Flavio Coppola                       Aft

Flavio Coppola                       After a week of rain and overcast, the sun finally came out, illuminating the streets of Little Italy. Pizzerias and outdoor bars lined the streets. Lively Jazz music streamed down from the rooftop bar and filled up the streets. The smell of tomato sauce, pan-fried garlic, and sourdough tingled my senses. Men and women dressed in suits and costumes were holding their glass of beer and wine, conversing in Italian. It felt as if I was no longer in Baltimore, yet the row houses that embedded the pizzerias dragged me back to reality. More people trickled in as the clouds moved out of sight. Artists at the Little Italy Madonnari Festival were not so lucky with the weather. The festival started a day before my visit. Although white tents were set up on top of each artist’s workspace, the rain still sipped through, coating the pavements with wetness. Chalk barely stayed and paint ran everywhere. Many gave up and went home early, and many just did not come at all.  When I arrived at Little Italy, the sun was above our heads, uncovered by clouds. Artists were squatting, with their bodies close to the ground, giving final touches to their paintings. They transformed the pavement to beautiful canvases. The pavement was no longer viewed as something dirty that we should not sit on. With the artists’ scattered tools, paint, and cloth, it was cozy. As I sat on the ground, taking pictures of the artists, the heat radiated from the ground to my skin. For one second, I thought it might be nice to lie down and take a nap. The artists stood on the pavement barefooted. Their hands, feet, and cloth were covered by oil pigments that sank deep into the ridges of their skin. Almost impossible to remove, but a statement of achievement. The dirty feet left marks on the ground, showing where they walked through. Flavio, an artist I met at the event, sat by his work and took out some crackers with his dirty hands. We could barely form a conversation, as he only knew Italian, but we quickly became acquainted over art. For the two-and-a-half-hour I was there, I spent an hour photographing Flavio, who quietly worked on his “Portrait of a Young Woman (La Fornarina)” originally painted by Raphael in 1518. Each stroke he made on the pavement made the young woman more animated. The asphalt bumps and lumps texturized the painting, making it look like it was an aged painting on which the cracks in the oil paint can be seen.As he finished painting, Flavio took down the plastic curtains that covered the space between his two tents. Rain puddles that were originally on the cover poured down like miniature waterfalls, reminding him of the situation the day before. Luckily, his painting was not affected. Before I left, Flavio gave me an old wrinkly business card, covered with castor oil smelling fingerprints.  On it, his email address was written down with a blue ballpoint pen. -- source link

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