Thursday, January 06, 2005
The Mercato Vecchio area of Naples is seen by some to be real heart of the city. Not only is it one of the oldest areas, it has the venerable Church of Santa Maria della Carmine, and one of the largest open spaces, which is used as a semicircular car park. Across the diameter of this would be circle, has been built a block of intensely ugly flats, which look out at a permanently scaffolded church and a collection of warehouses. It is here in the old market where some of the more colourful traditions of the city are kept alive. On New Years Eve this is where you come to buy fireworks, legal and otherwise, but on January 5th, the whole piazza becomes a bizarre jumble of toy stalls, snackeries, and hawkers of illegally copied playstation games, cd’s and video’s. Epiphany is when La Befana comes, and indeed, across the city, any shop or bar that normally sells sweets, be it only a packet of polos, stays open until at least midnight, allowing parents and relatives time to grab something for La Befana to leave in the childrens’ stockings.
Now La Befana is not widely known outside Italy, she is an ugly crone, who looks remarkably like a witch. Not only that, but she rides a horse, smells disgusting and is not known for her jolly hohoho’s. If a child has been good she will leave sweets, if bad, a lump of coal. Or so it used to be. Nowadays she is more likely to leave computer games, Barbie dolls and so on, as well as a goodly amount of saccharin sweet nougat and chocolate. The Italians have managed to extend the traditional week of seasonal merrymaking by a further 6 days. Christmas comes, and Babbo Natale leaves you something at the foot of the bed, New Year sees feasting and general partying, and then a week later, more presents, more fun to be had.
The history of La Befana is murky. Some fables have it that she was an old woman who gave shelter, in a B&B style, to the three Wise Men as they went to Bethlehem. Its difficult to get to the bottom of; I asked a friend of mine who La Befana was, and he looked at me seriously concerned, ‘She’s not real, she’s made up’. Anyway, in Italy the tradition of the stocking on the bedend is hers and not that kindly plump arriviste Father Christmas.
By midnight the action in the Mercato Vecchio is hotting up. There are hordes of people doing what Neapolitans do best: shopping. There are people trying to carry prams, police pedal cars and, elaborate ‘walkers’ over the heads of everyone else. Despite a complete ban on traffic during the night hours specifically for Epiphany, there is a continuous flow of drivers hoping to negotiate the throng, and who end up impotently leaning on the horn, while the car is surrounded and completely ignored by those who have seen Shrek 2 on a pirated dvd. I dont know how they do it... the Italian dubbed film is available illegally before it's even opened in the cinemas.. Actually, I do know how they do it.. the long fingers of organised crime extend easily into Cinecittà and the rest of the film industry and its easy to conceive of a simple trade off between a voice over artist slipping a copy of a newly dubbed Hollywood blockbuster and his grandmother having her knees smashed in a bizarre carparking accident.
Up in Spaccanapoli trestle tables are groaning under the weight of Kinder eggs, Mars Bars and Chuppachups which have replaced the Fortnum and Mason style display of Christmas hampers, panettone and boxes of Swiss chocolate. If it is true that an army marches on its stomach, the reason for the Italians not being the greatest warriors the world has ever seen is down to the fact that it would be impossible to supply enough food to the troops. This year they have apparently spent 740 million euros on chocolate and sweeties for La Befana to leave for children to find this morning.
I celebrated the holiday by going to see the Damien Hirst retrospective at the Museo Nazionale. I'm confused... all the literature tells me he is a German artist. Is there something we Britart viewers don't know? It is a arge exhibition, 4 rooms filled with exhibits. We have a sliced pig, a sliced cow, some glass fronted cupboards filled with surgical supplies, the large Mattel plastic man whcih started life as an academic toy to learn about the position of the organs, and a beach ball which dances on a stream of compressed air. There are also numerous circular pictures and a lot of shelves with pills on.
I'm glad I didnt have to pay to go in. While I appreciate the oft quoted fact that modern art should make you question your surroundings and what you accept as everyday, all I could think was what a sharp saw Damien must have. Putting pills on shelves and thinking up oh so witty titles does not constitute art. This is a man who would be happier working in an abbatoir or Hamleys. Either way, we would be spared his infantile wit and his gift for self publicity which combine to hide the fact that he has no artistic merit whatsoever.
Now La Befana is not widely known outside Italy, she is an ugly crone, who looks remarkably like a witch. Not only that, but she rides a horse, smells disgusting and is not known for her jolly hohoho’s. If a child has been good she will leave sweets, if bad, a lump of coal. Or so it used to be. Nowadays she is more likely to leave computer games, Barbie dolls and so on, as well as a goodly amount of saccharin sweet nougat and chocolate. The Italians have managed to extend the traditional week of seasonal merrymaking by a further 6 days. Christmas comes, and Babbo Natale leaves you something at the foot of the bed, New Year sees feasting and general partying, and then a week later, more presents, more fun to be had.
The history of La Befana is murky. Some fables have it that she was an old woman who gave shelter, in a B&B style, to the three Wise Men as they went to Bethlehem. Its difficult to get to the bottom of; I asked a friend of mine who La Befana was, and he looked at me seriously concerned, ‘She’s not real, she’s made up’. Anyway, in Italy the tradition of the stocking on the bedend is hers and not that kindly plump arriviste Father Christmas.
By midnight the action in the Mercato Vecchio is hotting up. There are hordes of people doing what Neapolitans do best: shopping. There are people trying to carry prams, police pedal cars and, elaborate ‘walkers’ over the heads of everyone else. Despite a complete ban on traffic during the night hours specifically for Epiphany, there is a continuous flow of drivers hoping to negotiate the throng, and who end up impotently leaning on the horn, while the car is surrounded and completely ignored by those who have seen Shrek 2 on a pirated dvd. I dont know how they do it... the Italian dubbed film is available illegally before it's even opened in the cinemas.. Actually, I do know how they do it.. the long fingers of organised crime extend easily into Cinecittà and the rest of the film industry and its easy to conceive of a simple trade off between a voice over artist slipping a copy of a newly dubbed Hollywood blockbuster and his grandmother having her knees smashed in a bizarre carparking accident.
Up in Spaccanapoli trestle tables are groaning under the weight of Kinder eggs, Mars Bars and Chuppachups which have replaced the Fortnum and Mason style display of Christmas hampers, panettone and boxes of Swiss chocolate. If it is true that an army marches on its stomach, the reason for the Italians not being the greatest warriors the world has ever seen is down to the fact that it would be impossible to supply enough food to the troops. This year they have apparently spent 740 million euros on chocolate and sweeties for La Befana to leave for children to find this morning.
I celebrated the holiday by going to see the Damien Hirst retrospective at the Museo Nazionale. I'm confused... all the literature tells me he is a German artist. Is there something we Britart viewers don't know? It is a arge exhibition, 4 rooms filled with exhibits. We have a sliced pig, a sliced cow, some glass fronted cupboards filled with surgical supplies, the large Mattel plastic man whcih started life as an academic toy to learn about the position of the organs, and a beach ball which dances on a stream of compressed air. There are also numerous circular pictures and a lot of shelves with pills on.
I'm glad I didnt have to pay to go in. While I appreciate the oft quoted fact that modern art should make you question your surroundings and what you accept as everyday, all I could think was what a sharp saw Damien must have. Putting pills on shelves and thinking up oh so witty titles does not constitute art. This is a man who would be happier working in an abbatoir or Hamleys. Either way, we would be spared his infantile wit and his gift for self publicity which combine to hide the fact that he has no artistic merit whatsoever.
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