Our journey continued down the streets of Rome. Nothing has changed - the city remained a paragon of antiquity, but I noticed an interesting fact that young street artists waist off their paint on the insightful signing of their names on the centuries-lasting walls. I believe it's wrong and nonsensical; I highly respect street art, however not the one that lacks fantasy or meaning. Signing your name on the wall to prove everybody that "I was here" is just a mere vandalization of the architecture, you can as simply take a picture in front of the wall and post it on Facebook; to me it sounds like a plan. Anyways, we strolled around the city with no certain destination or intention for a particular search. We attended Campo Marzio - the forth district of Rome with its own miracles. After the contemplation of the beautiful city-scape from Santa Trinita dei Monti and attempts to study a copy of an ancient oblique from Sallustianni Gardens, we ran down the Spanish Steps that was the past place for artists' gatherings and their beautiful models.
Rome was very hot. The endless crowds of tourists along with Vespa drivers blockaded the exit to reality, however we still managed to escape the crowd that suffocated itself. I figured that crowds is one of the main reasons why people tend to underestimate the pleasure of being in an ancient city; it really reminded me of Babylon Captivity. After breaking free, I discovered Rome from the new perspective, we stumbled on the streets, which were not congested with tourists or people at all; these streets were empty and truly authentic. There, I could really tell that Rome became my fabulous acquaintance. The silence prevailed over the smell of roasted chestnuts. Despite the street's simplicity, it was a vivid feast for an eye; the buildings with closed windows but radiantly colored flower beds resembled movie's decorations that managed to survive hundreds of years. To me, those iconic buildings is a true symbol of Rome, or just this street that introduced me to the real environment.
Lastly, we had a chance to pay a visit to Galleria Doria Pamphilj, where I discovered the definition of art and its magical powers. To give a little bit of history, this place is owned by the family of Doria Pamphilj which derived itself as a result of two marriages; one of them formed a papal closure or a direct attachment to Vatican, which gave the family a chance to gain unquestionable dominance in the state. The family created the gallery in 17th century, and ever since had begun to accumulate the greatest pieces of art, including such masters like Titian and Caravaggio. As we entered the gallery, I realized that this place remained in a complete silence that would be a shame to interrupt; certainty, the gallery directly reminded me of the secluded streets that I previously described. As I figured later on, the most ironic and amazing fact about Rome is that there are a plethora of museums with the greatest artworks one can ever imagine, but those museums have absolutely no visitors. This intimate atmosphere of disclosure with the dead masters and the lively city made me extremely sentimental. As I passed by the canvases and sculptures, I felt that the masterpieces came to life when everybody left the gallery, but I was fortunate enough to contemplate their impersonation ahead of time. My eyes bursted in tears when I came up close to the canvas of Caravaggio: Saint John the Baptist gave me his playful lively look, as if he was a child who wanted to engage in hide and seek. I almost touched its surface. My heart palpitated from observing this miracle. At that moment, the paintings appeared as icons and soul food. I remained still for countless minutes, but someone came from the back and asked me to leave the building because the gallery was about to close.