Via San Zanobi 104 Rosa

Welcome to Florence, Italy, Signorina.

The colors so old and regal that they expect you to use them for your soul.

And to bring them all with you where you go.

Teenage love novels tell lovers to put their locks on the fences of the Ponte Vecchio.

Find all of the gold jewelry that sunk to the depths of the Arno

in the flood of 1966.

You are sure to meet a member of the mafia, at least once per day,

without knowing.

Pasta with tomatoes, whose insides have absorbed more of the basil than the leaf itself, invent a language by which I can understand the Italians, and they can understand me.

But all other times I can pretend I am from Turkey so they do not speak English to me. Soon I will become Italian, I think.

Everyone in Florence, a Bon Vivant,

Whether you live in the Pitti Palace or sweep its marble steps.

Feet and desert boots see the world.

Maps are obsolete.

I have not yet sketched the collection of lost lovers’ padlocks on the fence on the Ponte Vecchio,

I have not been inside the brass doors of the duomo, or touched its moss green tile.

I have not seen David.

But I know that Florence is the place already.

Art does not insist on being correct.

But, Florence is the exception.

It is correct.

Artists are to keep some sort of arms length from their work to avoid the danger of closeness, but it may be impossible not to become your own fictional character while making art in Italy.

Whether you know where you are going or you do not,

you will certainly bump into it without even having that purpose.

Thus inventing a different place.

Spend most of the day getting lost that way,

and finding what you weren’t looking for.

Loving someone is a hobby. Finding a lover is a Florentine sport.

To be in love with the fact, the mantra-

that daily, the necessities of smell, romance, food, company,

(nothing more or less)

are most important,

demand the most energy.

Miles (Davis Junior, Allison and Ada’s best friend),

resident dog of Santa Reparata school of art

wears softer sweaters than I do,

and knows Italian better as well.

Men are so beautiful, that even the hidden stitches on their pressed pant hems

make you want to hold onto the back of their neck and have them press their lips

against your forehead.

Ciao tutti.

write letters to me and i will write you one back.

i love letters.

carolyn wiedeman

c/o santa reparata intl. school of art

via san gallo 53/r

50129 florence, italy