CAGLI, Italy – It’s dance recital night in this small Italian mountain town, an event many American parents might think they can identify with. But the scene unfolding inside the Teatro Communale would probably surprise them.

Unlike a typical recital night in America there are no anxious mothers backstage mussing with tutus and makeup or harassing teachers. There are no relatives and friends cheering like the fans at a sporting event. And there are definitely no students racing across the auditorium yelling and squealing like the gang at a sleepover. 

Two young ballerinas in white tutus watch patiently from backstage as the older dancers stretch and warm up for Sleeping Beauty, waiting for their moment to shine.

Instead, the dancers from the school Movimento E Fantasia  - Movement and Fantasy – display a professional attitude, which is reflected by the respectful attention of the  audience. And this program is one complete story  – “The Mirror of the Vampire” – demonstrating the technique dancers learned over the past school year, rather than a series of different numbers as seen at most American recitals.

The entire evening, in fact,  leaves the message: This isn’t play, it’s a real performance.

Benilde Martini, the founder of Movimento E Fantasia, made it clear that was no accident. “The arts are the breath of fresh air,” she said. “You breathe and sleep them.”

Like painting and opera, dance has long been an important part of Italian culture, from Renaissance to modern times.  And young Italian girls, like their counterparts in the U.S., often dream of gliding gracefully across stages before adoring audiences. 

But the differences between the approaches to dance by local schools in the two countries is striking.

American dance classes often are seen as hobbies for energetic young children, a place to get some weekend recreation –  and seldom attended by boys.  American dance students typically loose interest as they age. While almost 43 percent American children are dancers at one point in their lives, only 21 percent continue their dance education, according to a report by the National Dance Education organization.

Pointe dancers put a great amount of stress on their feet, sometimes going through a pair of pointe shoes every few weeks during training seasons before big performances.

Italian dance schools take more serious approach. Beginning with the youngest students dancers are allowed to move to higher levels only after being graded on their performance. Because of that,  dance classes even for the young are not restricted to weekends; students often take daily classes to improve their technique. And in Italy men are encouraged to study dance. 

By the time dancers reach high school, they have experienced several genres and have the option to study at a dance school rather than a typical college prep campus. 

The first act of Sleeping Beauty features senior –level dancers as they are en pointe, raised towards the audience, welcoming the birth of Princess Aurora, as the King and Queen applaud their performance.

Cagli native Valentina Pagliarini, 17,  a Movimento student since childhood, has had a typical Italian dance experience: Dance has always come first, which meant missing many activities enjoyed by her high school classmates.

“We have lessons every day, sometimes even Sundays, and you have to have a lot of sacrifices,” she said. “But you do it because when you have passion and that’s all you need.”

Younger student Greta Cagnoli,  agreed.

“I like dancing because it makes me have emotion and feeling,” she said. “I want to become a professional dancer,” Cagnoli said.

The audience could feel the emotion as the dancers crossed the stage. An audible gasp from the box seats in the Teatro Communale could be heard when they executed a graceful move or energetic leap.

The applause that followed was enthusiastic, but polite – professional, just like the entire recital evening.

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CAGLI, Italy - On the Sunday morning celebrating Corpus Domini the procession that flowed from the Catholic found the streets in this historic Roman town  awash in a sea of colorful flowers and herbs painting in precise detail  countless religious scenes. The artwork stretched the entire length of the marchers route circling the outer wall of the city, then back to the main piazza.

Yet just three hours earlier, the same streets were bare, grey cobblestones.

Sisters work on a yellow sun using the flower genestra. The people of Cagli use a variety of flowers and herbs to create colorful mosaics.

The quick transformation  wasn’t unusual. It’s just another a sign of the community commitment to tradition – civic or religious – in Italian towns that involves citizens of all walks of life, and beliefs.

Gardener Bruno Dilmedico is one example. He does his part by gathering wild flowers for neighbors who fashion the artwork. Two days before the procession, he was climbing the side of Monte Bambino, located about 10 minutes outside of the center of Cagli (pronounced Kal – yee), to pick an herb called sterpolle used for the procession art.

A long-stemmed green plant with oval leaves that come to a point, sterpolle grows on steep mountainsides filled with slippery rocks. It’s a habitat also preferred by local snakes, which adds a spice of danger to the job.

But it was clear that was not Dilmedico’s first try. He arrived dressed in thick olive green pants, hiking boots, a tan long-sleeved shirt and a matching vest. His dark hair was slicked back into a ponytail, and his face was tanned a deep  mahogany from a life sent under the sun.

Armed with a hooked metal blade called a falcetto, Dilmedico started up the slippery path, continuously stomping the ground to scare away snakes. He said the falcetto  is the ideal tool for this work because the plant is able to grow back stronger after it is cut down. Bruno said, “the roots of the herbs are deep in the ground and many people just cut the most superficial part. So you keep the roots safe, but [you are able to] cut the flowers so it comes back next year. 

A priest is carrying a cross down the flowered streets of Cagli. Behind him are scouts. The scouts come early to help decorate the streets in honor of the procession.

Sterpolle, also called santoreggia, is in the oregano family and common in southern Europe. It is often used because of its fragrant aroma. 

Ginestra is another common flower used to shower the streets for Corpus Domini. Its bright yellow color stands out against the green of the sterpolle and gray of the streets. Roses, wildflowers, and died woodchips are also used to bring the streets alive.

The plants are usually picked a day or two before the precession, stored in a cool place and often soaked in water. “The herbs need to get wet because it can be really windy and they could fly away,” Dilmedico explained, speaking through an interpreter.

When he finished cutting, Dilmedico took his haul to Cagli residents Rosanna Pecorelli and Paola Passetti, who live off the main piazza in a row of light brown concrete buildings, their wooden door framed by stone blocks. Three hours before the procession started, they were on their street joining neighbors creating the flower art. They begin by drawing chalk outlines of their chosen designs, then use the colorful, fragrant flowers petals and herbs are used to fill in the images. 

Passetti, in black capris and a flowing white scoop neck shirt, said they change the design every year, depending on what’s on their mind at the moment. According to her, the festival is “a family tradition.” This year they placed a design of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. 

On either side of the two women, the streets were coming alive with mosaics painted on the ground. The Scout troop of Cagli used wild flowers and died woodchips of bright greens, yellows, reds, browns, and purples to  create the scripture line   from Christ, “Io sono la vera vite”  – I am the true vine.

But many images appeared to have no religious significance, but were simply beautiful designs. 

By the time the church doors open for the procession, the streets of Cagli have quickly been transformed for Corpus Domini, just as they have been for generations.

Even if the residents laying out a carpet of flowers aren’t religious, it doesn’t matter because Corpus Domini is a time to celebrate with everyone.

Dilmedico leaned back on the side of a concrete building and watched the line of people passed through the street over the artwork. through the streets. He said he didn’t feel the need to join the trail of worshippers behind the priests.

“It’s a tradition for each person, “ he said, “even if religious feeling is not there.”

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Standing outside the cold metal gates, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not supposed to be here. The street is abandoned, and the quiet is thick. My only company is the Madonna portrait framed on the opposite wall, but she offers no comfort. Peering through impenetrable metal bars, my eyes adjust to the dimly lit room on the other side. The dust in what meager sunlight is allowed here is immediately visible; but then a skeleton mounted in a black frame, and then Christ on the cross, seemingly massive in the shadows. Squinting, I eventually make out that the space before me is church-like and small, but full of emptiness. I take a step back, conceding defeat; today the answers elude me. What is in the Oratory of Death?

Over the course of the next few days, I sat in the alley where the oratory is located and waited and watched. Few passersby entered the alley, and even fewer seemed to take notice of the Oratory. One man stopped to take a few pictures; I asked if he knew anything about the Oratory. He replied, “I think this is where they brought the sick” before shrugging and walking away. It seems as though few people pay attention to or are even aware of the history of the Oratorio della Morte.

After enduring mostly futile Internet scavenging and the puzzled looks of tourists and Urbinati alike, a loose grasp on the historical context of the Oratory began to take shape. The confraternity of the Oratorio della Morte was founded in 1578 and, like all Catholic confraternities, was established to perform specific social services. This brotherhood carried out the task of transporting the dead from their homes to the church, hence the name Oratory of Death. The confraternity also provided housing for widowed women so that they would not fall into poverty or prostitution. In many ways, confraternities like this one were predecessors to the social programs implemented by modern governments. Today, the confraternity continues to offer shelter to those in need.

Luigi Bravi, director of the Oratory, lightens up when discussing the future of this institution, founded in 1578 to help citizens of Urbino with funerals and to care for widows.

These initial searches, however, all seemed to converge on one name: Luigi Bravi. Bravi is an apparent expert on the mysterious building, which is tucked away down a series of sidestreets that lead to, of course, a dead end. Bravi is perhaps the only known expert on the Oratorio. If there is anyone that can help me get inside, it’s him.One week later, after a series of e-mail correspondence, I meet with Bravi in a returning trip to the locked doors of the Oratorio della Morte. Entering through a more modest doorway in the same lonely alley, I follow Bravi to what seems to be a meeting room adjacent to the actual Oratory. The walls are adorned with paintings and photos that give a glimpse into the past and present of the confraternity. The names of current members are enumerated in a bronze placard, and a door marked “Archivo” stands on the far wall. The room is breezy and bright, but upon closer inspection, reveals an assortment of engraved skulls and crossbones—the symbol of the Oratory. Closer than ever, an anxiety that somehow my goal of entrance to the Oratory itself will slip away begins to creep.

Bravi sits across the table; a large set of keys placed next to his iPhone. His hair is greying but he still appears young. He responds to my questions directly and with a definite tone of authority and his answers are multifaceted, sometimes overwhelmingly informed. Simple inquiries are greeted with detailed histories, but the proximity of the Oratory continues to cast a shadow over the room.

“Fraternities are perceived as something of the past” explains Bravi, who is in fact the current director of the Oratorio della Morte, “and they are really something of the past.” The public’s lack of information is a result of several contributing factors. First, the Oratories no longer hold the kind of influence they once did. Hospitals and government institutions have obviously taken on the responsibilities of caring for the dying. Second, this Oratory fell silent for some years, still in existence but not visually active. In 2008 the brotherhood returned as a more culturally informative manifestation, performing ceremonies several times a year and offering education to those curious of the confraternity’s history. And thirdly, there is a misconception that an air of secrecy surrounds the Oratorio della Morte, which Bravi made sure to dismiss. Such ideas likely have arisen from the robes and covered faces worn by some confraternities during rituals; but it has also resulted more simply from a lack of information.

A skeleton is juxtaposed with Barocci’s crucifixion of Jesus Christ; symbols of both death and life.

Bravi, when discussing the philosophy of the Oratorio della Morte, also made clear the distinction between ancient and modern concepts of death. After displaying a centuries old document containing the image of a thorn riddled skeleton, Bravi comments that in the past death was “something black.” However, citing the empty cross as the quintessential example, Bravi explained that the Oratory actually has developed a somewhat optimistic view of death, describing it as “full of hope.” In another painting, death, portrayed as a bony corpse, lies chained to the base of a cross, remnants of a broken scythe scattered around. “It is an opening of new doors to new life,” remarks Luigi. “Death was dead.” This idea went against my original impressions of the Oratory as being morbid or bleak. In fact, despite it’s name, the Oratorio della Morte actually has more to do with life than death.

An admittedly strategic question concerning the artwork housed in the Oratorio dell Morte finally prompts Bravi to suggest we go inside and see for ourselves. We walk down the hallway and Bravi flicks some switches before sticking an appropriately archaic, black iron key into a side entrance door. He turns the key, the door clicks resonantly, and we step inside the twilit sanctuary.

Straight ahead, rows of ornate benches colored a soft blue. The walls stretched surprisingly skyward; the whole room seemed bigger than the outside suggested. To the left, the gold framing of Federico Barocci’s massive crucifixion piece looms overhead. An organ is visible in the balcony on the opposite wall, its metal pipes arranged like a rigid set of grey teeth. The room is cool and dark, with most light pouring in from a high window. As we begin to speak again, our voices collide with the expansive walls and decorated brick flooring and echo back to us ghostlike and distant. A depiction of a skeleton with both male and female features clings to one wall. “Because death is for everyone,” Bravi says with a smile.

It is thrilling to step into a space that often is untouched, but the room maintains a certain kind of humanity. It is not difficult to imagine past incarnations of the brotherhood sitting on the wooden benches, discussing business and everyday matters. In the balcony, Luigi shares that the confraternity loves music, and that the hall is filled with voices and organ chords when meetings are in session. For a place associated with death, the Oratorio della Morte emits an unexpected sense of liveliness.

This same spirit is reflected in the archive room, which Bravi unlocks with his assortment of keys. Here, he reveals books and documents containing the business affairs and history of the confraternity that date back to the 16th century. They appear carefully preserved and maintained. ““We have to understand what we were,” Bravi would later comment. It is a somewhat bizarre feeling one experiences when absorbing the craftwork of hands that existed 500 years ago. Our time here and how we will be remembered are put into a very real context. The documents are dated up to the present day, which goes to show that the legacy of the Oratorio della Morte is still alive and taking shape.

A high window provides what little light is present in the Oratory.

Towards the end of our interview, I ask Bravi about one last painting, this one a portrait of Saint Francis. He shares that just recently a new discovery regarding the origins of the painting had been made, a discovery that he politely declined to indulge me with, as it has yet to be published. This was not too disappointing, as it was satisfying enough to know that there is still much to learn about the past of Urbino, especially the past of the Oratories.

“Whenever you begin to read documents, you will find something new every time—in the old,” Bravi explains, emphasizing the importance of historical research and interest. And Bravi seems optimistic about the future, joking that he does not believe the Oratorio della Morte will die anytime soon. Bravi’s motivation as director to further the heritage of this institution is, put simply, the feeling that it would be “immoral” to let the Oratory fade away, especially when there is still so much to learn. “The history of this institution is not yet finished,” Bravi concludes. And I have to believe him, for as I have seen from inside the Oratorio della Morte, in death, there is new life.

This article also appears in Urbino Now magazine’s Arte e Cultura section. You can read all the magazine articles in print by ordering a copy from MagCloud.

Six years ago as the work day was coming to an end, Debora Uguccioni found herself alone at a factory in Fano that made upholstery for boats. As all the other lights went off, the single lamp around her work space stayed lit. After years of working behind a desk designing furnishings, she had decided to get her hands dirty.

A box of leftover leather was left with her that night and, with permission from her manager, she rummaged through it. She gathered outlines, sketches, and tools for working these bits of material. In a little over an hour, Uguccioni’s manicured hands had created a leather handbag from the random pieces. She lit her own light that night, an idea for turning scraps into fashion items, and it guided her into a new creative career as unique as the one-of-a-kind bags that have become her trademark.

Uguccioni is now creator and designer of a company called La Collezione di Pressede, “Collection of Pressede.” Pressede being her great grandmother’s name and originating from Prussia. Prussia being a German kingdom that was dissolved in 1947 after the monarchies were abolished and the nobility lost its political power. According to Uguccioni, Pressede is not easy to remember but it’s also unlike any other name. She prefers to use the name because it is a part of her family and holds a special place in her heart.

Uguccioni gathers excess leather scraps from several types of manufacturers. She started off buying leather from the home furnishings factory she was working for. After working behind the desk with one of these factories, she soon had a change of heart and decided it was her time to start working with the one item she was in love with since the age of five, leather.

As a young girl, Guccioni had met someone down the street of her town who worked with leather. She received a sensation that she couldn’t receive from anything else, one that was enjoyable and memorable. It was the vintage smell that lingered, the soft material that was warm within her hands, and the smooth surface she was able to brush against her cheeks that she fell in love with. Uguccioni was more fascinated with leather than a kid in a gelato store.

She likes the worn, beat-up look of the scraps left over from shoe manufacturing and other processes.

As she soon realized that her bare hands were capable of more than she expected, she went on to create more of these handbags by the day. Rearranging her priorities, she jumped into the pool of becoming an entrepreneur and soon made her company her number one priority. Managing both jobs as an interior designer and creator/designer of her company, she worked harder and harder to create these bags. With creating a business comes making business. She soon started to purchase leather scraps that were left over from multiple companies. The leather was considered no good anymore since it was torn, beaten, scratched, or folded. To Uguccioni, the scraps were special, torn in ways the hand couldn’t create. It was beaten down to the faded black you can only get after so many bends and scratches, engraved in textures that weren’t used by stamps, and folded to cuts that were not your typical circle and square combinations. Uguccioni had a mission; to give a new life to one that was considered wasted.

She can make a bag in an hour or two, sometimes less. Uguccioni decides which drive she wants to make to gather her leather from companies who have a wide variety of leftover scraps. Once the decision is made, she makes her drive out, a drive that sometimes is about four hours long to Florence, or farther to another big city. She only chooses what she finds to be useful to her idea for the bag and or she decides what patterns and colors she needs for the rest of the season. There are only so many times the champagne rattlesnake pattern will come out. Once she finds exactly what she envisioned, she begins.

She stands up and makes her way to the other side of a file cabinet that divides her workspace from her small kitchen, which contains a coffee machine, a toaster, and groceries. She sighs with relief, turns the corner, and in less than a minute returns with a cup of coffee. “It’s the life I live.” says Uguccioni. With a smile from ear to ear, she adds, “This is my second home, I spend more than half of my day here.” Uguccioni sets down the finished cup of coffee and trades it in for a small hole punch that was to create holes for the weave in her new idea. As she organizes her working desk, she reaches over her back to grab scraps of leather off the shelf of scattered material and utensils. The bag she is creating is from a picture of a lily pad she cut out of a magazine.

Designer Uguccioni makes straps to finish off a hand-bag inspired by the shape of a lily pad, a new product for her.

Her ideas fly by her from left and right, whether it’s a picture within a magazine, a bush in her garden, or a dress of a woman walking past her in the piazza of Fano. She starts off with a graph, a graph that has been taped with multiple sizes of squares, rhombuses, rectangles, trapezoids, and even hexagons. Once she lays out her leather onto the bag, she cuts her needed pieces and stores away the pieces she won’t use for another creative bag soon to come. Once the pieces are cut, they are taken to the seamstress for pressing and cleaning; she then finds the cut for her soon-to-be bag. Once the leather returns to the creative hands of Uguccioni, she examines it for final touches: stitching, loose strings, or unpressed sections.

Two half circles of green are laid out on the table alongside multiple straps. The assembling of the bag begins as she reaches to the right of her for the hole puncher. Uguccioni grabs a wooden block and lays it underneath the leather material. The hole puncher makes it way from the top to bottom of the half circle pieces. She finishes with the last hole and turns over her shoulder once again to pull out two pieces of a milk chocolate brown leather strap. After untangling the two pieces from the rest of the bundle tied onto the rest of the shelf, she turns to face the half circles. So she begins to weave in the straps into the holes making it look as if it was as easy as preparing your shoe laces on a new pair of shoes. Half way through the process of weaving the two pieces together, she smiles and changes her mind. Her creativity is exposed through her smile as she unties each piece just to weave it back into place with a different twist.

Uguccioni continues to weave together the lily pad-inspired pieces. In less than twenty minutes, she’s done.

Smiling at her product, Uguccioni touches it up by adjusting the straps. She slides the bright green bag onto her shoulders to model it, she smiles and gently looks over her shoulder to examine the bag. Another proud accomplishment recognized by the creator herself. Uguccioni takes the bag off, scrambles through the web of yarn, which is tied onto her working shelf, and picks out a piece of fuchsia yarn. She winds the fuchsia strap around the straps of the bag to make them two inches smaller in width. Once the knot is tied, a sigh of happiness and relief is let loose and within an hour, her lily pad bag is complete.

“You will never find the same model or design,” says Uguccioni about her products.  She gives each bag a serial number and records it with a picture of the bag in her four-inch binder of finished products. The bags she creates will never look the same because of the different patches of leather she uses. She enforces the idea that each bag should have its own style and own patchwork and due to the fact that she is limited to pieces of leather that are no longer being used, some patches she purchases are bigger than others.

The lily-pad hand-bag comes together quickly.

Creative, unique, and special; each bag holds a special place in Uguccioni’s heart. Her husband suggests that she make simpler and smaller bags, but she loves the idea of a big creative bag. It’s more noticeable, she says, and you can fit more inside. Ladies, you understand.

Uguccioni has multiple businesses that help sell her one-of-a kind bags, including Donati Shoes, located in Fano’ s piazza, which sells her bags alongside the work of other designers.

In hopes that she could share her creativity with more of the world in different states and even countries, Uguccioni created about 700 bags her first year, only selling 500. Now, six years later, she sells roughly 1,000 bags a year.

With the hard work and dedication seen in her eyes and smile, her still well-manicured hands continue to create something new every day. As she dusts away the minuscule pieces of string and holes from the punch into the trash can, she gently stores away the rest of the leather. With her sense of creativity, she will easily turn the smaller pieces into a floral decoration that can be tied onto just about anything. She gently lays the bigger pieces of leather on a table in the corner of her studio where the rest of the leather is organized by color. Whether it is as tiny as the size of her fist or a yard left to make a new wallet, no leather is to be wasted. To this day, she considers her company as a great achievement. Uguccioni doesn’t want to ever change it because of the people who appreciate her art work. Where there is a light, there is a way.

This article also appears in Urbino Now magazine’s Arte e Cultura section. You can read all the magazine articles in print by ordering a copy from MagCloud.

The editors of Urbino Now thank the folks at Living in Le Marche for bringing Debora Uguccioni’s work to our attention.

URBINO, Italy – On the night of October 19, 1943, as German soldiers entered the historic Palazzo dei Principi in Carpegna, a clandestine operation hung in the balance: hiding thousands of masterpieces from theft or destruction by the Nazis. The man behind the operation, art historian Pasquale Rotondi, reflected on that night in his memoir. “[The Germans] did a search in this building; the guardians, who protected this hiding place, tried to keep the soldiers from searching the rooms, where they had taken the works of art, but [many guards] were disarmed, beaten, and carried away.” The remaining guards were able to convince the soldiers that there was nothing of value to be found.  The Germans left without a single masterpiece in hand.

This is just one of many close calls in the treacherous and eventually historic journey of Pasquale Rotondi. He was 31-years-old when the Italian Minister of Education commissioned him to carry out a task of great cultural significance: to hide and to preserve some of the Italy’s most prestigious artworks. As the Superintendent of the Artistic and Historic Heritage in Urbino, Rotondi was a prime candidate for the job. “The more you lay it to heart, given the importance of things, the more you can understand my concern for [the artworks’] conservation,” he wrote in his diary.

A poster showing Pasquale Rotondi and his assistant, Augusto Pritelli, with the automobile they used to shuttle thousands of artworks. This poster was featured during the European Heritage Days in 2005 at the Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana in Venice.

In the spring of 1940 Rotondi embarked upon what would become a five-year journey, hiding more than 10,000 masterpieces within fortresses located in Italian cities in the region of Marche, including Urbino and Sassocorvaro. He chose Sassocorvaro because it was located away from the war zone and had an area of fortified security — the Rock of Sassocorvaro.

The Rock of Sassocorvaro is a large walled structure overlooking a lake valley. The locals call it the “fortress of works of art,” where extraordinary masterpieces are housed to this day. It also contains a theater that served a higher purpose for Rotondi. Under the boards of the main stage, about 2,000 pieces of art were furtively stored.

The exclusive theater within the Rock of Sassocorvaro. Rotondi hid many pieces of art under the boards of this stage.

In an attempt to stay a step ahead of the German soldiers, Rotondi carefully monitored which cities had already been occupied and which ones were less likely to be searched or destroyed, including the city of Urbino. “I wanted to create in Urbino some safe hiding places where…I could take the most important works of art,” Rotondi wrote. The Palazzo Ducale became the temporary hiding place, with about 6,000 pieces stored in the cellars of the massive structure.

A view of the underground cellar in the Pulazzo Ducale. This area provided an abundant amount of space for Rotondi to store artwork.

During the course of World War II, superintendents from museums in Venice, Milan and Rome entrusted Rotondi to transfer to safekeeping their most valuable collections including masterpieces by Caravaggio, Tintoretto, Giorgione, Botticelli, Leonardo and Titian. One famous work, “The Tempest” by Giorgione, was kept, for a time, wrapped under Rotondi’s bed in his personal residence.  All-in-all Rotondi meticulously and courageously saved 4,000 books, manuscripts, archives, and original music scores, as well as approximately 6,000 paintings, sculptures, tapestries, religious furnishings, and ceramics.

“The Tempest” by Giorgione (1506-1508.) The painting was originally commissioned by Venetian nobility and is now exhibited in the Gallerie dell’Accademia. Source: Diana Ziliotto

On September 8, 1943, the Italian government drew up an armistice agreement with the Allies, thereby joining the movement to force the Germans out of Italy. After the War ended, Rotondi’s entrusted artworks were returned to their original museums in Italy, includingGallerie Dell’Academia in Venice.

At the completion of the operation, Rotondi moved back to Urbino, resuming his work as Superintendent of the Artistic and Historic Heritage. In 1949 he became the Superintendent of Fine Art in Genoa, and 11-years later the director of the Central Institute of Restoration in Rome. After his retirement in 1973, the Vatican chose him as a consultant for the restoration of the Sistine Chapel.

Rotondi’s wartime mission went largely unpublicized until 1984, when the mayor of Sassocorvaro bestowed upon him an award for his work. In 1986, the City of Urbino named him an “honorary citizen,” praising his achievements in teaching and maintaining the cultural heritage of the city.

Sara Ugoloni, a tourism official for the city of Sassorcorvaro, says tourists from all over Italy visit the town’s fortress just to see one of the sites where Rotondi made history. “Local schools teach the story of Pasquale Rotondi, and many universities are interested in the story [as well,]” says Ugoloni.

After Rotondi’s death in 1991, at the age of 81, his achievements increased in recognition:

• 1997: Premio Rotondi ai Salvatori dell’Arte (Rotondi Award for Art Preservationists) was created and is awarded annually to a person who has saved art from destruction

• 1999: Salvatore Giannella published “The Ark of Art”including excerpts from Rotondi’s memoirs, and “Operation Rescue”in 2001

• 2005: Italian President Carlo Ciampi presented Rotondi’s eldest daughter with a medal honoring her father’s devotion to cultural preservation

• 2005: Documentary film “The List of Pasquale” Rotondi was released

Author Giannella concludes: “the book[s], the film, and the award constituted the stone thrown into the pond of public opinion internationally, even in Hollywood.”

Bold acts of World War II art preservation are popularized in the Hollywood film “The Monuments Men”and in the documentary “The Rape of Europa”, but Rotondi’s story is not a part of these productions.

Giannella says, “unfortunately, Rotondi was given very little immediate reward for his feat.” But Rotondi himself was not seeking financial reward for his 5-year mission. The reward, he says, was in preserving the art itself and its culture: “I’m just doing my duty as guardian of the integrity of works of art entrusted to me.”

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URBINO, Italy – Like every June 1 in this picturesque Renaissance town, the 2014 edition found a crowd gathered with mounting anticipation in the piazza before the Duomo, a pearly white cathedral nestled in its historic center. When the towering iron doors of the church were finally pushed open six men exited carrying a colorful life-size statue of a roman soldier.

It was Saint Crescentino, the Patron Saint of Urbino. Within minutes he was surrounded by a military band, boy scouts, local and regional politicians, a phalanx of church officials and hundreds of ordinary citizens. It was the start of a procession that would escort the statue through the ancient streets before ending with a large feast.

Watching the from the Duomo steps, Archbishop Giovanni Tani explained the importance of this event for his city.

“The patron is a sign of protection from the sky,” he said. “This celebration is attended by more people than any other even in Urbino all year.”

The Urbino event is not unique in this Catholic country where patron Saints are part of the culture. But the size of the observances and the level of their participation depend on the region and the size of the city. Luigi Bravi, a professor of Ancient Theatre and Classics at the University of Cheiti, explained that while big cities may have big celebrations, the more modest observances in small towns often have wider participation.

“I’d say it’s very different the celebration of the saints in north Italy or in south Italy: in south Italy the celebration is more rich and the people are more involved in the celebration” says Bravi.

The procession honoring the Patron Saint starts immediately as the Mass ends and proceeds through the town of Urbino.

According to Bishop Davide Tonti, a patron saint’s role is to provide protection to the church and the town and to serve as a role model for the locals. The fact that the Saints were typically poor and still were able to do something courageous – such as choose death rather than renounce their faith – makes it easier for locals to relate to the Saint and become devoted to them, he said. 

But, Bravi said, many people who participate in these celebrations are not there for religious reasons.

“Sometimes people care more for the patron than for the real God,” he said. “There are some people that do not believe in God, but they participate in the processions for the Saint because of the fact that patrons are entirely involved in the city.”

The crowd attending the procession in Urbino proved Bravi’s point.

Ernesto Delprete, a retired physician, attends the parade even though he is agnostic. “He (Saint Crescentino) has a big meaning for all the people who live in Urbino and especially for all of the Catholics and even for those who don’t really have a strong faith like me,” said Delprete

The legend of Saint Crescentino’s life is well known among Urbino residents.  According to the church, he was a Roman soldier and a Christian who lived around 300 A.D.  During this time Emperor Diocletian saw the new faith as a threat to the empire and began executing Christians who refused to renounce their beliefs.

A life-size statue of the Patron Saint of Urbino, Saint Crescentino, is mounted at the foot of the stairs of the Duomo, the main church in Urbino.

Crescentino fled to a town near Urbino called Citti di Castello.  While there Crescentino began evangelizing the locals and soldiers, leading to his arrest by the Roman army he had fought for. When questioned about his beliefs, he felt lying would be to live without dignity, Tonti said. According to the legend, the Romans beheaded Crescentino, but only after they failed to kill him with fire. 

“For martyrs (like Saint Crescentino) love is the message,” Tonti said. “You can destroy their body, but you can’t destroy their heart and soul.”

Crescentino is now often depicted with a dragon at his feet.  This is a representation of how he overcame evil and the devil, said Tanti. 

How Crescentino became the patron saint of Urbino involves a measure of intrigue.  According to Bravi, until 1068 the city’s patron was Saint Sergio, but when Bishop Mainardo decided to open a new Duomo, he needed a new patron.  So Mainardo made a secret deal with Bishop Falcone of Citti di Castello that Urbino could take the bones of Saint Crescentino.

To maintain appearances, the bishops cooperated on a ruse to make it appear the relics had been stolen.  Mainardo sent a small troop to take the body of the Saint in the middle of the night.  As part of the show, Falcone then sent a small troop to follow them, but no one actually fought. 

But the exact history of Crescentino’s life and death and his arrival in Urbino seems less important than the tradition of having a patron saint and a celebration.

“The saint represents the cultural roots for the city, so people still care about it,” the Bishop said. “ It’s important to keep one foot in the future and one foot in the past, this is why it’s important to continue to celebrate the patron saint.” 

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Two peacocks stare down from their cage as the group gets out of the car at Cafe Molena. Gabrielle Arruzzo sits at the head of the table wearing a yellow shirt that reads PacificUV, a synthpop band from Northern Georgia. His students gather around the sides. One gets up to take orders while another sets the tablecloth. Arruzzo leans back to stretch, his long thin fingers grasping at the air. Without taking off his sunglasses he asserts that art in Urbino is dead.

At 38, Arruzzo is one of the youngest professors at the Accademia di Belle Arti di Urbino. He has been teaching art in Urbino for seven years but is still waiting to receive a permanent position. Much like the rest of the city, there seems to be no space in the Accademia for change.

In the place of Raphael’s birth it is difficult for many to look beyond their rich history. And yet, Arruzzo and his peers continue to embrace a new Italy. Artists are showing work in cities around the country, attempting to make a name for their generation. According to Arruzzo, the movement is based on frustration and irony. They have grown up looking to separate their voices from the engraved history Italy has written for them. Arruzzo travels and works as a teacher to fund his art, with studios in Milan and Pesaro. It is difficult to say if his pieces will ever be able to go much further.

“To study modern art in Urbino is somewhat of a contradiction,” Arruzzo says just as the food arrives. While the university is well respected, he explained, very little effort has been put into creating a new art scene within the city. Most students come here and leave as soon as they graduate. Because it is smaller than other art academies, they are able to have a closer relationship with the faculty than if they had attended a different school. While this is helpful in the development stages of their work, eventually school is not enough. Arruzzo tells his students to travel outside of the city to visit museums and gallery openings in Rome and Milan.

The remains of Raphael are everywhere in this Renaissance town. His house preserves his memory, but also encourages you to look beyond him and his era.

Arruzzo was born in Rome, and then moved when he was six to Pesaro, his mother’s oceanside home town. “I need the sea, but my ambitions are not to be just a Pesaro painter.”

He sniffs, coughs. The season has been hard on him. As a chronic asthmatic, he spent much of his youth indoors looking at books. Every year the banks his father worked for gave them dozens including illustrated encyclopedias, history books on the Italian Renaissance, and religious texts. On top of that his father also had a large comic collection that strayed from the typical mickey mouse type of cartooning. Arruzzo started his career doing graffiti around cities he traveled to, and became friends with the street artist Blue. The culture surrounding this kind of art emphasizes politics and an unwillingness to create art for fame and money. “I understood my background after I started to paint, it was not a conscious thing.”

His paintings tend to resemble screen prints, especially in photographs. They are characterized by thick black outlines and details, but in real life there is a subtle depth to them caused by many layers. Bright colors clash against the iconography. He uses old images and symbols to discuss current issues that still face Italian society and artists’ lives. One in particular that jumps out: Hitler staring at a blank canvas, his foot in Duchamp’s infamous found urinal. Goats and flowers crowd the background. Arruzzo is creating something for the viewer to interpret, and is unwilling to spoon feed his message.

“I don’t create. I redo, and I remix things.”

Rap and electronic music speak especially to him. These mediums are comprised of a repeated found sample and layers of original material on top. In a similar vein, his work is attempting to say something new using familiar words. As he stands up from the table and stretches, the noon sun casts harsh shadows across his face. “After Shakespeare talking about love what could be new? [It is the same for art.] I am friends with an old lady called painting.”

Arruzzo loves comics, and incorporates similar graphics in his paintings. He wears bright colors, at times matching his work.

And the omnipresence of the past is especially present here in Urbino. You cannot escape the Renaissance or the men associated with it. The city’s walls clearly define the limits of what used to be. One of the reasons why Urbino has not been hit as hard during the economic crash has been the tourism. Urbino is in the running for the European Capital of Culture for 2019, and so there is even less reason to push for modernity.

“Teaching was always plan B.” When he was rejected from the Higher Institute for Artistic Industries, an extremely competitive graphic design school in Urbino, Arruzzo instead attended the Accademia. After graduation he applied to the government for a teaching position in order to fund his work. That was in 2003. After five years of waiting it was finally granted to him, but because the retirement age has been pushed back, there are currently no permanent jobs available. He has been to Milan, China, and Brazil to show and work on art.

Raphael did not influence Arruzzo, but the old masters’ mere existence is necessary for all Italian art work. “I did not need to know them to meet them.” Even more than Raphael, Arruzzo said, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood has made the meeting of old artists possible. The group, formed in 1848, valued the abundant detail, intense colors, and complex compositions of Quattrocento Italian art. They preserved old buildings and paintings and valued detailed colorful work.

One of the spaces that they worked hard to save was Raphael’s birth house. Oddly enough, it now includes the only gallery in Urbino that shows modern art. The house is on a hill right up from the piazza, two small flags resting above the door. The gift shop on the right contains postcards and history books, and the house above has copies of Raphael’s work and remodels of his modest birthplace. The gallery on the bottom half opposite the gift shop is free to enter and hosts different artists that are usually alumni of the Academia or professors. The spiral staircase reflects the neon green paintings on display. The gallery doesn’t have its own name.

Raphael’s paintings explore mortality, religion, and the urge to maintain appearances. At the root of it, he strived to encompass Italian society, just as modern artists must do.

Walking down the hallway of the Accademia, student Miriam Pascale explains the different sections of the building. She is studying to be what roughly translates as “decoration – contemporary visual arts.” Miriam is one of Arruzzo’s students, but she does not plan on practicing art in Urbino after she graduates. There is nothing for her here. Hopefully, she will get a gallery job curating in a city. If not she can always teach. But, she says, “there is a difference between studying art and being an artist.” The exams here are difficult, spanning hours and including oral and practicum.

But Arruzzo feels that to know specifics that are being tested and to feel the urge to create are two separate things. Students say he is a tough grader, expecting them to understand this and to be just as passionate as he is.

The peacocks rustle their feathers, and it echos across the empty tables. Arruzzo begins a tangent that slowly comes around to the unhappiness in art. Even so, he says, there is a drive to create. Even in towns like Urbino that do not have a community. The statement ‘art is dead’ lingers in the thick air. Arruzzo sips his beer “When we see successful artists, famous artists, we are only seeing a reflection of who they are. We don’t see how they suffer.” Suffering will come, he explains, in the big cities or in the small towns. Urbino may make it difficult to spread your ideas through modern art, but it is no worse off than most other places.

This article also appears in Urbino Now magazine’s Arte e Cultura section. You can read all the magazine articles in print by ordering a copy from MagCloud.

Scaling the walls of the 14th century Fortezza Albornoz in mid-June presents all kinds of challenges for a visitor unaccustomed to the Mediterranean sun. But self-taught historian and Urbino native Pietro Barsotti casually wipes the beading sweat from his forehead as we head up the stairs of the structure, looking all too comfortable. “Are you ready?” he asks, barely able to contain the excitement in his voice as our tour begins.

With his recently published book, Punti di Vista (Points of View), in hand Barsotti begins with a little-known fact: “In August 1502, Leonardo Da Vinci visited Urbino, staying in the Ducal Palace for the month.” Barsotti has helped to create a unique tour that takes guests through, around, and over the city, retracing Da Vinci’s steps by using as a roadmap many of the drawings he did while in Urbino.

The tour, “On the Trail of Leonardo,” is an example of a new style of tourism gaining ground across Italy. TrekkingUrbano (Urban Trekking) is an organization out of Siena whose goal, according to their website, is to bring tourists to the “most hidden and least known” culturally rich cities of the country, such as Urbino. TrekkingUrbano launched in 2013, highlighting 33 cities across Italy. More hiking than walking, Trekking tours range from easy to difficult with the longest (in Naples) at 11 kilometers and six hours. At three hours and 2 kilometers, Barsotti’s tour gets an “easy” rating—though face-to-face with Urbino’s countless steep hills and stairs, you might disagree.

During the month Da Vinci spent in Urbino, he worked for Cesare Borgia, who was Duke of Romagna at the time. As part of a systematic takeover campaign of Le Marche, Borgia, son of Pope Alexander VI, called upon Da Vinci, the best artist, mathematician, and engineer of the time, to conduct a large-scale reconnaissance mission. Da Vinci was to document all fortifying structures and defensive tactics the city had to eliminate any surprises when Borgia invaded.

“After the fall of the Milanese regime in 1499 [Da Vinci] was looking for a major patron,” says Martin Kemp, emeritus professor of the History of Art at the University of Oxford. He was in between some of his most famous works and was paid generously to serve under the Duke, during an unstable time in Italy.

Borgia sent a letter of introduction with Da Vinci certifying his credentials and giving him access to anything within the city, even allowing him to stay at the Ducal Palace. “Borgia gave him powers to commandeer men to pace out distances to make his [drawings],” Kemp says.

It is unclear whether Guidobaldo da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino in 1502 and son of Federico da Montefeltro, was aware of the purpose of Da Vinci’s visit. Shortly after Borgia received Da Vinci’s drawings, in the fall of 1502, he attacked Urbino, which immediately surrendered, making Borgia the new Duke of Urbino.

Pietro Barsotti published his first book, Punti di Vista (Points of View), in the fall of 2013, and shortly after turned his findings on Leonardo Da Vinci into a unique and successful walking tour of Urbino.

Although unique, Urbino was one of many cities in Le Marche that Da Vinci was sent to record. “The fortification studies [of Urbino] are like ones he did in Imola [in Emilia-Romagna]… which were worked up into a brilliant map,” Kemp says.

Barsotti originally came across Da Vinci’s drawings of Urbino while working as an art and historical artifact exhibitor, gathering and displaying unique and rare art works and artifacts each month throughout the region. “I saw the drawings [at one of the exhibits] and realized that I knew these places. That’s when I started doing my research,” he says. As Barsotti is one of few to inquire about Da Vinci in Urbino, he says that he started from scratch and was surprised with how much he could find. These discoveries became the basis for his book and eventually, for the tour.

The first stop, Fortezza Albornoz, offers sprawling views of the Ducal Palace and surrounding countryside. Da Vinci’s drawings of the fort are intricate yet far from exact, and show much less than is currently here. Barsotti explains that due to structural concerns, the walls were expanded, and in the early 16th century an addition was built to offer extra protection.

Obviously awed by the complicated drawings of the Fortezza and Urbino’s outer walls, Barsotti explains that “[Da Vinci] drew these just by what he saw. There were no measurements and he was only able to see [the city] by walking around it.”

As we move through the structure, over flimsy chain link barriers and under dilapidated wooden fences, Barsotti points to Da Vinci’s various drawings, showing our current location in relation to the images on the paper.

Walking along the city’s outer walls we arrive at the Ducal Palace, which holds one of the most well known sights captured in one of Da Vinci’s drawings of Urbino—the elegant main staircase of the Palace that connects the first two levels. “For many years, no one knew [which] stairs [this drawing depicted]. The drawing has been used to estimate the time that the Palace became two levels—which we now know was years before [Da Vinci’s] visit,” Barsotti says. In addition to the detailed staircase drawing, Da Vinci also sketched an impossibly small chapel that sits in a corner across from the Duke’s studiolo.

Along the outer walls of Urbino, Barsotti points to the stop where he is standing. Da Vinci had few ways to measure the structures and drew the pictures based only on what he could see.

Unlike his drawings of the Fortezza and the city’s outer walls, Da Vinci’s drawings within the Ducal Palace were for his personal interest and “reflect that he was impressed by the architecture,” Barsotti says of the artist’s temporary home. His drawings of the Palace clearly illustrate that the city left an impression on the then 51-year-old artist who had four years before finished the Last Supper and would, one year later, begin on the Mona Lisa.

Described by Trekking Urbano as an “easy,” two-kilometer walk, the tour is for any history buff who prefers the quiet and laid back Italy, untouched by millions of yearly visitors and overpriced gelato. But the best part is Barsotti. His wide eyes and quickened pace as we approach each new sight reveals obvious passion and a desire to impart his wide-ranging knowledge, something that is hard to come by among typical tour guides in bigger cities.

In October 2013 Barsotti led the tour for the first time for a crowd of more than 80. One participant was Piero Paolucci, local museum guide at the Museum of Science and Technology in Urbino. Paolucci says he likes to consider himself an expert on Urbino, but that the tour gave him a new perspective. “I saw parts of the city I had never seen before,” he says. “Even the familiar parts were different because we got to explore like we were Da Vinci.”

Paolucci says that the tour is unique and eccentric, great for tourists and even more meaningful for locals. “Some people don’t even know that he was here,” Paolucci says. “Everyone who lives in Urbino should take the tour. It gives you a much different outlook; it changes your point of view.”

Indeed, the excursion offers exactly what Barsotti’s book title suggests: a different point of view. Like a tour, “trekking” offers guests, tourists, and locals the chance to see various cultural and historical sights around the city. But trekking’s uniqueness, according to the organization’s website, is its physical aspect. Each trip offers more physical demands that simply walking around a city. Additionally, Barsotti’s trek gives participants the chance to navigate, using Da Vinci’s drawings as a map, rather than just see.

In addition to drawing the stairs, pictured on the left page, Da Vinci also had an eye for the architectural details such as the Palace’s pillars, on the right.

This was one of the main goals of Maria Francesca Crespini, Cultural Commissioner for the City of Urbino, who worked with Barsotti to develop the best tour possible after TrekkingUrbano contacted him. She says that tours allow you to the sights, but trekking transports you back in time. “We [the Department of Tourism] were happy to be chosen for these alternative cultural itineraries,” she says. “It was a very interesting proposal, to enhance even such a magical place as the Albornoz Fortress, the city’s walls, and spots within the Palace.”

This year looks promising for a second installment of Trekking Urbano in Urbino, and Crespini welcomes it. “We are looking forward to promoting the same route for 2014. Perhaps we will integrate it with other programs,” she says. As for Barsotti, he will continue his day job as an exhibitioner throughout Le Marche. He says that starting up the tour had its challenges but now he hopes to perfect it. “The first is always the most difficult,” he says. “From here hopefully they will be as rewarding and successful as the first.”

This article also appears in Urbino Now magazine’s Arte e Cultura section. You can read all the magazine articles in print by ordering a copy from MagCloud.

A ceramic plate decorated with a mythological angel sits on the mantelpiece in Ettore Benedetti’s and Claurisa Cosmi’s living room. The plate is 700 years old, a fine example of the Italian style of enameled ceramics called majolica that has made Benedetti’s and Cosmi’s hometown of Urbania, Italy, famous since the Renaissance.

In the studio attached to their home, Benedetti and Cosmi have continued that tradition, making ceramics using the majolica technique for the last 50 years.

But their craft may be dying. The poor economy and changing consumer tastes may spell an end to Urbania’s traditional ceramics. Says Cosmi, “Young people don’t like traditional ceramics now. They prefer more modern art works. They aren’t interested in the old stuff.”

The “old stuff” dates back to before Federico da Montefeltro’s time. The soldier-scholar ruled the region around Urbino from 1422 until his death in 1482. He valued art, and was especially interested in the ceramics of Casteldurante, as Urbania was then named. Before Federico’s time, Casteldurante’s ceramics were simply utilitarian, used in daily life. But under Federico they gained another value—they were considered art. At first, Federico gave the ceramics to his guests as presents, but later his aim was to impress others.

Claurisa Cosmi helps her husband Ettore Benedetti put on his smock in their studio, which is attached to their home. They have worked together, making ceramics, for 50 years.

During the Renaissance, 40 kilns operated in Casteldurante. The potters gathered special clay from the banks of the Metauro River that flows past the town. After shaping the plates and pots, they fired and glazed them using the technique now known as majolica. Present-day potter Monica Alvoni describes the ancient method: “According to this technique we bake the clay two times. The first time at 940 degrees Celsius and the second time at 970 degrees Celsius. That is in Italian called biscotti. We coat the biscotti with a special white liquid [a tin-based enamel]. Thanks to [the enamel] the baked clay becomes glazed ceramics. After this [we] paint and decorate the ceramics.”

Urbania’s traditional ceramics use few colors—blue, orange, and yellow. “The color blue is very characteristic of our ceramics,” says Alvoni. “Thanks to this color people can recognize Casteldurante majolica.” The designs include images from the bible and mythology, landscapes of Urbania, and portraits of Duke Federico da Montefeltro. According to Silvio Biagini, a founder of the Amici della Ceramica (Friends of Ceramics), “During 15th and 16th century, hundreds of thousands of Casteldurante’s ceramic pieces were produced in this territory. They are now in many of the major European museums.”

Biagini and two friends started the ceramics association 20 years ago, in part to support the traditional craft, which had started to decline in popularity. Now 70, Biagini closed his own pottery shop last year. The vice-president of the association, Tinoush Shariat Panahy, says, “Ten years ago there were 12 ceramic shops in Urbania because the Italian government was supporting potters and the government was encouraging to potters. They didn’t want lose this tradition. However, when they stopped supporting potters, the closings of ceramic shops started very rapidly.” Now, there are just 12 potters and four ceramic stores in Urbania.

Monica Alvoni shows her 4-year-old son, Falco Maria Gabellini, how to paint the ceramic figures.

Three of the stores offer traditional ceramics, including Benedetti’s and Cosmi’s shop, Ceramiche d’Arte Ettore Benedetti. Ettore Benedetti started to work at 11, when renowned potter Federico Melis saw Benedetti making drawings of horses and offered him work painting ceramics. Cosmi began working alongside her future husband when she 14 years old. Now, after half a century at their craft, they are afraid Casteldurante’s ceramics may disappear. Benedetti blames the decline on changing interests: “Young people don’t like old materials like ceramics. They even use plastic in their furniture. They don’t like the colors of ceramics. They don’t have the knowledge to understand its value.”

Alvoni, owner of the shop Le Maioliche di Monal, is the unique modern potter in Urbania. In business for 24 years, she trained in the traditional techniques and still uses the majolica method, but creates pottery with modern shapes and designs. But even her modern styles are not enough to ensure a good business. She blames the poor economy and the change from the lira to the euro, which made products appear more costly. “When I compare today’s sales to ten years ago, there is a fifty percent decline,” she says. In the winters, when few tourists are around, business is so bad that Alvoni usually closes her shop.

Even so, Alvoni is optimistic for the future: “The period of economic crisis is quite problematic, but I think even if the situation doesn’t change, young people will want to continue on this work.”

Biagini echoes Alvoni’s optimism. For him, ceramics are part of the city and the culture: “Casteldurante’s ceramics will never disappear.”

This article also appears in Urbino Now magazine’s Arte e Cultura section. You can read all the magazine articles in print by ordering a copy from MagCloud.

URBINO, Italy – Tucked away on Via Federico Veterans, one of the cobblestone streets  that wind through this hilltop city,  lies a charming, one-room theater with the optimistic name Cinema Nuova Luce – Cinema New Light. It is open only on Tuesday and Wednesday evenings when Marco Lazzari’s projector lights the single screen with Italian and European-made artistic and cultural films. A  “good turnout”  is any time 11 of the 104 seats a filled, he says.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Cinema Ducale can seat about 800 people on its two screens showing the latest Hollywood blockbusters featuring American actors speaking in dubbed Italian voices.

This movie-going scene is the same across Italy.

“In my opinion, the real beauty of a movie lies in the simplicity and in the message,” he said. “I think Italian cinema has lost that a little bit.”

Once considered a world capitol of influential cinema thanks to groundbreaking works from legends such as Luchino Visconti, Federico Fellini, Michelangelo Antonioni,  Italian films  now largely mimic Hollywood movie-making, critics such as Lazzari contend. Italian move-goers, like their American counterparts, are no longer interested in the hard-hitting issues facing their country, he says, but prefer to be distracted by 3-D explosions, romantic comedies or fast-paced narratives.

Italian box office receipts support his case.

Owner Marco Lazzari opens the doors to his theater every Tuesday and Wednesday evening.

In 2013 the highest grossing Italian-made film here was Sole a Cantinelle, a light-hearted comedy by Gennaro Nunziane that collected $69.3 million. That same year, independent Italian filmmaker Gianni Amelio released L’Intrepido , a story exploring the despair ceated by in Italy’s economic crisis,  generated only $1.5 million at the box offices.

That trend got world attention at this year’s Oscar Awards.

Marco Lazzari stands proudly during a demonstration of the highest quality digital film he owns, a far cry from what once lit up the screen when he was a boy watching his father run the theater.

La Grande Belleza (The Great Beauty), the internationally acclaimed art film by Paolo Sorrentino, won the Oscar for Best Foreign Film. Italy was apparently not as excited about Sorrentino’s release as the Oscar judges. La Grande Belleza grossed just $9.5 million locally, far out-paced here by a number of American films including The Hunger Games: Catching Fire ($11.1 million), Django Unchained ($16.2 million), and Frozen, the Disney animation, which raked in a whopping $26.4 million.

But Lazzari isn’t ready to join that new wave.  He’s fighting with Cinema Nuova Luce to keep independent Italian cultural cinema alive in Urbino. Recent showings included Incompresa, by Asia Argento, and Le Meraviglieby Alice Rohrwacher.

Lazzari’s fight is actually a family tradition begun in 1950 when his fatheropened Cinema Nuova Luce and established the programming model featuring Italian and European artistic film. Marco inherited the theater at his father’s death in 2008 and feels no need to stray from that mission, despite the move by the majority of Italian moviegoers to contemporary cinema.

“From the beginning, the cinema only shows cultural films,” he stated with pride.  “Nowadays [Italian filmmakers] tend to use a lot of special effects like in American movies. The young Italian filmmakers of today try to imitate American filmmakers like [Steven] Spielberg or Spike Lee. I don’t like that very much.”

 Italian cinema dates back to 1896 with the release of Umberto e Margherita di Savoia a Passeggio per il Parco – “Umberto and Margherita of Savoy Walking in the Park by Filoteo Alberini.” But film historians say the golden age of Italian film was the first decades after World War II when Italian directors were leaders in the genre known as Neorealism, which exposed the ravages left by the war using largely nonprofessional actors on location. The stories often revolved around the working class picking up the pieces of  lives shattered by the violence of war. Filmmakers were interested in documenting life as it really was as opposed to how they wished it to be.

Critics still rave about  such Neorealism classics as La Terra Trema, Rome, Open City, and Bicycle Thieves.

Lazzari said one of his cinema’s missions is to show those cinematic styles to today’s audiences, especially the young.  And he considers cinema to still be an active mode of cultural change. 

“Teenagers love special effects and the 3D movies,” said Lazzari. “There are young people out there that prefer cultural cinema, but I would say 90 percent prefer the American movies.”

Leda Bartolucci, Federico Scaglioni, and Anais Piccoli are some of those teenagers that like art films – so much so they participated in a film program here at the University of Urbino. They consider most of today’s Italian productions “Saturday events,” and, like Lazzari, long for the days of Neorealism.

Photographs of Marco’s father that are kept at the front desk for Marco to glance at from time to time.

“I think cinema was something shared by everyone in Italy because we had some great directors and every work of theirs was a change in culture because it represented Italy as it was,” said Bartolucci, a petite and bright-eyed film enthusiast.

“The Italian directors that are popular now tend to show only what the young generation wants to see. It’s consumerism as opposed to an art form.”

Scaglioni said popular Italian filmmakers now try to emulate American cinema, a move which he says signals a loss of Italian identity in the field.

 “Most Italian movies are comedies,” he said “Italians think a comedy is something like American Pie -something with a lot of sex and bad words. A lot of these films can be very fun, but there is no reference to real life.” 

He said popular Italian cinema is repetitive, “Same stories, same actors, just a different place. With more tits every time.”

This shift in interest among the public has created many hurdles for independent filmmakers struggling to make a difference with their work, an issue Urbino filmmaker Andrea Laquidara understands firsthand. With productions fueled by passion but little financial support, the independent filmmaking industry  can’t compete with the big-budget Hollywood films making their way to Italy, said Laquidara

“This is not a very happy period for our culture and cultural projects,” he said. “You have two options: to choose a commercial way or to direct documentaries or movies with particular meaning and language.”

Even then, Laquidara said, Italian filmmakers creating contemporary art pieces that will make a difference in the culture have a hard time getting their work shown.

This is where Cinema Nuova Luce comes to the rescue.

For inspiration, Lazzari keeps photographs of his father proudly posing with a new projector stowed in his ticket desk.  He says he will continue to show the films both he and his father agreed are the most important – Italian-produced cinema rich in culture and artistic value.

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