Enza Quargnali was a co owner of the La Romita Art School in Terni, Italy.
She is now a shadow lurking in the hallways of La Romita. On hot afternoons as shutters are
drawn, closed against the blazing sun, the long curtains flutter as though a
spirit has danced down the hallways.
It is our Enza walking the tile pathways checking to make sure everyone
is safely snoozing for a siesta after a hearty lunch of Ciriole alla Ternana,
bread, a staggering tossed salad, and several glasses of wine.
We will always remember her, a slight thing with intense
energy, only the truth passed her lips, incapable of shielding students from
the obvious. Her reading glasses
hanging from her neck a hidden treasure from Murano are the only evidence of a
weary body.
Silent is her voice, English with an Italian accent, bouncing
off the ceiling of the cucina warning of an impending storm. She is the gray heavy clouds saturated
with moisture which come in thunderous crashes pouring rain down onto the
mountains and rolling into the valley with bolts of lightening flickering in
the distance.
She is imbedded in the terra cotta walls, the flowering pots
gorging flowers cascading into the patio.
The chapel walls, now quiet, will echo her presence, a constant reminder
of the family who so lovingly poured their creative talents into every brick,
every wall, every room beaconing artists to reach their inner soul.
She is the monastery herb garden with scents of rosemary,
lavender, sage and lemon. She is
the old gnarled olive tree still clinging to the steep hillside giving a bounty
of fruit every season.
She is the bleating sheep calling for the flock to gather
which will never come.
