I’ve been in Milan for work the past two days, so after work tonight, I went to the church of Santa Maria della Grazie to see DaVinci’s masterpiece “The Last Supper.” I wasn’t sure what to expect, being that I’ve only seen it in pictures, but upon walking in the room, I was taken aback by how big it is. It takes up the entire wall of an otherwise bare chapel. The size of a movie screen, I started in close, and almost had that sensation of being part of the picture. The colours are rich, soft and lovely, all blending together harmoniously. The action taking place in the picture is palpable to the point where you can almost sense the movement and emotional tension resulting from what has just taken place. The lighting and dimension of the thing are truly compelling…it’s mesmerising. I went at 6:15 pm, so seeing it at night was enchanting. They only allow you 15 minutes with the painting though, so you have to study quick – it’s definitely not the 1.5 hour experience I had straining my neck at the Sistine Chapel to take in every detail.
“John” as he is called in the painting is DEFINITELY a woman, anyone can see that. But for all those “DaVinci Code” freaks out there, let’s just keep our heads about us and remember that DaVinci painted this personal interpretation of the scene over 1,400 years after Christ died. He was not actually at the dinner, peeping through a keyhole. It is not a photograph or a first-hand account. Perhaps DaVinci knew some other secret that hasn’t made it out yet – maybe that John had a tendency to dress in drag on occasion (and very inappropriate occasions at that)…who knows. You know artists, they’re eccentric people who get famous long after they’re dead for seeing things differently – that’s what we dig about them. Of particular interest is the thing you don’t typically see in the photographs and textbooks….the large doorway that cuts into the painting, completely wiping out Jesus’ legs and feet under the table. You can see the rest of the disciples’ feet, but not the main man’s. Apparently, in the 1600s, some rocket scientist (or maybe it was one of those Christ Scientists like Tom Cruise) decided that the door underneath the painting should be enlarged, so he made it taller, cutting out Jesus’ legs and feet, which apparently were originally crossed, one over the other, symbolic of what was to come. Something we obviously can’t see now. I was also interested to hear (I got the audio tour, of course) that the painting had at one time been completely covered over by something else and had to be uncovered. Huh. I can hear the guy now who painted over it, muttering the whole time with snide grin on face: “DaVinci, SchmaVinci – What a has-been! Wait til they get a load of MY new painting – ‘The Last Breakfast’ – it’s gonna rock the world!”
But my laugh-out-loud moment (FYI: Laugh-out-loud moments NOT appreciated in the chapel) came as I turned to leave. There is another large painting on the wall opposite DaVinci’s, of the crucifixion, by Giovanni somebody-or-other (don’t worry, the crucifixion is NOT what made me laugh). You never hear about this painting, even though it is just as large in scale and in the very same room. The audio tour lady instructs you to look at that painting in contrast to DaVinci’s while on your way out. The narrative (which gets about 1 minute airtime as you’re being shoved out the door) goes something like this: “Now you will see that this painting lacks any depth or emotion or beauty like DaVinci’s. It is very flat with no feeling and no movement and no texture. It is very static and boring and ugly. Extremely ugly. Horrid, actually. We see what he was trying to do, but he failed. Miserably.” Ok, it didn’t say those very words, but that was the gist. Poor Giovanni. Had he just painted his mural in another church across town, it probably would have gotten a much warmer reception. What a bad career move.
In the spirit of “The Last Supper,” let me tell you about MY last (or most recent) supper. If I lived in Italy, I wouldn’t care about gaining weight because at least I’d enjoy doing it. Last night, my colleague Donatella took me out to a cosy enoteca called Barabba. We started off with some sweet Parma ham and a selection of Italian vegetable antipasti. Then, I had a magnificent fresh orechiette pasta with broccoli and cauliflower, which melted blissfully in the mouth – pure pleasure for the belly and soul. I was stuffed after eating less than half the plate, but I couldn’t help but finish it just for the taste. Donatella had something I’d never seen before. She ordered a piece of very tender beef, served raw, along with a square, slate-like (and very, very hot) stone that the waiter ground some fresh sea salt over. Then, she cut the meat up into small pieces and cooked it herself on the stone, which sizzled away for much longer than I would have expected. Kinda like fondue, but grilling on hot stone vs. frying in oil. I have no idea what you call that, but it was really neat. For dessert, Donatella had a strudel and I had yogurt gelato, drizzled with honey and walnuts. It was heaven. Then we each had a glass of ‘Montenegro’ per Donatella’s suggestion -- a herbal aperitif with a citrus-like finish. It was very tasty. I plan to have one again sometime soon. Like, tomorrow.
So, that is my complete “Last Supper” experience. I could make a wisecrack about DaVinci painting Jesus and the disciples enjoying a last supper of antipasti, self-cooked beef on a hot stone with some pasta, finished off with a scoop of gelato and a nice aperitif -- but I won’t because some might see that as wrong. But c’mon, if he can blatantly paint “Paul” as a woman and insinuate it is Jesus’ wife as an inside joke for his buddies back at the Masonic lodge, then why can’t I do a little food styling? After all, it was painted in Italy, the gastronomic capitol of the universe, it would only be right.
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