As a student of Art History, I landed a perfect job at the
university art library. There I was surrounded by precious art books, and was
even allowed to check them out. But the main attraction in that library were
the other women who worked there.
The three librarians were, then, recent immigrants from
Bucharest Romania. They seemed much older to me, but I guess they were only in
their early forties. Elegantly dressed and tastefully made-up, in my eyes they
were beautiful and glamorous.
They were also erudite and clever, spoke several languages
and were well versed in all forms of art.
It was clear that they came from a highly sophisticated background, and
were used to a richer life. It was the mid-seventies, Israel was a young
country (less than 30 year old) with few resources, relatively short artistic
tradtion, and limited access to real culture.
They spoke longingly about the concerts, the plays, the
operas and the ballets which they enjoyed, almost for free, in their old
country. I was very impressed, and even jealous, when they told me that in
Bucharest they went out almost every night.
Even after they arrived to Haifa, my provincial home town, they kept up their
cultural persuits. They were critical of course of the inferior quality and the
high cost of our local culture. But they still attended every performance and
travelled to all the exhibitions at the museums in Israel.
Their commitment to
art and culture beguilled me; going home I repeated the librarians' stories to
my husband Tzvi who became increasingly impatient with me. Soon I noticed that
he had stopped listening whenever I started talking about the three refined
ladies of the library. At first I didn’t understand why and couldn't see what
bothered him. Their life style was for me a source of inspiration, and I wanted
him to hear all the details.
But then I realized
that he disliked, what he perceived as, my hero worshipping, and was worried
that the more I talked about life so rich with art and culture, the more
dissatisfied I would become with our own reality. At that point we were both
students and had no extra money at all, so consuming art or culture was out of
the question.
But he had an idea: when we got our student loans Tzvi
suggested that we would use that money
to go to Italy for the summer. He wanted me to see up close those works of art
which I had only seen in my art books. So we consulted my text book, the
Janson's History of Art: The Western Tradition and made a plan.
At that time Italy was still very inexpensive, and we ended
up spending less than 300$ for a whole month (even back then it wasn't much).
We hitch hiked our way across the country, slept in campsites, and got fresh
food at the markets. It was a wonderful summer and an opportunity to taste life
rich with art and culture.
Whenever we entered a museum, or a church, Tzvi reminded me
to take my time and see "everything.” In the meantime he usually walked
around for a short while and then sat down comfortably gazing at one object.
Tzvi was right, we couldn't find a more educational use for
our students loans.
P.S. This is a link to a post about our summer in Italy back
in the seventies
http://redroom.com/member/orna-b-raz/blog/when-in-rome-do-as-the-romans-...
