Stories From Italy: By B.

Today I would like to extend a warm welcome to a new (and old) friend: B.  Yes, he has broken his silence.  I seriously never thought he would appear here (as a contributor anyway)....he who turns his nose up at Facebook, Twitter, texting, blogging and most other forms of social media.  And he almost wouldn't let me post this. He wanted me to get back some of the readers I lost (sniff sniff!) while we were gone on our trip by putting up some stories and photos of Italy, and getting some "interest" as he called it.  Oops.  I will try to get those out to you.  In the meantime, please show B some love, will you?!  :-) 

Can I introduce you to someone? His name is Adorno Bonciani. He is 90, and lives in Florence. He painted from 1947 until he could paint no more two years ago. His paintings are playful and light, usually including singing children or fanciful dragons or playful musicians or wedding processions—or some combination of them all. He was especially successful in the 1960s, and had exhibits throughout the world. Here are samples of his work from this period:

Jora and I like the playful quality of the art. But, we also cherish the fact that we have spent time with Bonciani in his home in Florence. I first met him in 2002 (without Jora there), in what became one of my favorite travel experiences. I was already a fan of his work, having seen one of his paintings with my friend Kathy in a gallery in San Diego. Then, in September 2002, I again saw some of his paintings in a hotel in Florence. Long story short, I looked him up in the phone book, ripped out the page with his name, dialed the number, spoke to him, took a cab to his house, visited for four hours with him and his wife, bought some paintings, and ended up in his “Cinquecento” (is there a smaller car?), with him at the wheel—81 years old and with a partially paralyzed left arm—buzzing through the backstreets of Florence, navigating, it seemed, by feel alone.

Jora and I visited Bonciani the next year. He was 82 then, and he and his 75 year-old wife were very gracious and welcoming. Bonciani was happy to tell us his life story. He explained that the couple was never able to have children; that his only children were his paintings. His paintings were everywhere in the home: on every wall (including the kitchen) and even scattered, loose, around the home, against this or that piece of furniture. These paintings had literally never left that home, for 50 or more years. Bonciani explained both his love of the paintings, and of his desire to sell some of them: they were, practically speaking, his retirement. Buying a painting that day, which we did, was bitter sweet, as we knew he could use the money, but also that he was parting with something he cared about.

I called again this time when we arrived in Italy. Again this time, he was there; and, again, he would be happy to see us. Things were different this time, however: when I asked of his wife, he explained that she was now gone, having passed away, unexpectedly, five years ago. 

{c-man hanging out by bonciani's gate}

When we arrived at the home I was greeted by a nurse. Bonciani’s earlier stroke now reduced him to a wheel chair, and in the constant company of a relative stranger.

Jora asked me whether she should take a photograph. Not wanting to injure Bonciani’s pride, I said no. I know now that this was a mistake. It is unlikely that we will have another chance to meet again. Adorno explained that his body was failing him. I suggested that his mind was strong and that he would live a long time. He said that he hoped that was not so.

This, obviously, is hard to hear. But it is also understandable, as Adorno now finds himself alone, with only his “children,” the paintings. 

{c-man and juju petting one of bonciani's cats}

We had a nice time together. I reminded him of his trip to America in the 1960s, where his English consisted of saying, whenever possible, “A Coca-Cola for me and a Coca-Cola for my wife.” (Jora likes to bust that out, for no particular reason, every now and again.)

I am glad our kids were there this time and were able to meet him. C-Man seemed to sense something important was happening, as he was very serious and respectful. He was excited to see “our” paintings in a book Adorno religiously maintains of all of his paintings, with detailed notes about the purchasers from around the world.

Knowing that this is more my thing than hers, Jora kindly prevailed on me to purchase more paintings (“Won’t you regret it if you don’t?”). We bought three, on credit—as Bonciani insisted.

After an our hour or two at the house, Jora and I left with six children—three of ours and three of his.