Things at the Byblos Art Hotel were pretty quiet while I was there, but that just meant the staff were all that more eager to be of assistance. The room rate I had booked at the hotel was based around the Marc Quinn art exhibit in town, and it included a ticket to the exhibition, a special cocktail, a “flower paintings” dinner, and complimentary transportation to and from the center of Verona. I was determined to take advantage of all the perks.
Still hopped up on my perfect cappuccino, I grabbed my camera and headed out the door with the hotel’s driver. He dropped me at the edge of the main square, and I was off to explore Verona. It wasn’t my first time in the city, but back when I visited in high school, we were young brats that didn’t really know where to go and didn’t really pay attention to where we were. I remember visiting the supposed home of Romeo’s Juliette and seeing the Roman arena, but otherwise, Verona was a very unremarkable city in my mind. As it turns out, Verona is quite a nice little city, and I thoroughly enjoyed my second visit. I wandered down the streets taking pictures and taking in the architecture and atmosphere. The goal of my time in Verona was to visit the art exhibit at Juliette’s house. Apparently, Marc Quinn is some up and coming British modern artist, and not surprisingly, I had never heard of him before. I had a ticket to his exhibit though, so by God I was going to see it.
Making my way to the exhibit, I made a detour to check out some of the smaller piazzas, watched the tourists along Via Mazzini, and stood under the disapproving glare of Dante Alighieri. Fighting through the crowds in Juliette’s courtyard, I soon realize that the museum I am so eagerly trying to reach is closed. I had another hour before the museum would open, so I went to grab a gelato and wander some more streets. With a cone of banana and coconut gelato in hand, I stumbled upon a fabulous pastry shop full of local cakes and sweets, but alas, it was closed for the day. Back under the balcony Shakespeare made famous, the doors of museum were opening, and I was one of the first people inside. I handed my ticket to the woman at the register who then stared at it, turned it upside down, looked at the back, and then asked me, “What is this?”
When I explained that the piece of paper she was holding was a ticket for the exhibit given to me by my hotel, she grumbled some choice Italian expletives, printed a new ticket and sent me on my way. At the top of the stairs, an Italian gentleman that suffered from some form of brain damage saw my camera and yelled, “NO FLASH!” followed by a cordial, “Buon Giorno, ticket please.” He insisted that I start my exploration of the exhibit on the 3rd floor, so I made my way up the next flight of stairs. Once there, another museum employee came to me and said, “Photo si, flash NO!”
“Ok, no flash.” I examined the photograph-like paintings of flowers and some glasswork, and I even took some pictures, but I didn’t dare use my flash. One more floor up was Quinn’s most famous work, the Siren. It’s a very peculiar golden sculpture of Kate Moss in an incredibly modesty-compromising position… but she is wearing underwear. Less than floored by the masterpiece, I still felt it was necessary to take a photograph for posterity. I made sure that my flash was off, snapped a picture, and within seconds, a young Italian woman came running in yelling, “NO PHOTOS! NO! NO! NO!”
“I was told no flash.”
“NO PHOTO!”
“Downstairs they said, photo si, flash no.”
“Now you are upstairs, NO PHOTO!”
Fine by me, Il Duce, I already got my damn photo.
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