that I am almost home.  Blue mountains bloom in the distance, and rolling hills with the textures of olive groves and vineyards and medieval towns replace the flat farmland that I saw as the plane descended into Rome.

It isn’t until I exit the autostrada, though, that it fully registers where I have taken us. Shifting gears along the winding road, my jet-lagged brain finally begins to shift gears as well. The cypress trees and steep hills bring me back to a memory of sitting at the café in our small town, and an elderly man talking to us about how beautiful Umbria is. “Ah, Umbria é bella” (Umbria is beautiful) he says, with a passion to rival that of Pavorotti. And then he half-heartedly added “anche Toscana” (also Tuscany) with an expression as if not to offend the many tourists that flock to Tuscany every year.  

Umbria. The Green Heart of Italy. The Cradle of the Renaissance. Is it fair that one small corner of the world can harbor such riches? A place where dogs hunt in autumn to discover a hidden gem, the white truffle, the white gold of the gourmet world. Where archeologists still hunt for remains of the first civilization in Italy, and where artists long ago studied and painted and created the foundation of the great Renaissance.

Umbria. The green landlocked heart of Italy, where mountains rise to provide the perfect backdrop for medieval towns and where the serene Lago Trasimeno supplies the ideal salve for any racing mind. Who would not agree with my friend at at the café, yes-- Umbria é bella! 

 

Flowers In The Dust Bowl

I received a text from my green thumb neighbor Dustin this morning: “it is drier in Texas than it was during the dust bowl. CNN”. The not so surprising news made me reflect for a moment on a certain tree that I never even noticed before I moved here to Dallas. A beautiful flowering tree that both amazes and inspires me.  The Crape Myrtle.

 
They seem to be everywhere in Dallas. Gorgeous white, pink, magenta, and lavender flowers blooming all summer long, as if in defiance to the long hot summer, surviving desert like conditions and showing off an incredible spectrum of colors.  I don’t think a day passes where I don’t stop to marvel at not only their beauty, but their resilience as well. I am used to Florida, where colorful blooming flowers make sense --daily tropical summer rains to satisfy their thirst, so they won’t shrivel and fade away. But this summer in Texas, where conditions have been rivaling the dust bowl, it is a wonder to see any color other than brown.

Artists have something to learn from the Crape Myrtle. To live the creative life, we often go through dust bowl seasons. Times when conditions make it difficult, and sometimes almost impossible to let our creativity bloom. Family responsibilities, economic concerns, and physical issues can make us want to let our artistic impulses lose color and wilt. During those times, let us be as strong and resilient  and display our colors as proudly as the Crape Myrtle. For how dull a world would be without the display of the rich and vibrant arts.

 

Inspiration

Popcorn has weighed in at her normal weight of 5 lbs, or should I say 2.26 kg (I’m starting to make my yearly transition to the European system of weights and measures). So, I am feeling quite comfortable that she is ready for another transatlantic flight, and I am very happy that Phil will be joining us in September.

These past few weeks, I have been attending to the annual ritual of purchasing plane tickets, arranging for a rental car, and stocking up on art supplies, vitamins and Popcorn’s meds. Italian phrases and images of olive trees have begun to circle in my head as I make lists of what additional provisions we may need for the next 3 months. Invariably, there is a point in the preparation stage where things get a little chaotic and I begin to question why we have not simplified our lives by staying stateside. But no sooner does that thought arise, than it is briskly pushed aside by memories of gelati and pici (the regional pasta), and walks along the shores of Lago Trasimeno.

And as I travel down the road of “why’s”--the reasons why I love Italy so much, I think about fields of tomatoes and melons and sunflowers. And my elderly neighbor who digs her bare feet in the soil as she tends her garden and greets me with a smile that competes with the warmth of the Mediterranean sun.  The smells of wood burning stoves and pizza and the sounds of a busy café serving espresso and  cappuccino. As I imagine all the wonderful things that create my Italian addiction, however, there is one thing that quickly takes center stage. Art. 

In Italy, one breathes Art. In the tiniest of towns can be found the greatest of masterpieces. Take Panicale, a small hilltop medieval borgo (village) that overlooks Lago Trasimeno, just 10 minutes from my home. Walking into the town, there is an exquisite view of the lake. But what makes the view for me even more enchanting is to know that Pietro Vannucci, Il Perugino, must have loved the view just as much as I. Here he was inspired to include this very same vista in his painting  “The Martyrdome of San Sebastian”, which can be seen at the Church of San Sebastian, in Panicale.

Perugino’s name may not be as well-known as Michaelangelo or Raphael, and art historians like to talk about how his work degenerated in the later years of his life. But for me, Perugino is a huge inspiration. He made great contributions to the artistic development of the Renaissance, and passed on his skills to one of the greatest artistic geniuses western civilization has known, Raphael. But even more, while I bicycle through the very same hills where he traveled, and I walk down some of the same streets where he walked, I am able to clearly see his greatness. Yes, he accurately painted the shapes and colors of the world where he lived, but he succeeded where so many artists fail. In his paintings, he was able to capture and communicate the serenity and quiet beauty of the Umbrian countryside. In other words, when we look at many of Perugino's paintings, we not only see what he saw, but we are able to feel what he saw. 

Italian Word of the Day

Sometimes a word in a foreign language can express so much more than many words strung together in our own native language. The Italian word, “pazienza” (patience) is just one of those words for me. Somehow, an English phrase like “ah, what can you do” to express frustration just doesn’t quite make it. And today, when my husband, Phil, called me over to look out the window sidelight of our door, that perfect Italian word immediately popped into my head. This is what I saw:

Now, I have always been crazy for these bushy tailed creatures. I grew up with a giant oak tree just outside my window and always had fun looking out and seeing an adorable gift from God perched on the branch munching on a delicious acorn. And, like all artists who are fond of immortalizing the things they love, I have enticed many squirrels with peanuts so that I could capture reference photos of them. In fact, my first “wildlife drawing” was a portrait of one of these energetic fellows. 
But I have another love that rivals my passion for squirrels.   Sunflowers. Big beautiful golden sunflowers. When we are in Italy, at this time of year, we often are found driving slowly (much to the typical Italian driver's frustration) down country roads to bask in the warmth of sunflower fields full of giant happy “faces”.

 

This year, however, my neighbor Dustin (the one with the giant green thumb) sweetly thought that since I have not been able to go to Italy during sunflower season, he would bring Italy to my front door. It seemed that every few days, I was finding a wonderful surprise of a new pot of growing sunflowers by my entryway. Every time I would enter and exit my home, I couldn’t help but smile as I watched the stalks grow and grow and finally begin to bloom. 

 

 

But then, something strange began to happen. I began to watch the remaining stalks break, one by one, until sadly, there were no more blooms. Since tornado season is over, and there are no winds in this desert-like Texan heat, I began to suspect squirrels, having been reminded of their affinity for seeds, nuts and other natural goodies. But I hadn’t seen any near or around my front door, so I was still a bit puzzled. Until this morning, that is, when Phil called me over. At that moment, spotting the little rascal, all I could say was “ah…pazienza”! Well, at least the mystery was solved, and I am very grateful that this Texan squirrel doesn't live in Umbria.

A Silver Lining For A Texas No Cloud Day

So, the news is out that June was the hottest on record in Texas. Not surprising to hear after experiencing day after day of 100+ temps, with bright blue skies and no clouds in sight. Now normally I just love bright blue skies, but not at 3:00 pm when the temperature is in the 3 digit range and continuing to rise. A cloud or two to provide a little protection from the relentless sun would be such a gift, but we had no such luck. So, last week, after one too many days of venturing out into what was feeling like a furnace, I decided to find a silver lining to the cloudless day and treat my heat exhaustion with a lazy afternoon in my studio. I pulled out two of my favorite "inspiration" books from my art library, and made myself a cup of "almond biscotti" tea. Sinking into my comfy apple green chair with Popcorn, in a nice air conditioned room I perused through Frederick Franck's books "The Zen of Seeing" and "Zen Seeing, Zen Drawing". 

 

As I found myself lost in the pages of his books, I remembered why when I teach, I always place his books at the top of the “recommended reading” list. I don’t think there is another artist who has expressed so well the “why” of art. From prehistoric times, man has been making marks, which have connected his soul to the world around him. Today, the tools available to us may be much more sophisticated, so much so that some of us even choose to express ourselves with super hi tech, hi speed computers, but the impulse to create art is no different than that of Cro Magnon man. Whether we are drawing with charcoal or painting with pixels, we connect via our art. And what a wonderful connection it is—skies are bluer, trees are greener and cute little dogs are cuter. We see, we draw, we connect. That is the "WAY" of art.

 

Change In Plans

 

Normally at this time of year, I start hearing Italian words in my head and begin dreaming of olive trees and vineyards. My husband, Phil, and I begin our annual ritual of preparing to spend our summer and autumn in one of our favorite corners of the world, Umbria. But this year, Phil got this brilliant idea that working on a construction project in 100 degree Texan scorching heat was a good plan, and would I mind going to Italy a little later. Before I had time to even consider the insanity of the proposal, Popcorn also decided that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to experience our first Texan summer---this way, she would be close to her favorite vet here in Dallas, where we have been making way too many trips recently. 

Thirteen years of an energetic poodle life, racing around the table 20 times, barking, begging for some biscotti  (yes, Popcorn just loves Italian biscotti), and starting (and losing) fights with her Chihuahua cousin, have taken a toll on her tiny 4.5 lb body. So keeping Popcorn cooped up for 15 hours in a Sherpa travel bag while flight attendants scold me when I sneak her out for a few minutes seems rather stressful, if not downright cruel, for a little dog who doesn’t feel well.  So Phil and Popcorn won out--100+ temps it will be this summer, and I get to figure out how I am going to make a nice cool lemonade out of this lemon. 

So… I decided to move ahead my schedule and start exploring this very large piece of real estate that is called the Lone Star State. My first destination was based on a tip from my neighbor with a giant green thumb, Dustin (more on Dustin later). I headed towards Tyler, Texas, which is known as the “rose capital of the nation” due to the minor accomplishment of being responsible for at least 1/3 of the nations Rose bushes. We started at the Rose Museum and were greeted by Sylvia, who proudly told us all about the history of Tyler’s Rose industry—she should know, because she grew up working in a rose nursery and many of the photos in the museum came from her own personal collection.

It was here that I learned of some Tyler magic. Being surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of beautiful roses, I became so absorbed with all the amazing varieties and colors that I no longer was conscious of the rising thermometer. It was a thrill to walk down and notice the different types, some of them being called “antique varieties” because they go back to the 1800’s.  I guess there must be something addicting about all these roses, because with all the species that already exist, at the Municipal Rose Garden they test for even more varieties, giving the best of the best the seal of approval (AARS). 

 

Fast Track to Creativity

I have an extraordinarily creative sister—we have spent many hours talking about the creative side of life. So, during her most recent visit, we talked about what to do when your right brain, and therefore, your creativity, feels blocked. I can’t think of a faster way to enter the “zone” of the right brain then with a sketchbook. Just a few minutes of sketching is guaranteed to bully your left brain into submission, and allow your right brain to emerge.  I use the word sketching and not drawing because it is the freedom of sketching that allows one to relax. Worrying about a perfect drawing or painting is toxic to the right brain, and keeps creativity in prison.

Recession-Proof Entertainment

These days every one seems to be talking about money, the economy and ways to cut costs. Those of us who love to draw don’t need to worry much about the cost of art supplies—it always amazes me how many hours of enjoyment I can get out of a pencil and a pad of paper—it is the perfect recession-proof entertainment. I can go to the art store and buy a handful of drawing pencils and a sketchbook for under $25, and with these purchases I will be able to entertain myself for several months!