Monday, first day of class

Monday. First day in the studio

We painted all day. Everybody is getting along great. Even the husbands!

Those of us who are painting with oils are painting with olive oil. It’s a little slippery. We have no idea what the long-term effects will be. Tomorrow we will spend the day in Siena and find some turpentine or mineral spirits. Everyone’s very good-natured about this problem. And nobody seems to be blaming me for forgetting to get the solvent while we were in Florence. 

At least I have not heard them.

Tuesday. Siena.

We piled into two vans after breakfast, Scott and John driving. They dropped us off at the entrance of the walled city and Scott insisted we must go into the Basilica San Domenico, right at the entrance of the city. “It is beautiful,” he said. We did.

Felice and her husband Richard , who are Jewish, were curious about the confessional, or booth, as Felice called it. I explained what it was (I went to Catholic schools until I was 13). I pointed out that the center section was for the Priest. The person who is confessing his or her sins kneels down on either side of the priest in a private ‘cubby,’ hidden by a curtain. It’s usually dark in there, so the priest can’t see who it is. I suggested Richard sit in the priest’s seat, and I knelt in the confessee’s position and told him to slide open the little window between the himself and me. I pretended to confess, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned; it has been 60 years since my last confession…” Felice was taking pictures, when all of sudden we heard a man shouting at the top of his lungs, “GET OUT! GET OUT!” It was US he was yelling at! He chased us out of the basilica, holding a chair above his head. Someone told me he was a priest. I don’t know, I was too frantic to notice. 

We were actually kicked out of the Basilica San Domenico.

I realized immediately that what we were doing might have been considered disrespectful. We really did not intend that. I was quite traumatized. 

We found an art supply store and bought our odorless turpentine. Not enough, I fear.

Tonight: another lovely Tuscan dinner at our place. And of course, the conversation was all about our little fiasco. 

Tomorrow we’re going to another tiny village with a church. I think I’ll wait outside.