A little known wonder. The name of this church refers to the fact that in this place, Via Carbonara, until the end of the Middle Ages, they burned the garbage of Naples, letting the water from the hills to the north (Sanità-Capodimonte) drag the sediments to the sea. The Church of San Giovanni a Carbonara was built on land donated by the noble Gualtiero Galeota to the Augustinian Friars, who began to build the church in 1343. Completed in the early 15th century by King Ladislao D’Angiò, he transformed it into the Pantheon of the Angevins.

The church is reached by an elliptical double staircase dating to 1707, the brainchild of Ferdinando Sanfelice, a great architect who transformed the stairs into a dramatic architectural element.

Inside, we find a single nave, latin cross church with side chapels that preserves its original gothic structure, especially in the sanctuary. In the apse, stands the tomb of Ladislao, the King of Naples, which features loggias, niches, sculptures, and allegorical figures such as the four virtues at the base. The monument is adorned by statues of Ladislao and his sister Giovanna II. Eighteen meters high, it is topped by a king on horseback wielding a sword, something that is rarely seen in a church.

The side wall of the altar houses the Crucifixion by Vasari and behind the apse and the tomb of the King, is the splendid octagonal chapel Caracciolo del Sole, with frescoes depicting the stories of the Virgin and scenes of life as a hermit.

Also in this chapel is a Tuscan style tiled floor in many lovely shades of blue.

On the side of the chancel is the chapel Caracciolo di Vico, done in pure Renaissance style. A circular chapel, it is full of arches, columns, niches, sarcophagi and statues of the leaders of the family Caracciolo.

Opposite the entrance to the church is the altar of Miroballo, started in the 16th century by Jacopo della Pila and completed by Tommaso Malavito. It cointains an impressive group of statues and is decorated with scenes of San Nicola’s life, the Virgin with Child by Michelangelo Naccherino and the statues of San Agostino and San Giovanni Battista.

To the left of the entrance, the Somma Chapel was erected between 1557 and 1566. Designed by D’Auria and Caccavello, the lower part of the altar is the work of D’Auria, while Caccavello did the tomb of Scipione di Somma located in front of the entrance to the chapel.

San Giovanni a Carbonara is so rich, special, and ancient, and of the hundreds of churches in Naples, even if its facade is a bit of a detractor, it is the queen of refined beauty.

Visit San Giovanni a Carbonara

‘Writing is travel without the nuisance of luggage’

A journalist and sociologist of communication, Antonella Bianco was born in Naples in 1984. At the age of six, she won an international literary prize for children, and she started to cultivate her passion for writing. Among her many professional experiences in journalism over the past decades, she worked for the national newspaper Il Resto del Carlino. She also worked for the television program Salotto in periferia, a political discussion program with studio guests. She is currently collaborating with the website Napolivillage, and also proof reads texts and collections.

A lover and practitioner of swimming and archery, she especially likes sport journalism, writing about: water polo, basket and several other minor sports. Contact Antonella at antonella.bianco@email.it.

Like a vanishing point, looking into the gallery on the second floor of the Capodimonte Museum, the work of Michele Merisi, aka Caravaggio, reveals, like a prodigious optical instrument, the intricate themes and ideas of Naples in the 17th century.

The Flagellation, commissioned by Tommaso De Franchis for a large sum of money, was at that time, intended for the chapel of Zì Andre, located in the first aisle on the left in the San Domenico Maggiore church – Spaccanapoli.

The painter arrived in the Neapolitan county town in 1606 on the run from Rome where, after a quarrel on the street, he killed a rival. Naples at the time was a fast and violent city, the perfect place for an artist of his disposition. A place where social hardship and poverty were dyed with a new colour, the colour of urban violence that was already known to the government, who by that time was trying to answer the disquiet of common people.

With its 350,000 inhabitants (the second biggest city in Europe after Paris), the city itself gave birth to a lot of panderers and outcast people.

It is no coincidence that one of the most turbulent districts in the town was the Spanish quarter, the Quartieri Spagnoli, a place which daily saw the clash between the Spanish culture (invaders) and the Neapolitans (locals). Speaking in sociological terms, this is where we can catch sight of the torturers of the ‘Flagellation’. With an austere style of monumental structures, the sculptural and plastic image of Christ standing by the column and resting in full light, deeply contrasts the shadow. Inside of it, the beasty and trivial figures of tortures shake their bodies as determined in continuing with anger – like body puppets of a sad carillon – in their tremendous commitment.

This is surely a painting which leaves us breathless because of its deep and strong authentic style and because of its historical relevance: the latter, which over time has shrouded the painting in a veil of eternity.

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Visit the Capodimonte Museum

‘Writing is travel without the nuisance of luggage’

A journalist and sociologist of communication, Antonella Bianco was born in Naples in 1984. At the age of six, she won an international literary prize for children, and she started to cultivate her passion for writing. Among her many professional experiences in journalism over the past decades, she worked for the national newspaper Il Resto del Carlino. She also worked for the television program Salotto in periferia, a political discussion program with studio guests. She is currently collaborating with the website Napolivillage, and also proof reads texts and collections.

A lover and practitioner of swimming and archery, she especially likes sport journalism, writing about: water polo, basket and several other minor sports. Contact Antonella at antonella.bianco@email.it.

Through the caves and holes formed by the action of the sea alone… Nature has written the history of Capri’s emergence from the sea…

Like resident expert Ann Pizzorusso does in her Earthscape Naples Series, it was MacKowen’s ability to read Capri’s geological history in the island’s natural formations that captured my attention. Much in the same way that the human story is written into the subsoil, though to some degree, the evidence of that may be more difficult to find, read and interpret. A millenia of geological, environmental, and man-made changes have chipped away at it, built over it, and in some cases washed away all traces of it. But if you know where to look, know what you are looking for, or as fate may have it, happen upon it after a 7.2 magnitude earthquake shakes up the city, you might just discover one monumental chapter etched into the subsoil.

And in the case of my recent visit to the Hellenistic Necropolis of Naples, I found that history was not just etched into the subsoil. It was literally carved into the stone.

Now if you’ve been to the Colosseum or the Forum in Rome, or even to Napoli Sotterenea or the archaeological excavations under San Lorenzo Maggiore, you might want to readjust your expectations. Uncut, uncensored, and not quite ready for prime time public consumption, this is one site that requires keen powers of observation, elaboration and the ability to learn to read the stones like an archaeologist. But for those willing to venture here, your journey will be well rewarded.

A work in progress, this site will have you crouching on your knees, your hands searching for a toe hold on walls carved some 2400 years ago. And it will leave you with the sensation that you’ve crawled down Alice’s rabbit hole into the bowels of ancient history and into a place so intimate, so sacred, that only the most callous observers will escape unscathed.

Found less than 15 meters below a non-descript palazzo on a tiny alley in Naples Rione Sanità district, it was uncovered during a structural analysis after the 1980 earthquake. Just a stone’s throw from the childhood home of Naples prince of laughter, Totò, these funerary tombs are just a small part of the Hellenistic Necropolis of Neapolis. A humble excavation to be sure, it nevertheless provides a monumental window into Naples Grecian past.

Descending into the basement of the palazzo, we enter into the Ipogeo dei Togati where we are immediately confronted with the bottom portion of a high-relief sculpture. The legs and feet of two draped figures thought to represent a funeral scene. From the Italian adjective togato, meaning gowned or robed, it is the draping on this sculpture that gives the hypogeum its (modern) name.

Carved into Naples tuff rock, this sculpture is just a glimpse of the magnificent tombs the Greeks constructed to house the remains of the city’s aristocratic families. Built into Capodimonte Hill along the north axis leading from Porta San Gennaro, these tombs were of high quality architectural and artistic merit, executed in a style reminiscent of their homeland.

The Ipogeo dei Togati and the nearby excavation, Ipogeo dei Melograni, which requires descent down an unlit staircase with only the aid of a flashlight are but a small part of  the Hellenistic Necropolis of Neapolis that were discovered just 30 years ago. But discovery is just one part of the equation.

It is only through men and women of passion that these discoveries are elucidated, propagated and passed on to future generations.

Men and women like John Clay MacKowen who chronicled his 20 years of research in his book Capri, John Churchill who happened upon it, dusted off the moth balls and revived it, Ann Pizzorusso who tirelessly studies Naples geology and brings her findings to us via the Napoli Unplugged pages, and one Carlo Leggieri who has made it his life’s mission to be the steward of one of Naples least known, yet most instructive archaeological treasures.

To protect, conserve, restore and promote this monumental chapter in Naples history, it is only through his cultural association Celanapoli, that we, the few who know about it, get the opportunity to read the tea leaves, interpret the stories written in the stones and pass on our knowledge to all those who are willing to listen.

Visit the Hellenistic Necropolis of Neapolis

After being cooped up for what seemed like a lifetime, I finally made my escape late Saturday afternoon. Stepping onto the street, the cold, crisp air hit my chest like a sucker punch. But I took it all in, coughed it all out, and headed on my way to visit an old and dearly missed friend.

I cut through the alleys of Chiaia and headed towards Piazza Vittoria. Strategically choosing “pausa” as my hour of escape I found little traffic and few people out and about. Ten minutes later I was standing in front of my beloved sea.

The setting sun cast a deep shadow across Posillipo and cut a long swath of light across the water. It’s intensity obscured by a hazy curtain suspended in midair. My post card perfect Neapolitan sky was an eerie shade of grey framed by storm clouds that were as dirty as mounds of tramped through, plowed, piled up snow.

The sea, my deep blue sea sat nearly motionless, hard and cold like liquid coal. The only movement, tiny quartz like flecks glistening in the setting sun.

Even the tiny fishing boats that normally sparkle in red, white and blue took on an ashen pallor. And the grey and white seagulls darting between the sky and the sea only added to the feeling that I had stepped inside a black and white movie.

Beyond Castel dell’Ovo the sky seemed to be clearing, but I was still worried I wouldn’t catch a glimpse of my faithful friend. I felt myself walking just a little bit quicker, trying to make it past the curve by the Castle to see if she would be there. But my body, fatigued from the flu was sluggish, and every step I took felt like I was wading through quicksand.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, I rounded the curve and she came into full view. My heart skipped a beat and I wasn’t sure if it was the cold air or the sight of her that brought the tears to my eyes.

She wasn’t as clear as I’d hoped for, but she was there in all her glory. I stood there quietly watching her for a long time, her snow capped peak slowly fading from view as the sun made its descent.

My mythical, magical, volcanic mountain. Her looming and ever constant presence draws me like a magnet. She is my master, my muse.

A Neapolitan friend of mine once told me that she can never leave her city for very long. To go days on end without seeing her beloved Vesuvius she said, makes her feel lost and without roots.

I didn’t understand it at the time but I now know exactly what she means.

The 1st century BC Roman poet who left the world the Ecologues, the Georgics and the Aenid and who is considered by some as one of the most important writers of all time.

No other writer enjoys the unanimity of selection. When it comes to the universal choosing of the world’s great literary figures we find England chooses Shakespeare and Virgil; the Germans acclaim Goethe and Virgil and Spain insists upon Cervantes and Virgil. The Chronicle-Telegram May 7, 1930

That this Augustan era tomb doesn’t actually hold Virgil’s remains seems completely immaterial. That he wasn’t born here, totally inconsequential. The world renowned writer is a hometown hero, one of the guardians of the city.

And Virgil’s affection for Naples, or should we say Partenope was the same. Having spent much time here, it was his dying wish to be buried in the place he dearly loved.

Mantua me genuit, Calabri rapuere, tenet nunc Parthenope; cecini pascua, rura, duces.
Mantua gave me birth; Calabria took me away; and now Parthenope holds me: I sang of pastures, farms, leaders. Virgil’s Epitaph, 1st Century BCE

A place of immense natural beauty, a quiet spot at the foot of Posillipo hill overlooking Vesuvius and the Bay.

 …we climbed the cliff and stood upon the hill which will be ever memorial as the home of the poet Virgil. Here, with perhaps the loveliest view on earth outspread before him, he composed his two great works, the “Georgics” and “AEneid,” whose glory has outlived by many centuries the Roman Empire itself. The word Posillipo means “freedom from sorrow” and, apparently, the poet found the situation worthy of its name; for when he died at Brindisi, just nineteen years before the birth of Christ, he begged the Emperor Augustus, with whom he was then traveling, to see that his remains were brought back and buried on this hill. John L. Stoddard

For over 2000 years, Virgil’s tomb has been a place of pilgrimage. A tradition that would come and go in fits and starts throughout the ages. In the first century AD it was said that the Roman poet Silius Italicus (c. 28 – 103 AD) owned Virgil’s tomb and dedicated himself to preserving the poet’s memory. It was a scene that the English painter Joseph Wright depicted some sixteen centuries later in his Virgil’s Tomb, with the Figure of Silius Italicus (1779).

Looking at Wright’s painting, it seems to me that his use of the chiaroscuro effect conjures up an air of mysticism. And I can’t help but wonder if Wright, like so many pilgrims before and after him, made the journey to Virgil’s tomb seeking inspiration or something more?

Dante’s guide in Hell in The Divine Comedy, the Middle Ages turned the poet into a sorcerer and seer, ascribing to him all sorts and manners of miracles. The magic egg hidden in Castel dell’Ovo that protects the city from some nefarious fate. The miraculous creation of the Crypta Napolitana, a 700 meter tunnel burrowed through Posillipo hill that was built during the Augustan period to connect Naples to Pozzuoli.

Is it possible that writers like Petrarch and Boccaccio, artists like Wright and the scores of other pilgrims that have visited Virgil’s tomb over the millenia were seeking not inspiration but his divine intervention?

Virgil’s legend still endures but his final resting place, or presumed final resting place is not nearly as popular as it once was. Sadly, it makes precious few traveler’s itineraries these days.

One of my very favorite places in the city, I have made the pilgrimage to Virgil’s tomb many, many times. Nestled in Parco Vergiliano a Piedigrotta, a quiet little park at the foot of Posillipo Hill, it sits not far from his Crypta Napolitana.

As I make my way up the path to his tomb I stop at a bust of Virgil set into a little niche. Though it wasn’t completed on time, it was donated by university students from Ohio for the reopening of Parco Vergiliano in 1930 on the occasion of Virgil’s 2000th birthday.

I peak inside his Crypta Napolitana. And as I reach his tomb, I always take a moment to look out upon his view and breathe in a bit of his inspiration.

Will my visits to Virgil’s tomb make me a better writer? Chissa?

I know not whether Virgil was a magician or a sorcerer or even the greatest writer that ever lived. And I’m not apt to pray or worship at the feet of any idol. But during a visit with a friend last spring, she wrote a little note to Virgil and placed it in the tripod burner as others did before us. She asked him simply to make us better writers. It was something I would have never have thought about, let alone done.

Later that night I found out that my much maligned Naples was featured in a New York Times Travel Article. And my little website that could, well that got a very nice shout out too.

Coincidence or Virgil? You decide.

Visit Virgil’s Tomb at Parco Vergiliano a Piedigrotta

A priceless work of art that you won’t find in a museum or a gallery. Rather it graces the high altar of a small church just around the corner from Naples Cathedral, the Duomo. The octagonal Pio Monte della Misericordia (Pious Mount of Mercy) Church that has been home to the painting since its completion in 1607.

Depicting the (Christian) Corporal Works of Mercy, those that tend to the needs of the body, Caravaggio’s Seven Works of Mercy is a mission statement if you will. The inspiration behind a charitable organization founded in 1601 by seven young Neapolitans from seven noble families and still in operation today.

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Matthew 25:35-36  The seventh work of mercy, “burying the dead” coming from the Book of Tobias.

Completed in c. January 1607, the work was originally conceived of as seven separate panels. In a stroke of genius however, Caravaggio brought each act together into a single composition. At the top, the Madonna and child and two angels look on.

Mercy. It’s an interesting theme considering the circumstances that brought Caravaggio to Naples. Having fled Rome after killing a man, in Naples he found protection from the bounty on his head and earned the commission for what would become one of his most defining works.

One can’t help but wonder if some level of contrition played out on the canvas, or conversely, did someone or something take mercy on him. Either way, the theme of Caravaggio’s masterpiece is as relevant today as it was when he painted it over four hundred years ago.

A theme that will be revisited in a new exhibit at Pio Monte della Misericordia entitled Sette Opere per la Misericordia. On display, the works of seven contemporary artists of international acclaim: Marisa Albanese, Carlos Araujo, Sandro Chia, Fluvio Colusso, Mimmo Jodice, Clifford Ross and Charles Skatpin. Each of whom have donated one work that explores the theme of mercy.

For three months (November 19, 2011 – February 19, 2012) these works will be displayed side by side with the masters: Caravaggio, Ballistello Caracciolo, Giordano, Santafede and Azzolino. After which, they will be gifted to Pio Monte della Misericordia and will be on display in the Picture Gallery.

Mercy. It will be very interesting to see a contemporary take on this timeless theme.