Everywhere A Shrine
Edicola votiva, capitello votivo, tabernacoli, nicchie. There are many types of shrines in Italy. Each and every one is fascinating to me. I do not consider myself a religious person; yet I am drawn to these small roadside columns, little houses and wall niches. So much so, it’s become a bit of an obsession.
These shrines all serve their own purpose and have their own history. That is probably why I am so drawn to them. Aside from their visual allure, I wonder … Who crafted them? Why did they choose that location? Why did they choose that design? Why did they choose that saint? What is its purpose? How long has it been there? How many people devote prayer to it? Is there a particular prayer whispered to it? Clearly, I wonder a lot.
I wish I could find the answers to all of them individually, but alas, I am left to generalize. These shrines all have a purpose. Throughout history they have been erected as pilgrimage markers for way finding on desolate gravel roads, used for prayer gatherings in agricultural fields to bless crops, built into castle and villa walls to provide protection to inhabitants, and used to commemorate fallen loved ones and famous figures. Whatever the type, I like to stop to admire them, conjure up their story, perhaps whisper my own little prayer and maybe even leave a little offering.
The rustic brick pillar that stands in silence at a deserted gravel crossroad in the middle of the vineyard, safely holding its mini statuette resident from inclement harm, is probably the one I visit most. I suspect it carries the weight of centuries of crop blessings on its brick roof. Judging by the faux flowers obscuring my ability to see exactly which saint or madonna is inside, it still has visitors. I stand before it as it towers over me and I ask it to continue to bring the vines good fortune.
I have frequent silent conversations with Santa Caterina, who has tiny touches of gilded gold on her lilies, and is safely tucked behind glass in a stone cottage wall in our village. I ask her to share her history, but have yet to hear her reply. I murmur my hopes that my village, and its inhabitants, stay safe from harm - especially the pensionari.
A colorful painted tile shrine on the bright yellow stucco wall of a home in our Abruzzo village, clearly new and with modern day intentions, encourages me to crane my neck in order to appreciate it. This bright and contemporary mosaic juxtaposed with the decaying, monochromatic gray, ancient buildings that surround it conveys tradition will not be lost. In my mind, I shout my gratitude for hinting at an optimistic future.
While I don’t readily seek them out, they always seem to capture my attention through the corner of my eye. Humble as they are, they blend in with the scenery here. An everyday life artifact. I equate the feeling of finding to them to a four-leaf clover, a garden fairy house or a painted rock back in California. You may not see it right away, but in a magical moment, it leaps into view and into your minds eye. Taking you away into an introspective moment of wonder.
Each one I stumble upon, provides a welcomed opportunity to admire its unique charms, to reflect on the past, and lend it my prayers - whatever they happen to be in the moment. Perhaps I’m a bit religious after all.
As mentioned previously, we got behind on posting. This post was part of the ‘not posted collection’. Given the current state of the universe, it seemed appropriate to post now. We all need little shrines to share our prayers, hopes, wishes and dreams. We have a niche in our borgo where we suspect a statue once stood. We have decided to bring it back to life, creating our own little shrine to lay our prayers. Perhaps one that will cause others to pause, ponder and pray .
