Artnotes: Learning Grammar

 

What?  We need a language test?  And some other meaningless (in comparison) pieces of paper to get our visa renewed for Italy.   We thought we were being smart this time, hiring a lawyer.  I’ll get you a five year visa she told us (I thought they did away with the five year visa, I said).  800 euros.  We believed her.   She finally got in touch with us Tuesday afternoon before our Wednesday morning appointment (I had been trying to reach her since Monday morning).  It was clear she had completely forgotten about us.  “I have a fever of 104, I can’t go with you on the appointment”.  Uh huh. We arrived at the Questura at 10.   We understood we would had an appointment that would take us for a personal interview:  10:15.   At 10:30 we still hadn’t been called.   “Nothing good ever comes of being here,”  I told Blair.

Diver's Helmet    Blair Pessemier   Acrylic/canvas  18 x 15"  45 x 38cm  450.00

The Questura is an interesting place.  The bravest, most hopeful people stand in line: all ages, all colors, one in a wheelchair, others holding babies.  There were more than 100 people on this day; besides three Ukranians (who have their own welcome desk), we were the only Caucasian clients.  It is a babble of marvelous languages:  from nearly all continents:  sing song, guttural, guffawing, shouting.  Rarely English.  Were my future not on the line, I would find it the most interesting café in the world. Our name was called at 11.  No interview.  “I’ll need your test” the clerk announced.  “What test?” we asked.  “Language.” “But we are here for a five year visa,” we announced.  “There is no such thing as a five year visa.”  When we explained our plight she mercifully archived our application until we can better address it (August).  We are now scrambling to learn grammar, something I rather overlooked, because I just wanted to communicate with people, not write a book, or even a letter.

Under Water   Blair Pessemier  Acrylic/Canvas  24 x 12"  60 x 30cm  650.00

This week wore on.  The buoyant mood of Monday (I painted clowns) gave way to a large, dark canvas I finally trashed.  There is no sense being negative.  One day we’ll look back and laugh.  Sure. Meanwhile, one of the immigrant peddlers, like the ones in line at the Questura, stopped by our gate.  Sala is his name. Berlino even likes him  We buy a pair of overpriced houndstooth yoga pants and a welcome mat.  “Wait”, he says, "here’s a gift for the dog.”     He hands us a tiger-striped blanket, not unlike Berlino.

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