This picture came from the cloister of a monastery in Italy, Monte Oliveto Maggiore, that I've been fortunate--lucky--enough to visit three times. I noticed this sign the third time, as we were getting a tour. It's funny: underneath this sign was a fresco on all four sides of a courtyard, telling the story of a saint (whose name I'm embarrassed to say I can't recall at the moment). There were paintings of battles, and worship. The artist who finished the fresco cycle was nicknamed "Sodoma." (I'm calling on my art-historian friends--you know who you are-- to remind me of his real name, which I think begins with an L). Somehow Sodoma was a good enough painter to overcome his nickname. And perhaps this order of monks had a sense of humor.
I was struck by this sign, reminding the monks to practice silence and respect and observance. It was odd to think that monks needed reminding, as if they were young schoolboys in short pants, to be quiet and not run around the courtyard making loud noises and defacing the art. We had just sung for these monks, the time I took this picture, and it was hard to believe that they could be anything but respectful and observant of the rules of the sacred place they walked about every day.
I'm going through a phase of looking back at the pictures I've taken in the last nine years, since I lived overseas; I'm frenetically trying to decide which ones to print and even more difficult, which ones to put on the walls of my little apartment. They all seem worthy. Maybe it's a way of dealing with the unbearable richness of the experience. At fifty, I feel overwhelmed by memories. Suddenly it's apparent that I have lived, and have managed somehow to accumulate lots of pictures.
Silenzio e rispetto reminds me to look at the art and to try to be patient: not to worry that I won't remember it all at the same time; that it will take many trips around the cloister to examine all the details, and that all the single details don't necessarily matter. It's the whole story that matters.
I don't know if the monks actually pay attention as they are admonished to practice Silenzio e rispetto. I don't know how many years the sign has been there--probably a lot, since the S in rispetto has been re-painted. They must see the sign fifty times a day, and don't take note of it consciously anymore. But it called out to me, and still does.
