It was a love story but it lasted so little and happened in such a unique place that sometimes I feel like it was just a dream. At that time I was almost at the peak of my career as an art dealer. It was the early 80s and I was staying for a few days in the only hotel in Spresiano,in the Treviso area. I was waiting for a client who wanted to sell a painting by Orazio Gentileschi. The hotel was an old patrician residence, with many antique wooden objects, painted ceilings and spacious rooms overlooking the Venetian countryside. I worked during the day at a large 17th century table. When I stayed up late, I often left minor documents or photos on the nightstand next to the bed.
one day, returning from a meeting in Treviso, I found the door to my room open. It was supposed to be the afternoon service. A large sled covered with towels, soaps, and various other items sat in the hallway. I knocked discreetly to alert the staff of my presence by taking a step into the room. then I stopped when I saw the waitress standing still, with her back to me, with her head tilted as if she was looking with interest at something on my bedside table. I made a noise. She turned, a blush spreading across her cheeks, apologized, and quickly but awkwardly got back to work before walking away without saying a word.
What this woman looked at with such intense attention that she didn’t hear me enter was a photo of the great rose window of the right transept of Notre-Dame de Paris, placed on my bedside table. I used it to study some of the stained glass patterns. the photo was really great because I took it in black and white. The photo was therefore completely black and in the center the shape and patterns of the rose window exploded, like light in the midst of darkness.
The waitress’s curiosity intrigued me. The latter was very young, in rigorous work clothes, but I had noticed her majestic neck, which undoubtedly revealed a chignon, and also her broad forehead.I couldn’t meet his gaze,which he kept timidly lowered,but I took the liberty of admiring the magnificent design of his lips,more beautiful than those of a classical sculpture.
“Our eyes met and I felt like an ax had hit me in the chest”
He returned the next day. I was in the room, she asked me if I needed anything, I lied and said yes, soap and water, she came in, I followed her discreetly with my eyes, and at that moment she was approaching to straighten her sheets and arranging the pillows, I noticed him glancing furtively at the documents placed on the bedside table. He was looking for the photo, but it was no longer there. When he turned, our eyes met and I felt like an ax had hit me in the chest. It was so beautiful I had to catch my breath. Taking advantage of the fact that her Italian accent was very strange, I asked her, as she politely said goodbye, if she was Italian.
He was Lebanese. I didn’t know much about Lebanon. there was also war in that period, in the twists and turns of which I got lost, like everyone else. But I found a way to chat with the young woman. I learned that he was attending the Academy of Fine Arts in Venice and was doing an internship in a glass workshop in Murano. She worked in this hotel because her parents couldn’t pay for her studies. When I asked her why she was interested in glass, she said that her family had an old glassblowing buisness near the city of Tire, that everything had been destroyed in an Israeli attack, and that she vowed to get the business back on its feet. glass the issue is back on its feet. This led me to reference the photo he had looked at the day before. She asked if it was Notre-Dame, declared that the colors of the old windows intrigued her, professionally, then after a moment she apologized because she had to continue her service.
A sort of complicity is established between us. I passed her in
We exchanged a few words, on the choice of the laboratory where he learned the trade, on his work in the hotel, on his learning of Italian. Her name was Jana,she had an admirable profile,a nose,a chin and a forehead like a Greek statue accentuated by the chignon. But her open neck and large, lively eyes also made me think of a model Spanish femme fatale. He seemed happy to see me every time and my heart leapt in my chest.
“The Word of God in the darkness,” he added, “I always imagine it colorful”
One day I gave him the enlarged black and white photo of the rose window. He was stacking towels on a cart. She took the envelope, seemed embarrassed, thanked me and told me that what she dreamed of seeing were the colors of the rose window in the night. The word of God in the darkness, he added, I always imagine as colorful. And all the motifs of this rose window, he continued, symbolize future events and worlds, already present in the inaugural Word of God in the heart of darkness. My amazement was great at his words. not because I didn’t believe she was capable, but because she told me she was a Shia Muslim. And so, he mischievously told me when I was surprised by his interpretation of the Gospel of St. John. Then she explained to me that she had been educated by Christian nuns in Tyre.
Then an idea came to me which I dared to present to him the next day. I suggested he go see Notre-Dame and the stained glass windows. There were flashes of cruel doubt about my intentions in his eyes. I hurried to explain the program to him. On his day off we took the morning train. In Paris we visited the cathedral, then had dinner before catching the night train again, in a second-class sleeper. Nothing more chaste and innocent. She didn’t respond, but two days later, when I thought she was angry, I met her in front of the elevator, she had clean sheets and told me her day off was the next day.
The next day on the train, where we were in a compartment with three other people sitting facing each other, I saw her for the first time without service clothes. She had a red jacket, a dress cinched at the waist, her hair was down, and for the first time I could see her speak without too much fear, and discreetly get drunk at the outline of her lips and the dimples that appeared at the corners of her lips when she smiled. He told me about his father and grandfather’s workshop, the oven, the glass, the hundreds of delicate objects with deep but translucent colours, velvety but light, red, yellow, blue that tourists and citizens came to buy or simply admire.
“Seven hours on the train allowed us to talk about the creative breath and what destroys”
He also told me how the explosion of a missile explosion, that is, the breath of death, had reduced to nothing the shapes and colors blown and sculpted for years by his father and grandfather. Seven hours on the train allowed us to talk about the breath of creation and the destroyer, of the Word of God that shines in the darkness, of the breath and the Word that are the same thing. There’s also the creative breath of colors, he says.I spoke to him about seventeenth-century painting. She laughed. I think I liked it.
It was mid-afternoon when we entered Notre-Dame. There were crowds,tourists and believers,circulating incessantly between the bays. Jana advanced towards the center of the nave, her eyes raised towards the top of the vaults. Having reached the crossroads of the transept, she remained motionless in front of the fabulous and imposing explosion of colors and light from the rose window on the right, and then turned to the left. Nothing moved in his eyes or his expression. His concentration was voracious, and expressed itself in an immobility that is that of the feline when it is indeed about to pounce on its prey. He sat on the edge of the bench, his body tense, his face hypnotized, fixed on the stained glass windows. Finaly he let out a long sigh.
“jana told me she wanted to stay and see the rose windows at night”
He turned to me and said: “I
When they saw us, we pretended to go out, until finally the cathedral was emptied, while we hid like thieves behind a reclining figure, in a corner where no one would come looking for stragglers. We squatted side by side. I looked at her, she seemed serious and playful at the same time.There were people coming and going in the cathedral, the sound of keys, the great doors closing. The lights went out, the immense nave sank into darkness, a few more murmurs then there was complete silence under the immense vaults and within the walls of Notre-Dame.
“The shadows played, the nave was lost in the mysterious heights”
We spent part of the night in the closed temple, in the company of the recumbent figures and the standing saints. The shadows played, the nave was lost in mysterious heights. We whispered as if we feared the echo our voices might cause. I lay down on a bench. Jana,silent as a cat,continued to disappear into the mysteries of the cathedral. I must have fallen asleep for a moment and then sat up. I looked for her: she was at the crossroads of the transept. It was three in the morning. I was about to ask her if she wasn’t tired when suddenly something happened.
Suddenly,in the heart of the immense darkness of the cathedral,something lit up,and soon the colors of the right rose window began to come alive. I sat down, stunned. The blue and red, the gold and yellow of the window seemed illuminated by a light coming from outside and I ended up understanding that the moon, full that evening, and immense, was rolling over Paris and at that moment passing the axis of the transept , projecting its light into the extinct cathedral. the blue and yellow seemed to vibrate in the air, a chromatic mixture painted the ground, bathed the benches, the walls, the ribs of the columns and Jana, motionless, as if in ecstasy, as one remains standing to receive the wind or a breath fresh air, immersed in colours.
How does dr. Marks connect cultural identity with contemporary artistic expressions in her discussion?
Interview: The Impermanence of Beauty – A Dialog with Art Expert Dr. Elana Marks
Time.news Editor: Welcome, Dr. Marks. Today we want to delve into a poignant love story set against a rich tapestry of art and history, highlighting how artistic heritage can transcend time and tragedy. You’ve recently analyzed a stunning narrative that involves themes of art, loss, and cultural identity. Can you share your initial impressions?
Dr. Elana Marks: Thank you for having me.this story beautifully encapsulates the fleeting nature of love and creative recognition. It speaks to how art can serve as both a bridge and a barrier between different cultures. The protagonist’s encounter with Jana, a Lebanese student passionate about her glassblowing heritage, amidst the backdrop of their ancient and emotional contexts, is profoundly moving.It’s a microcosm of broader human experiences.
Time.news Editor: Absolutely.The setting in Spresiano, with its antique charm and artistic allure, contrasts poignantly with the backdrop of war and destruction. How do you think the surroundings contributes to the emotional depth of the narrative?
Dr. elana Marks: The setting is almost another character in the story. The hotel itself,described as an old patrician residence,embodies history and serenity,which starkly contrasts with the chaos of war that Jana has experienced in Lebanon. it’s in this space that both characters can connect on an artistic level, finding solace and inspiration amidst their respective Turmoils. The juxtaposition highlights the transient nature of peace and beauty, making their connection even more meaningful.
Time.news Editor: The moment when the protagonist notices Jana admiring the photo of the Notre-Dame rose window is pivotal. Can you discuss the significance of this scene in relation to the themes of art and connection?
Dr. Elana Marks: That scene is electric with tension and unspoken emotions. The protagonist’s artistic endeavors—his studies of the rose window—represent a fusion of light and darkness, much like their own relationship. For Jana, the rose window symbolizes her longing for a vibrant, colorful life, which mirrors her aspirations for restoring her family’s glassblowing legacy. Their shared interest in art fosters a connection that transcends language and cultural barriers. It’s a powerful moment of recognition, sparking curiosity and a deeper conversation about their worlds.
Time.news Editor: As their relationship develops, they embark on a journey to paris, connecting through their shared love of art. How does travel and exploration reflect the broader themes of discovery and healing in this story?
Dr. Elana Marks: Travel serves as a transformative experience for both characters. Their journey to Notre-Dame is not just about visiting an iconic cathedral; it represents a pilgrimage of hope and healing. For Jana, witnessing the stained glass is akin to restoring her family’s dreams, while for the protagonist, it is indeed about discovering the depths of her character and passion. Their conversations during the train ride signify not just a physical journey but an emotional and intellectual exploration of creativity and destruction. They confront the realities of loss, yet through their dialogue, they find a shared space for healing amidst their artistic aspirations.
Time.news Editor: This narrative leaves readers contemplating the roles of cultural identity and artistic heritage in their personal journeys. As an expert in art history, how do you see these elements influencing contemporary art and personal narratives today?
Dr. elana marks: Cultural identity and artistic heritage continue to play a crucial role in contemporary art. Artists today often reflect on their backgrounds, personal stories, and historical contexts in their work.Globalization has allowed for a fusion of styles and ideas, but the essence of personal narrative tied to heritage remains vital. This story reminds us that art is not merely an aesthetic object; it is a living dialogue, reflecting shared experiences of loss, hope, and resilience. In today’s fractured world, these connections are more crucial than ever, serving as a means of understanding and empathy across cultures.
Time.news Editor: Thank you, Dr. Marks, for sharing your insights. this love story may be brief, but its artistic and emotional resonance leaves a lasting impact, reminding us of the power of creativity and connection in our lives.
Dr. Elana Marks: It was my pleasure. Stories like this inspire us to cherish beauty and connection in all their forms, even in the face of adversity.