Halfway down Via Giuseppe Mazzini sits the Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola, a small, unassuming church lost within the multitude of bright doorways. The church holds more than four hundred years’ worth of Urbino’s history, and is home to the Confraternita del Corpus Domini.

The church’s main hall, though small, is full of religious treasures. Low wooden pews line either side of the room, drawing the eye to an altar framed by a hanging censer on each side. Stretching across the entire ceiling are oval frescoes, the figure of San Francesco di Paola only just visible through the dust and faded paint. Each side wall contains three niches for statues, which stretch almost to the ceiling. The statues are of bishops and saints, colored to resemble stone, with halos and staves painted an antique gold. The center statue on the right is entirely obscured by scaffolding, displacing the symmetry of the church interior.

In the humble adjoining office, Giuseppe Cucco, the head, or prior, of the confraternity, sits and sifts through the church archives. The shelves behind him hold boxes upon boxes of scrolls, parchments, and old leather-bound tomes, some of which date back to the 1200s. He flips through them slowly, carefully, running fingers over the looping script and ink blotches, digesting everything, however trivial. Sometimes, he stops and crinkles his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. It can take Cucco up to thirty minutes to decipher a single word, but he always forges on.

“If we’re able to let them view it for as long as possible, why close the church?” says Matteo Bacchiocca.

“When I started researching these records, my curiosity made me dig deeper every single time,” says Cucco. “At one point, I had so much information that I said, ‘Let’s write a book, so that everybody will know what I know.’”

In total, the prior spent upwards of a year gathering data from the archives and poring through old documents to chronicle the history of the confraternity and the church. The research began as a necessity to bring about the restoration of the church and the statues, frescoes, and artwork within it, but what began as an obligation soon became a labor of love and personal interest.

The book, titled La Confraternita del Corpus Domini di Urbino: Scrigno di arte storia e umanita, or “The Confraternity of Corpus Domini of Urbino: a trove of art, history and humanities,” details Cucco’s findings in the church archives, including the history of the construction of the church, restorations and maintenance, and the artwork associated with the building.

The book also chronicles the history of the confraternity, founded in 1340 and once a well-known brotherhood with members such as artist Raffaello and his father, Giovanni Santi. The confraternity was funded by wealthy patrons, and used this money to pay the dowries of poor girls so that they could get married. Today, donations largely benefit those affected by economic hardship, including students who have trouble paying for an education. Although the confraternity plays a smaller role in today’s society, they hold mass weekly on Wednesday nights.

The Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola was ceded to the confraternity in 1708, when their old headquarters in the nearby piazza was demolished to make way for the Collegio Raffaello. Since then, generations of priors have made changes to the church interior by repainting the statues and architectural elements, either to fit the aesthetic sensibilities of the time, or to save the walls of the church from the humid Urbino climate.

Cucco, however, intends to break with this tradition. He has employed restorers to return all six statues in the church to their original condition, by peeling off the layers of paint to uncover the past.

—

It is 10 a.m. at the Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola, and restoration of a statue is under way. The pews are arranged haphazardly, with one set directly in the middle of the floor to create a barrier. Behind this barrier, Isidoro and Matteo Bacchiocca, a father-son art restorer duo, have set up shop atop the two-story metal scaffolding. The structure is draped in white plastic, shrouding the statue of San Filippo Neri, the last of six to be restored.

Isidoro, the father, uses a scalpel to chip relentlessly at the paint, which can be five or six layers thick. He is white-haired, bearded, and bespectacled, and wears a long white lab coat. His son, Matteo, is dressed more casually, his brown hair and beard contrasting with his father’s features. He takes a cotton swab soaked in solvent, and carefully swipes it along the curve of a decorative border to reveal a flash of gold from underneath. It’s quiet, focused work, disturbed only by the scratch of scalpels and faint rustling of paint chips falling to the floor below.

Removing the old paint may be a tedious process, but it certainly doesn’t compare to trying to fix previous restorers’ efforts.

“The most difficult part is getting rid of the previous parts that were badly done,” explains Matteo. “When the other restorers used materials that weren’t right for the job to create new parts of the statue, we have to get rid of them and create a new part that looks good with the whole.”

He motions towards the restored statue on the left, which depicts San Crescentino, the patron saint of Urbino, squashing a morose-looking dragon underfoot.

“For example, the tail of the dragon isn’t entirely original; there are some parts that were made with chalk, and we had to create continuity by fixing some sections,” says Matteo.

The humid Urbino weather also affects how the statues have aged. Isidoro points out the condensation forming on the floor of the church, just inside the inner door. Apparently, the situation used to be even worse. Water used to flow beneath the church’s foundation, and had to be drained to create a suitable environment for the old statues and artwork.

The statues depict local religious figures such as Beato Mainardi di Urbino, a famous 11th century abbot. Each of the six is constructed with an iron core that is covered in plaster, and then painted to look like terracotta or marble. The moisture in the church has warped and rusted the cores, as in the case of San Crescentino’s dragon’s tail, and cracked the outer layer of plaster. Cucco is entirely familiar with this phenomenon; in fact, he keeps the fragments of rusted cores in a plastic cup in the back room of the church.

At night, pedestrians can step up to the glass pane and see the artwork and frescoes of the Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola, as well as the scaffolding hiding the last statue to be restored.

Luckily for the Bacchioccas, their current project appears less work-intensive. The statue of San Filippo Neri primarily requires the removal of layers of accumulated paint. Matteo points out the segments that have been restored.

“On this side [of the statue], you can feel the flavor of the original, and you can see all the little scratches,” he says. “It feels antique. On the other side, you can see all the new paint.”

Matteo laughs, gesturing at the contrasting textures. “In short, this,” he points at the unrestored part, “is ugly.” He delicately brushes some plaster dust off a freshly cleaned scroll on the statue, and taps it with the tool. “And this is beautiful.”

According to Isidoro, the church represents the only example of its style in Urbino. After having been rebuilt in the 1600s atop the ruins of an older church, it has largely retained the aesthetics of its time. While other buildings like the nearby Oratorio di Santa Croce were built during the same period, they have undergone changes since.

However, the Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola has some commonalities with another building in Urbino. Four of the statues in the church were created by artist Marcello Sparti, who was also responsible for creating some of the statues inside the city’s cathedral. These statues are the only example of Sparti’s work in Urbino, as he worked mainly in Genoa and Siena.

The Bacchioccas have been restoring the statues in the church since 2017, but the end is not in sight. They estimate that will take at least four more years to strip layers of paint from the gilded balcony, polish the frescoes on the ceiling, and restore the front of the church.

“When someone comes in in the future–after the restoration—the atmosphere will be important,” says Matteo. “The tourists that come into this church should experience the same feelings that believers in the past would, when entering for the first time.”

Cucco agrees with the restorers, noting that his personal approach is quite different to those of priors past.

“I just want to restore [the church] to how it was at the beginning,” he says.

He gestures at the statue of San Filippo Neri, where a cherub rests on the saint’s foot, carrying an open book. Cucco highlights a corner of the page where Isidoro and Matteo have done tests to show the difference in color of the original (demarcated neatly with a dotted line) and the paint on top.

“Beati qui ambulant in lege domini–blessed are those who walk in the law of the Lord,” reads Cucco, in halting Latin.

The phrase is written over the new coats of paint, which still partially obscure the book. Different letters, however, emerge from the corner that the Bacchioccas have marked. It’s enough to confirm that the two inscriptions are different, but not enough to ascertain what the original means.

For all his digging, even Cucco can’t crack the mystery of the hidden phrase.

“I’m curious too,” he admits with a smile.

Although five statues have already been restored, many such mysteries remain within the church. The balcony above the door is gray, but streaked with two bright flashes of gold, where Isidoro and Matteo have done tests to strip away the new paint. The frescoes on the ceiling are dusty and faded with age. Only time–and the Bacchioccas’ efforts–will reveal all.

—

The interior of the Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola lies behind two doors, the first of which is solid wood. The second door, however, is glass, which allows tourists to peek in and those within to see the street outside. From his perch on the scaffolding, Matteo spies an important teaching opportunity on the street outside. There’s a crowd of young children led by two teachers who are passing by, and the restorer hurries to unlock the door and usher them inside the church, his movements animated and eyes flashing with excitement.

Onlookers line the stairs of the ducal palace, cheering and raining handfuls of confetti down on the group. As they near the main plaza, there is applause and a crescendo of chatter. It appears that the entire city of Urbino has turned up to celebrate.

The children cluster around Matteo, staring in quiet awe at the small space that seems gigantic to them. The teachers lurk near the back of the church, ceding their responsibility momentarily to the restorer as he tells the group about the history of the church and the nature of his profession. Already, some of them are growing restless.

“How much do you earn?”

One of the boys in the group grins cheekily up at Matteo, and there is a smattering of laughter. The restorer smoothly avoids the question, ending his brief lecture to let the fidgety children resume their day.

For Matteo, it’s important for the younger generation to familiarize themselves with history and art by entering his place of work whenever possible.

“After all,” he says, “this is an important piece of history. If it’s supposed to be available to the world and humanity, you shouldn’t deprive them of being able to come and take a look. If we’re able to let them view it for as long as possible, why close the church?”

This is a subtle jab at the local tourist attraction, the Duomo di Urbino. The famous cathedral has been closed to visitors while it is being rebuilt after the earthquake that hit Urbino in August of 2016.

That’s why Cucco has installed a motion-activated light above the inner door that comes on at night. The decision was made by the confraternity a year ago, some time after the restorers first began their quest to restore the church.

—

Mass is held at the little church on Wednesday nights, beginning at 7:15 on the dot. Inside, the right side of the pews is blocked off by the scaffolding around San Filippo Neri. People are sitting slumped in pews and plastic chairs on the left side of the room. Silence permeates the small space. A bird trills hesitantly from outside, before the congregation chimes in.

They take turns reading from a prayer book. A girl in a red puffer jacket takes the pulpit, her voice high and tremulous. However, as she reads, her tone becomes steadier. When she pauses at a break, the congregation’s voices swell around her in song, a chorus with various timbres of the old and young, male and female: Hallelujah!

The girl in red is Lucia Marchetti, an education student at the University of Urbino Carlo Bo. In a congregation dominated by older members, she stands out. According to Marchetti, much of Italy’s youth are not religious, since bible study classes are boring and not relatable to the younger generation. She found her way to religion, however, through community. Marchetti attends mass daily, either here in Urbino, or in her hometown of Rimini, but most of the time with friends.

Domenico Campogiani is also at mass that Wednesday night, and belongs to the older crowd. Even though he wasn’t born in Urbino, he’s lived in the city since 1972 and considers it his hometown. Like Marchetti, he’s built a community around his religion, going to mass twice a week and meeting with like-minded friends monthly to share the latest happenings.

“For me, being Catholic means following our Signore–our Lord,” he says. “It means living in a community with other persons of our religion, and if possible, to be a good husband, a good father, a good colleague at work, and so on.”

When he talks about his four children, Campogiani seems reluctant to describe them as purely religious in the traditional way, instead highlighting the importance of a community of believers.

“Young people [today] can be religious, and be Catholic, if they meet other people who are happy to share in the experience with them,” he explains.

—

June 1. It’s the day of the feast of San Crescentino, the patron saint of Urbino. Afternoon sunlight filters in between the buildings, illuminating the Chiesa di San Domenico and the crowds in the square outside the Palazzo Ducale. The babble of the crowd is cut with strains of hymns emanating from inside the church. At length, people begin streaming out. Two men bearing a banner of Urbino’s flag lead the parade, followed by a crowd of children, and then various organizations and brotherhoods in their religious vestments, and finally, four men carrying a painted statue of San Crescentino. The Confraternita del Corpus Domini is among them, and Cucco appears amidst the brotherhood as they begin to walk. Wearing the red, white, and gold robes of his order and a stern expression, he cuts a completely different figure from the smiling, casually attired prior at the church.

The procession winds its way down a serpentine, scenic path at the edge of the city’s walls, passing under arches and the shade of trees. Somewhere in the throng, a marching band plays a solemn tune as accompaniment to a disembodied, melancholy voice that echoes through portable speakers.

Curious onlookers line the stairs of the ducal palace, cheering and raining handfuls of confetti down on the group as they pass by. As they near the main piazza, there is applause and a crescendo of chatter. It appears that the entire city of Urbino, religious or not, has turned up to celebrate.

The procession stops in the square, where the crowd has parted around the sunniest spot. A small group including the Bishop of Urbino breaks out of line, and the crowd around him quiets. From within the folds of his voluminous robes, the bishop retrieves a golden object, and it is hard to make out what it is until he raises it high above his head. He turns this way and that, blessing the gathered masses with San Crescentino’s relic.

The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, and soon, the procession resumes its course out of the square and back to the church. The crowd begins to disperse. The main event is over, the blessing complete for another year.

“The procession consists of taking the statue of the saint through the streets where people live,” Cucco explains. “It means asking for the protection of the saint in everyday life. For me, it’s also a demonstration of my faith to everyone.”

Tonight, the Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola stands empty. But someone in the crowd may meander down Via Giuseppe Mazzini and wander past the outer doors of the church to peek in through the glass pane. If it’s dark outside, a light will flicker on, and allow them approach the deep layers of history embedded within the church.

This article, by Meaghan T’ao, won a Raffie Award for Best Magazine Text Story. Translation of interviews and other language assistance by University of Urbino students and graduates Liliana Cogliandro, Giulia Mazzoni, Bianca Sartini, Silvia Malagoli. 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 post Uncovering the Past appeared first on 2019 Urbino Project.

On a cool December night, author Nicola H. Cosentino sits poised on a wooden stool in front of a packed house at Urbino’s Caffé del Sole. He’s holding his third novel, Vita e morte delle aragoste (Life and Death of Lobsters), the bright red cover scattered among the hands of audience members reading along. Ornate white teapots top the various worn coffee tables.

After reading aloud a momentous scene in which a character destroys elegant teapots in a fit of rage, Cosentino slaps the paperback shut. “Now, we will smash the teapots,” he says. At first, there is silence, then skepticism. A collective, “Huh?” escapes the confused crowd.

“Smash the teapots.”

The author leads the throng of readers outside the bar to the slanted bricks of Via Giuseppe Mazzini, teapot in hand. He drops the shimmering white ceramic to the street, where it delicately shatters. One by one, the now-enthusiastic audience members follow suit.

This is anything but unusual at the eclectic Caffé del Sole, a cultural beacon in Urbino. Owner Romina Piccolo, tall, with short brown hair and a warm smile, describes her caffé in many ways: a family, an alchemical forge of ideas and culture, but most importantly, a second home to anyone and everyone who enters. She volunteers the caffé for the yearly literary festival, Urbino e le cittá del libro (“Urbino and the city of the book”), and works with local and regional artists, musicians, poets, and authors that bring the community together and enrich its cultural life. “People come here and they play the guitar, chess, foosball,” she says. “They do what they want as if they were at home.”

Afternoon light pours into the bar through the wide-open double doors. Straight ahead, the S-shaped bar curves and fills the right corner. Shallow shelves jut from the wall behind, displaying a colorfully vast assortment of liquor and wine bottles. On the left, past the obligatory foosball table, an arched window overlooks the back lounge, which resembles a cozy family room. It has coffee tables, books, and soft lamps in the back corners. All the walls in Caffé del Sole are covered with brightly painted ceramic suns.

Why all the suns? What’s with the name? Sinking into one of the loveseats in the lounge, Piccolo says, “I have loved the Sun ever since I was a little girl.” In grade school, when asked to draw her own image of God, she drew the sun. Growing up, she bought all kinds of paraphernalia plastered with the big burning star–“mugs, T-shirts, whatever.”

Piccolo gestures toward a large cluster of suns above the couches in the back-left corner and says, “At first, twenty of these decorations were mine. But as students were graduating and leaving, they added a piece and the collection grew bigger. It became a sort of tradition.”

Piccolo calls to a bald man shuffling around the bar on his way into the lounge. She points to one of the chubbier-faced suns on the wall, laughs, and says, “That one’s Mimmo.”

“I think our secret weapon is the fact that people here are always welcomed with a hug, handshake, or smile,” Celi says, offering a smile as cheerful as one of the beaming soli on the wall behind him. “There’s a real relationship with our customers.”

Mimmo is the nickname of Domenico Celi, Piccolo’s business partner with whom she opened the caffé 20 years ago. He’s a music connoisseur and promoter, responsible for bringing live music events to Urbino. “We started off with jazz, and we would play it at seven,” Celi says, plopping himself down next to Piccolo. “We were kind of judged for it,” he says, stroking his gray beard.

Before Piccolo and Celi started Caffé del Sole, live music was nearly impossible to find in Urbino, especially while it was still light out. Acts had to play outside because other caffé were too small to accommodate them indoors. The loud volume so early in the evening was bothersome to neighbors.

Piccolo says they were successful in their endeavor because of the larger size of their caffé. She’s right: The larger lounge area allowed them to bring musical acts inside, without compromising the whole bar just for a performance. People could move freely and enjoy the music at whatever capacity they preferred.

A friend enters the bar, and Piccolo leaps from her seat to kiss her on each cheek. “Ciao bella!” she says gleefully. “I think our secret weapon is the fact that people here are always welcomed with a hug, handshake, or smile,” Celi says, offering a smile as cheerful as one of the beaming soli on the wall behind him. “There’s a real relationship with our customers.”

To his left, below the assorted suns, is a large, light-brown wooden grand piano. Here, Celi mentored award-winning singer and pianist Raphael Gualazzi.

At first, says Celi, Gualazzi played with his back to the audience on a small keyboard he carried when skipping school to come to the bar. “I tried to encourage him because he was really shy at first. I tried to convince him to believe in his own potential,” Celi says. He eyes the piano he bought almost 20 years ago so Gualazzi had a real place to play. “And eventually he did.” Piccolo and Celi reminisce about Gualazzi eventually playing in a band with other locals, finally facing the crowd, and writing his own songs in the caffé. They’re like parents reveling in pride for their prodigal son.

Gualazzi’s fame also brought crowds, which brought recognition to Caffé del Sole, which in turn brought other musicians who wanted fame and crowds. “He was a big inspiration for the other artists who were playing here, just to see him become famous here,” says Celi.

This past May, the caffé hosted Comelinchiostro, an urban singer-songwriter from the Linguria region. Born Giorgio Bravi, the solo acoustic act showcased songs from his newest album, Di che cosa hai paura? (“What are you afraid of?”).

Past the grand piano, on the far side of the lounge, is a corner bookshelf, fully stocked with a selection of novels, non-fiction, and poetry. Five years ago, Piccolo recognized the caffé had the ability to include literature in its range of events. “Books are alive. They present culture, they can provide a different perspective on an experience,” she says. The abundance of books in the caffé and her robust vocabulary are dead giveaways that she is an avid reader. “Books saved my life, but that’s a whole different story,” she says, and laughs.

The creation of Urbino e le cittá del libro (abbreviated UCL) in 2014 was a major catalyst for this new addition. Founder Alessio Torino, who is a university professor in Urbino, started the festival with the goal to “promote reading and editorial culture through presentations, readings, workshops,” and the like. Torino is a longtime customer at Caffé del Sole, so Piccolo decided to reach out and use the connection to its fullest extent. “I thought it was strange,” says Piccolo, “that people came to this festival from all over the country, and people from Urbino did not know much about it, so I decided to spread the word.”

She finishes her sentence just as another good friend enters the lounge and is met with more amiable cheek kisses and a hug. He’s holding an advertisement for what Piccolo calls “Waiting for UCL.” Each month, she holds a book presentation at the caffé to bring awareness of the festival to Urbino.

When she first brought up the idea of literary events at the caffé, friends and colleagues hesitated. They insisted that no one would come if she wanted to introduce reading. So she went home, thought about it more, and came back with her own special Piccolo spin: She decided not to present books academically, but instead with what she calls the “Sixth Sense.”

“I strongly believe that Caffé del Sole is a crucial meeting point for different kinds of people, from academics to workers. I have always thought of it as the heart of Urbino,” says customer Domenico Giordani.

“It’s a way to involve people and to sort of re-create scenes of the books in the caffé,” she says. Like when Cosentino had the patrons smash the beautiful teapots. “I tried to give my guests the chance to try new things.”

Waiting to order a glass of wine at the bar is writer Domenico Giordani. He was brought to the bar by a friend four years ago with the promise of the best aperitivo in Urbino. Now, he can often be found at book and poetry presentations at Caffé del Sole.

“I strongly believe that Caffé del Sole is a crucial meeting point for different kinds of people, from academics to workers. I have always thought of it as the heart of Urbino,” he says later in an email. Giordani also sees the place as a valuable outlet for young artists to attract the notice of academics and talent scouts. Along with requests from musical acts all over Italy to come play at the bar, Piccolo says she receives books and inquiries from publishers to be presented.

Standing in the wide doorway and looking down the steep street, Piccolo lights a cigarette. She believes Caffé del Sole has managed to survive the recent economic downturn in Urbino because “people realize there is a soul in this place.” She adds that her employees were not simply hired randomly. “They are people that I trust and know how to welcome customers. They don’t do it for the money, they do it because that’s how they are,” the business owner says.

The newest hire at Caffé del Sole, Iride Benna, has already begun to see the magic both behind the scenes and at the bar. “Two years ago I tried to work here, but they had a full staff so I worked somewhere else,” Benna says while greeting familiar guests as they enter the bar. In her three weeks of employment here, she says she’s already been inspired by Piccolo and Celi.

Benna is well versed in mixology, having studied in Rome and Milan. She also studied photography and cinematography in high school and here at Urbino’s university. “My dream is to open a bar that introduces art like Caffé del Sole,” she says. She admires their willingness to reach into and help the community. “It’s one of the rare places in Urbino where if you have something artistic that you do, they are so happy to have it here. And if you are a student and you propose an event they really try to help you do it.”

Now sitting outside at one of the tables, Piccolo gently sips a cappuccino. On the summer solstice, June 21st, Caffé del Sole will celebrate its 20th anniversary of business in the same way that it began. Piccolo has planned a jam session and invited all the artists who have played at the caffé in the past. “We’re going to set a small stage right here on the road,” she says, gesturing downward with two outstretched hands. There will also be a poetry exhibit, and students from Urbino’s art academy, who will make drawings for customers.

“We’re going to give all the clients a little gift, but I cannot say what that is yet,” she says with a devious chuckle. You’ll just have to make your way down there on the day of the Sun to find out. Who knows? You might just get to smash a celebratory wine glass.

Translation of interviews and other language assistance by University of Urbino student Francesca Massari. This article also appears in Urbino Now magazine’s Urbino Centro section. You can read all the magazine articles in print by ordering a copy from MagCloud.

The post Shining Light on Caffé del Sole appeared first on 2019 Urbino Project.

It is chilly that early June morning as Alessandra Ubaldi—a short dark-haired woman dressed in navy blue from head to toe—walks quickly down the steep hill of Via Giuseppe Mazzini to open up her store, Guado, for the day. Inside, her bold red lipstick pops against a sea of blue: Everything in the shop—cabinets, shelves, pure pigment, clothing accessories, scarves, soap, hats, costume jewelry, and frames—are all the soft blue of the ancient dye from which the shop takes its name.

Ubaldi settles into her seat, takes a deep breath, and thinks back to why she started this business in the first place. “I started this business mainly because it’s connected to this territory,” she says. Urbino was one of the centers for making the blue dye Italians call guado. Ubaldi discovered the blue pigment dye, which is made from the woad plant, around 30 years ago while studying painting at the arts academy in Urbino. “When I first came across guado, I instantly loved the theme and it has stayed in my heart ever since,” Ubaldi says with joy. At last, 30 years after Ubaldi first encountered the peaceful blue color of guado, she now lives her passion that she always dreamed of.

Before 1200, the only dye colors that were generally available for clothing were red, yellow, or black. Around 1200, Queen Bianca di Castiglia of France brought the expensive gaudo dye from the woad plant into style. Because of the complex process of acquiring the dye from the woad plant, anyone who was seen wearing the blue color was known to be wealthy. This “status symbol” lasted in Europe until 1600. As evidence of the high status of this sky-blue color, there is a painting located inside Urbino’s Ducal Palace by Piero della Francesca titled, Madonna of Senigallia. This painting includes an angel wearing blue to represent its importance during that time period. This angel is now on the cover of the Guado shop’s brochure.

The ancient process for making the dye began with the harvesting of the woad plant leaves, which were then placed between millstones. Next, the leaves were ground between the millstones with water. The millstone wheels had particular cuts on them, made specifically for grinding the leaves. After the grinding was completed, the mash that was produced was packaged into little balls called cockaignes. Many cultivators created these balls to sell to the dyers, which was profitable for cultivators. The cockaigne was then left to steep in urine and vinegar to activate the substance. Specifically, the ammonia in the urine and vinegar triggered the substance. The dye was now ready to use. Florence and Venice were major centers for the woad industry in Renaissance Italy, and millstones used in the making of guado have been found around Urbino. Around 1600, indigo began to be imported from India, a much cheaper source of blue coloring than woad. Indigo gained lots of popularity and the making of guado became a lost art.

Before opening Guado, Ubaldi worked in the art restoration field, painted, and ran a bed and breakfast just outside Urbino. She has an artistic background and has worked with interior designers and architects. Ubaldi followed her husband to nearby Lunano where he was working. During this time she had a child and didn’t feel comfortable finding a full time job, therefore she simply continued with design. But there was always a thought in her mind about coming back to Urbino. When this thought turned into a reality, the idea of starting up something “old but new” came to her—the idea of a shop that would sell products dyed in guado. But Ubaldi’s idea was only a fantasy until she met others to help her pursue her passion.

“When I first came across guado, I instantly loved the theme and it has stayed in my heart ever since,” says Ubaldi.

Two years ago, Ubaldi met a tailor named Cristina (who doesn’t want her last name used) while looking for cloth at a shop. Cristina runs the tailor company called Condor. Ubaldi and Cristina stayed in touch and Cristina is now the tailor for Guado, making Ubaldi anything she desires including scarves, shirts, and dresses. “I decide what to make for Guado based on which products Guado sells the most,” Cristina says.

Ubaldi first met Massimo Baldini while Baldini was working as a tour guide. Baldini was already knowledgeable in the production of natural colors, but didn’t have anything to do with making the guado dye at this point in time. “I became very passionate about the production of natural colors and decided to start my own business,” Baldini says. Ubaldi reached out to Baldini, hoping to gain more information on guado. She was in luck—Baldini filled in the empty holes of everything she was unsure of. Baldini now lives in Jesi and makes the guado himself, using an updated method, to sell to Ubaldi for her shop.

Around this same time, Ubaldi decided to contact farmer Lara Gambini because she knew that Gambini’s family has a woad field. Gambini filled Ubaldi in on everything it takes to have a woad field. Gambini became the supplier of the woad cockaignes that Baldini uses to make the dye for Ubaldi.

Ubaldi now had everything that it took to fulfill her fantasy, and decided to open up the shop Guado about a year ago.

While walking past Guado, the shop grabs attention because of all the merchandise Ubaldi puts outside—bags, pins, and more. Inside, there are historical paintings related to the dye scattered throughout the store, which help show the customer the importance of the color. There are jars full of cockaignes and pigment placed on blue shelves. Guado sells a variety of products including dresses, hats, scarves, jewelry, plates, soap, pure pigment, and more. “The scarf is our most popular item sold,” Ubaldi says. The light blue scarf is the perfect fashion statement to spice up any simple outfit. Guado mainly attracts tourists, and Ubaldi wanted to have many different products for tourists to pick from.

This past February, Ubaldi was contacted by Gambini and Baldini with a new project, which was to establish their own woad field. Ubaldi couldn’t have been happier because this is exactly what she was wishing for two years ago. Ubaldi, Baldini, and Gambini are currently hard at work on their woad field project. Ubaldi’s dream is finally coming together and she couldn’t be happier that she is doing what she loves most. “Since the woad plant is from this area,” says Gambini, “it will most likely become a tourist attraction and it will center around the production of the attractive blue gold.”

Translation of interviews and other language assistance by University of Urbino students and graduates Antonia Perreca, Bianca Sartini, Lisa Oliva, and Silvia Malagoli. 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.

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