Undiscovered An artists’ view of Cervo Italy

Laurie and Blair Pessemier

www.paintfox.com lfpessemier@gmail.com

copyright 2015 all rights reserved

Cervo Italy is perfect in its imperfection. If it were perfect, it would be discovered, chock full of tourists and then,

imperfect. If there were a really good hotel, it wouldn’t be undiscovered anymore. If a famous person lived there, or if

the beach were groomed each day, it would be discovered. If the town were not on a hill, anyone could get to the

church. Too many people would wreck the ambiance of this humble, charming, cockeyed place.

Cervo doesn’t have white sand beaches, nor does it have a high end hotel. At 8:00 in the morning, men are going out to

the pier to fish, and, regardless of a good or bad night with the squid, men in boats are coming back to shore.

The beach is slate: it makes for large grained (stony) black sand. All sorts of junk floats up and nobody picks it up. Bright

plastic, bamboo, seaweed create a colorful collage.

Milly (a tough little dog) and her mother are meeting their master as he returns to shore. They are living everyone’s

dream – some work, enough food, a beautiful place. I wish them Buon Natale this Christmas day. For a brief moment

my dog and theirs get along. This is a perfect life.

Every day I wake up and think what will I do today? I’ll get dressed and go have coffee and run down to the beach and

throw flat rocks at a target in the sand. The sun will come up in brilliant pink, yellow and white, and I will feel alive and

healthy. Nothing is better than this. I don’t have to fight for a place on the sidewalk. Multi-national food chains aren’t

vying for a location on the corner.

It’s not perfect. I can’t mail a letter and be sure it will get there. I can never mail a package. Worst of all, it’s difficult to

find art supplies.

And I am not worried writing about Cervo, these stories will ever cast the spotlight on her. It will remain undiscovered

except for the few that think like I do.

In Roman times, Cervo was just an estate along the Via Julia Augusta. In medieval times it grew to become the fiefdom of the

Marquis Clavesana, a subject of the Republic of Genoa. The town still retains this fortress character, set on a hill with ramparts.

Many of the buildings in Cervo are from the 16th century, including the baroque church of San Giovanni Batista and the Oratoria di

Santa Caterina. The oratorio still has 16th century frescoes, in a decrepit state. The oratorio is still used for art exhibits and similar

shows: at Christmas, there were twenty five Nativity scenes, created by local artisans.

About six thousand people live in Cervo (not all in the historic part of town). In the summer the population swells to accommodate

vacationers.

People used to earn their living as coral fishermen in the Mediterranean, or as olive growers and seafarers. But the economy of

Cervo is nowadays based on tourism and agriculture. There are fantastic olive groves above the historic town.

Cervo is now noted for classical music. In 1964 the International Chamber Music Festival of Cervo was established by the famous

Hungarian violinist Sandor Vegh. The event has been held every summer ever since.

The via Aurelia passes through Cervo, I am always searching for Caesar’s broken sandal buckle. Or would it belong to Leonardo da

Vinci or Christopher Columbus?

A few days ago, I saw a man and woman kiss, maybe for the first time, on the beach. I guess it could have been a reconciliatory

kiss, but it was nice. They weren’t young, but not old, either.

The fellow goes fishing underwater with a spear, every day. He wears a teeny speedo swimsuit, pepto-bismol pink. She is looks

flirtatious, in a big white sun hat and has blond, ringlet-y hair.

This morning, I saw him bringing flowers to the place where she works.

Cervo is a small place, with characters who give dimension to the town.

On mornings we can make it up the hill, we go to a little coffee shop called Serafino. The owner, a heavy set, large nosed man of 70

something years, is always there at 8:30 AM. He goes to get the fish in Imperia, the next big town, and then opens up.

You might think it’s funny to say “when we can make it up the hill”, but Mr. Serafino can’t make it up the hill, despite living here

most of his life. He has one of those funny three wheeled cars one only sees in Italy. He drives it on the road up to the top of the

hill, and then negotiates the pathways down to the restaurant. Cervo is the steepest town I have ever stayed in. Villefranche-sur-

Mer, in France, where we used to spend the winter, had steps, but didn’t hold a candle to the pitch of Cervo. It is a mile up to the

top, and about 35 degree incline, overall. Harika and her dog friends are ok with it – nobody can catch them.

The terrace at Serafino looks out over the town to the ocean. On a clear day, you can see Corsica.

It is always interesting to spend time in another country – more than the two week vacation, to really LIVE in a town, using services,

making acquaintances at the café, struggling through an explanation. Yesterday we found a place to print three posters – just on

regular paper, but nonetheless well printed. We all beamed at the result.

Earlier, we hunted down a portable modem at the WIND store (the Italian telecom). I even got an English speaking clerk (my Italian

learning is S L O W) who told me I could use this device “in the middle of the ocean”.

The town we are staying in has a water-for-five-cents fountain – it rings of the day when people used to go to the well. Christmas

carolers sang beneath our window two nights ago. The church bell ringer practices “Oh come all ye faithful” on the carillon every

day at 12:30.

There is an artists’ organization in Cervo called Proarte. Artists exhibit their work and participate in town events. Artists are always

the nicest people.

.

Today we did a “dry run” of our art show. We set up the easel near the street (we live in a pedestrian town, on a 45 degree pitch, so

people walk slowly by our house, the Palazzo Calvo. Blair taped the poster to the building and I hung paintings on the stairwell. It

occurred to me the steps hadn’t been swept in some time, so I got out the broom.

As I made it clear to the ground floor, I heard a door open. It was the first floor neighbor. Buon Giorno, I said, with my best Italian

accent. I pointed out our sign. Just then, Blair arrived. He tried to explain the show, too.

“Let me show you ‘la cappella’”, the neighbor insisted. We’d heard there was a chapel in the building, but had never seen it. He

fiddled with a bunch of keys till he found the right one. Sure enough, there was a little chapel tucked into the side of the building.

There was an altar, and upholstered chairs. To the side, was grillwork – “behind there is where the lesser people sat”, he explained.

We checked it out.

Our neighbor came up to the third floor to see our show, although he seemed more impressed by our frescoed ceilings. On the way,

he pointed out the window, “that’s my lemon tree”. I had been lusting for those lemons for some time, and not missing a beat, told

him how exceptional they looked. Come on, bring a sack, I will give you some lemons.

His apartment was modest, but very nice. He took the 17th century tiles from the floor and put them on the kitchen walls. One room

still had the original floor. His backdoor opened to the neat little courtyard. The tree was supported by a jack and some pipes – too

many lemons, he told us. I took about 15. I told him I would make marmalade. How about limoncello? he laughed.

On the weekend, one notices lots of tourists in the town. Busloads come, during the holiday season: from France, from Germany.

When I was painting at the beach in Cervo in October, a busload of German women all went swimming. It’s quite delicious

swimming in the Mediterranean – warm water, bubbly.

I listen to conversations as I paint in the town. One woman said wouldn’t it be great to have a Starbucks here? I think of my coffee

man bringing out my silver tray with water and a sweet, and cringe at the vision of a paper cup with a made-up name scratched on it.

How lucky I am to be in a place UNDISCOVERED.

.

Blair Laurie and Harika on the beach in Cervo, Italy

Blair and Laurie Pessemier are American painters living and painting in Europe since the 1990s. Blair is

an architect by training and Laurie, an artist and art historian. The paintings in this publication were created by

both of them – Blair’s work is slightly more precise, Laurie’s more lyrical.

To see the sizes, look at their website, www.paintfox.com or send them an email.

Blair and Laurie make their home in Paris, where they offer painting workshops in the steps of the Impressionists.

To join them for a painting foray on the banks of the Seine, or to buy one of the original paintings in this book,

please contact them at lfpessemier@gmail.com