Cascia

Cascia was a place I visited with my family during my stay in Santa Maria degli Angeli in 2022. It wasn't actually the first time, as when we were children, my father took my sister and I to this village nestled in the valleys several times. Cascia is famous for being the home of Saint Rita, and it is precisely her whose mummified body is on display in the basilica of the same name. This was one of my first encounters with the world of death, represented by a lifeless body. As a child, the first body I saw was that of my maternal grandfather, and a few years later, I was shocked to see Saint Rita. The image of the saint that suddenly appeared to me on the left as I walked down the left aisle of the basilica has always remained vividly imprinted on me, subconsciously conveying more positive signals than negative impressions. It goes without saying that for me, Cascia was just that image, that person resting blissfully and whom everyone wanted to see as they filed into a church. I strongly desired my return to Cascia, to see the saint again and, rather than exorcise her, to give a new vision and context to that image, that female figure who generally fascinates me more than male figures. I had high expectations for this visit, and I must say they were exceeded, even managing to unravel the mystery of another place I had thought was merely a dream, but which actually existed.
The journey from Santa Maria degli Angeli to Cascia took just over an hour, and we had to travel along three different state roads. The last one, accessed via an old bridge, was incredibly charming. It slowly ascended the valley between the green mountains, a winding route with a natural landscape that lent a special harmony to the setting but also served as a welcome to the place we were about to visit. We arrived in Cascia at around 11 AM and, after leaving the car in a parking lot below the town, we walked toward the historic center, which was a little higher up. The first thing I noticed was a bell tower emerging from the midst of the houses. It struck me not only for its height but also for the way it had been protected. It was built with large stones and had been anchored with large, regular wooden beams. At first glance, I thought they were part of the original structure; only upon closer inspection did I realize it was a protective and support system for the bell tower. Our route took us first to the town square, where the scenery was dominated by houses built entirely of stone with irregular shapes. The square was built on a slope; after reaching it and walking along another narrow, uphill street, we found ourselves right next to the basilica.
Looking at the basilica's façade, it was as if I were seeing it for the first time; in fact, I had no memory of it. The basilica was made of travertine, an off-white color, and a decidedly more modern design than ancient churches. It had two hexagonal towers joined at the top by a triangle, reliefs at the lower end on either side of the nave, and a central cross. A design that reminded me more of works from the fascist era than anything we're used to thinking of as sacred. The basilica was also quite tall, a detail I didn't remember at all; in my mind, it was more of a simple church, and in any case, I remembered something low-rise. A small staircase led to the entrance, and after crossing it, I was very impressed by what I saw. Again, I was pleasantly surprised by the things I saw that I had no memory of. The interior of the Basilica of Santa Rita had nothing in common with similar works. From the walls to the dome, it was filled with colorful works that worked as if in unison. I love bright colors, and entering a basilica and seeing paintings with such vibrant colors everywhere put me in a decidedly positive mood. The figures in the central section under the dome were depicted in a very slender and dynamic form, giving the impression of flight. In this case, I'm not just referring to the angels, but also to the tall figures. The octagonal dome was striking not only in its shape but also in its blue color, illuminated by the light and contrasting sharply with the rest of the space. I didn't analyze all the painted scenes, preferring to take lots of photos and study them later, especially since it was crowded inside. Another beautiful feature was the two-tiered colonnade, which truly gave the structure its own unique feel, a Byzantine design I really liked. Saint Rita was located to the left of the entrance, but before going to see the saint again, I was struck by a painting on the opposite side. Just to the right of the entrance was a very large painting depicting a woman with an aura over her head. She wore a red cloak over a white dress, a branch in her right hand, and a chalice in her left. Her face, with its slightly spaced eyes and small mouth, gave her an alien allure, but beyond that, I was also struck by the setting in which she was depicted. She was standing in the middle of a street between two buildings; on the right was a line of nuns waiting to receive something from an important ecclesiastical figure, while on the left was a more violent scene. Directly opposite the nuns, under a portico, was a woman on the ground and a man with a dagger about to stab her. In the background was another figure, a man wearing a cloak, and then a column in the distance in perspective. It was a very beautiful painting in its originality and ambiguity. The seductive face of the woman passing by as if above reality, a line of women in an act of justified submission, a murder, and a strange figure in the background. Rather than a single scene, it seemed like many different realities represented together, because I believe that in reality, those subjects could not have been unrelated, as they were depicted. The painting fascinated me so much that I photographed it again even after the visit inside the basilica had ended.
After seeing the painting and continuing to photograph details of the works depicted on the walls, I got in line to see Saint Rita. To be honest, I didn't waste much time; perhaps people were more impressed by the mummified body than fascinated, and this caused the line to move quickly. The body was placed on a marble altar and preserved inside a glass case. It was behind a very high grate, so you had to look through it. I remembered Saint Rita perfectly in the position she was in when I visited the basilica as a child. Back then, she was on the right after the entrance, and she was inside a glass case that was embedded in the wall. You could see her very close up, and I remember wondering why my father was taking me to see that body, which made no sense to me. What I did notice, however, during my last visit was the beauty of Saint Rita. Her face, in fact, had fine, angular features with a thin, pointed nose, a type of female face I really like. Her thin lips were also very beautiful; her face was something different from what was depicted in paintings of women of the past, which were more rounded both physically and facially. I believe in universal attraction, and I must say that the mummified body of Saint Rita was very captivating and attractive, but not as a corpse but more as a sleeping woman. This was, in fact, the approach with which I admired Saint Rita's body and especially her face; the image of a captivating woman who could awaken at any moment.
The experience inside the basilica was deeply meaningful and satisfying, both aesthetically and as a tool for spiritual reflection. However, what made me even happier was the rediscovery of something I had forgotten, yet which had always recurred in my dreams. Directly in front of the basilica, beyond the small square, was the double portico that ran alongside the street. Those porticos were what had always remained imprinted on my memory, but on a subconscious level, and they recurred in the form of dreams. The reason was probably because my father used to park his car there when he took us to visit Cascia as children, so it was essentially the first thing I saw when I arrived in town. We could say that, more than the basilica, those porticos were the place with which I identified with the place, a sort of comfort zone that, for some strange reason, I had removed from my conscious mind. In the 1980s, few of us traveled by car, and there wasn't the mass tourism we see today. One characteristic was being able to drive right up to the place of interest, something that was now impossible. From an aesthetic standpoint, the porticoes had a beautiful visual impact from the perspective of the basilica, lending a special depth not only to the basilica but to the entire area. Seeing the porticoes and finally understanding where that recurring dream came from was a relief, but today that dream no longer recurs, and on the one hand, I'm saddened by it, because it was a stimulus and a motivation, as well as possessing the allure of mystery.

Basilica

Saint Rita body

The paint I was obsessed with

After taking some photos outside the basilica, we headed down the road to visit the church of Santa Maria, the place where Saint Rita was baptized. This place didn't inspire any particular positive or inspiring feelings; it was a small, modern church with lots of marble on the walls and a modest-sized altar. One of the attractions there was a plaster cast of Saint Rita, I believe, housed in a beautiful gold-colored glass sarcophagus. The saint had been reproduced with rounder features, especially her face, giving a completely different image. The real Saint Rita certainly had a woman with finer, more attractive features, while modern morality has sought to portray her in a more classical way, portraying her as an ordinary middle-aged woman, with particular attention to ensuring she wasn't beautiful or attractive. For me, it was a way of misleading people into believing that was the true image of a woman, because in general, the masses, and especially the faithful, lack critical thinking. It goes without saying that I didn't appreciate that reproduction of Saint Rita at all and even found it out of place given that the saint's real remains were accessible inside the basilica.
After lunch at a nice hotel restaurant, we returned to the basilica to visit the cloister, a visit we had booked for 2:30 PM. Personally, I saw that visit only from a historical-architectural perspective, completely ignoring the events related to Saint Rita that had occurred there. Access to the cloister was through a structure located to the left of the basilica; if I remember correctly, after a short flight of steps, you passed under an arch. The cloister was quite large and, in a certain sense, preserved. What I mean is that the ancient structure had been surrounded by more recent structures, and essentially, from the access steps, an L-shaped structure entirely built of stone remained. Immediately after the stairs was an ancient well, and then the structure developed on three slightly staggered levels, with the top floor featuring large arches and serving more as a covered balcony. Even the flooring was stone, and looking at the elements, it was clear that the cloister was a sort of open-air museum, yet I still didn't know its detailed history. The entrance to the cloister was a sort of "guided" tour by a friar, who, after welcoming us visitors and inviting us to silence, began to speak. I must say that while I'm not a fan of the ambiguous entities associated with the church, I must admit that many of them are highly cultured and possess an incredible vocabulary. This friar spoke elegantly, and except for a recurring phrase, he was able to tell the story using different terms, summarizing it very well and giving the right emphasis to the story. He told us the story of Saint Rita, something I didn't know and which particularly fascinated me. Saint Rita, for a woman of her time, had had an adventurous life and was much more than a devoted wife and mother. According to the friar's account, Saint Rita's story was indirectly marked by the battle between the Guelphs and Ghibellines. Her husband, a man of strong temperament, belonged to the Ghibelline faction. His surly nature led to his death, probably for political reasons, and Saint Rita never condemned the killers, being a woman of a different spirit. Later, Saint Rita also lost her two sons to illness, and according to the friar's account, in her heart the saint took this event as a favorable sign of fate, as she feared that her sons might avenge their father's death, further elevating their reality to tragedy. These events, which depicted Saint Rita as a woman inclined more toward a vision of life based on forgiveness than revenge, caused conflict with her husband's family and, in general, highlighted a different behavior that was difficult for the general public to understand. This led the woman to take vows and enter the Augustinian monastery of Santa Maria Maddalena. The woman was denied the novitiate many times because she had been married, yet she was tested many times until an event helped her become the saint she is today. The abbess had asked Saint Rita to water a vine bush that was dry. After Saint Rita watered the plant, it grew stronger and bore fruit. In the friar's account, there were many similar events that led Saint Rita to trust and then the path that led her to live her life as an Augustinian nun until her death. I don't remember exactly all the events the friar recounted, but what subsequently happened was linked to the moving of Saint Rita's body from one sarcophagus to another for reasons I don't recall. There, it was discovered that the saint had remained intact, that her body had been mummified for some "divine" reason. One of the proofs was that the woman's bunions were still present. We are talking about movements from one sarcophagus to another that took place over the course of hundreds of years, therefore processes that involved generations of different people where history and myth could easily become confused.
As the friar told the story, I imagined and saw the figures of the protagonists in a sort of daydream. I was probably influenced by the location, which was a real place where some of the events had taken place, but the truth is that Saint Rita had immediately fascinated me as a woman. After noticing her features upon seeing the body, the story made me develop the image of a beautiful woman who was fearless and, above all, a rebel. In this case, the concept of a rebel was one who went against the ideas of the masses, regardless of whether they were inclined toward good or evil. Often, in fact, we are led to think of a rebel as someone who, by doing things against the will of the masses, has as his goal something that goes against the rules. As the story of Saint Rita demonstrates, however, here the rebellion was against the concept of revenge, something that in the culture of that time was common and imperative, something that was a duty and a right. The friar's story emphasized Saint Rita's goodness, while I personally appreciated her rebellious spirit in defying popular ideas. Even the woman's desire to become a nun, despite not having the qualifications, confirmed her idea of breaking the rules. This aspect immediately fascinated me, and as the friar told the story, I imagined myself as Saint Rita's lover. In a collective universe or shared consciousness, in a reality of reincarnated souls, I listened to the story and recognized details as if I had lived them. I imagined myself as the woman's lover and perhaps, in a certain sense, the architect of the instability of the spouses' relationship, and who knows, perhaps even her husband's killer. Doing a little research after my visit to Cascia, I discovered that there is no single, true story of Saint Rita, but rather that all the stories are reconstructions, so even the reality of the events may be something entirely different. It goes without saying that the rebellious spirit of Saint Rita was something that belonged to me ideologically and the place together with the friar's emphatic story made me "dream" these hypothetical but beautiful events.
The visit to the cloister continued inside, where there were several sarcophagi where Saint Rita had been buried over time. The space was small, partly because there weren't many objects belonging to the saint, so it was a sort of basic museum. During the visit, we were a large group of people, and what I did at the end was have everyone leave so I could take photos of the cloister and of features like the well and the vine (which was perhaps the original) so that no one would ruin the architectural appeal of the photos. This was the same principle I used to take further photos of the basilica's portico after the cloister visit. In the afternoon, there wasn't as much crowd as in the morning, but there were still some people there, preventing me from taking the photos I wanted. I later discovered that the portico extended much further and, in one spot, had even been widened to create a sort of covered balcony overlooking the city below. At that point, I managed to take some original photos, using the square opening of the overlook as if it were a picture frame. Those weren't the last photos I took in Cascia, because on my way back down the valley, I came across the church of San Francesco, a simple and linear structure with a very large and meticulously decorated rose window. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to visit the church inside, and that was essentially my personal farewell to Cascia.

church of Santa Maria

The cloister

The basilica's Portico

The basilica's Portico

Church of San Francesco

Comparing childhood memories with the reality of things seen as adults is something that particularly excites me. This is a process I've been enjoying lately because it gives me the opportunity to further study the reality of things. My memory of Cascia was represented by a very dark and unlit portico, an equally dark corridor, and the image of a mummified body seen very close up through a glass case. This memory had been further altered by my dreams, giving it an even darker and more mysterious connotation until I was able to revisit it more consciously. Certainly, over the years there had been work that had led to structural changes, and the position of Saint Rita had certainly been significantly altered, being now far away from the visitor's path. What makes me reflect is not the possibility that childhood memories are something weak and prone to being shaped differently, but the concept of memory itself applied to adulthood. If it weren't for the photos I always take, even my new memory of Cascia would have had a dreamlike connotation, different from the one I had as a child but still altered. To write this post, I revisited the photos and I must say I always remembered things slightly differently. The point in this case is always the concept of memory and its correlation with reality, which in a certain sense doesn't clearly exist within us. Even photographs don't convey scenes as we see them, but rather are fragments that, from a technical standpoint, are different from how we explore them at the time. Returning to Cascia, besides introducing me to the story of Saint Rita, which I then elaborated and altered with my imagination, was also one of the most beautiful comparisons I've ever made between dream, memory, and reality, where the latter increasingly emerges as the greatest mystery. As Gabriel Garcia Marquez said, "Life is not what you live, but what you remember, and how you remember it to tell it." The more time passes, the more I believe this reality is more of an illusion than something concrete and tangible, something undoubtedly temporary but at the same time shaped by our memory with the uncertainties that it brings with it.

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A.M.