I was a Latin son of a great Tuscan; Guglielmo Aldobrandesco was my father; I do not know if you ever heard the name.
Church, State and Monarch in Elizabethan England were as consubstantial as the Trinity. To hold religious views that did not conform to the established religion was to court danger, disaster and death.
Sloppy workmanship, you could call it. Or maybe half-hearted iconoclasm. The alteration men of the Reformation or Puritanism, whichever it was, only removed half the image. The other half of this depiction of the Wheel of Fortune was hidden behind a pulpit.
Lock themselves into snapshots on the steps of monolithic bronze as if suspecting the subtle mourning of the photograph might later conjure in the memory all they are now incapable of feeling. (‘The Permanent Tourists’ – PK Page)
A muggy Sunday in July, with a most un-Mediterranean heat and light bathing Clerkenwell. We are gathered outside St. Peter’s Italian Church, waiting for the start of London’s longest running Italian spectacle.