Summer 2006: Amalfi and Sorrento

Summer 2006 in Amalfi and Sorrento (1)

When I got off the bus outside the station in Sorrento on September 3rd, it was early afternoon and I had been travelling since 4am. Somehow the prospect of getting on a bus for Amalfi didn't appeal. Another consideration was that I was carrying a heavy case full of small mounted prints of my paintings which I was to deliver to the shop of Giovanna Petagna, in the Via dei Cesari in the centre of Sorrento. Since it was now 2.30 pm most of Sorrento was napping after lunch and all the shops were closed until about 6pm. Petagna's didn't normally open till even later.

I weighed up the best plan and decided that I must stay in Sorrento that night at least. I would go to see if the Hotel Loreley (also known as the Hotel de Londre) had any rooms. This is a hotel positioned in the best spot along the cliffs of Sorrento, but I had discovered on my August visit that its rates were roughly half those of its neighbours. It had been fully booked then.

I trundled my case down the cobbles from the station to the Via A. Califano. The Loreley seemed deserted. Its peeling pink stucco was baking in the hot afternoon sun. In the open air bamboo roofed terrace fronting on to the road, a dozing cat lifted its head to eye me sleepily and fell back into its dreams again. The sea glittered below, where the whole of the Marina Piccola lay out in the heat of the afternoon.

There was nobody about in the shabby entrance lounge. Somewhere I could hear the murmur of conversation and a muted clatter of pans - the kitchen clearing up after lunch. I put my head into the tiny cluttered office of the entrance hall and as I did so I saw out of the corner of my eye a movement across the hall towards the chipped marble staircase. "Signora! Per favore..." - my faltering Italian began. The maid stopped, looked nervously at me and came back. I summoned up my small command of the language and she looked more at ease but went to find the receptionist. Did they have any rooms for the same night? This question seemed difficult to answer immediately but I agreed to wait.

At length I was accepted. I decided to take the room for three nights and to go on to Amalfi after that. After a phone call to Il Nido it was all arranged - three nights in the Loreley, then three nights in Amalfi, but I could not keep the room on the 9th and 10th September so I was to return to the Loreley for two nights and go back to Il Nido for the last two on 11th and 12th.

In the Hotel Loreley in the summer of 2006 you got what you paid for and no frills. No air con, no fancy little bottles of shampoo or shower caps, no big fluffy towels. What you got was a basic room and ensuite shower room with a balcony overlooking the most beautiful view of the Marina Piccola and the coastline stretching up towards Amalfi. You got a nice little terrace restaurant only marred by the traffic roaring past (the terrace stretches between the road and the edge of the cliff) with the same wonderful view. You got sleepy but pleasant service and an Italian breakfast of sweet rolls, cake and croissants with jam. You got a sadly run down little jetty/ beachbar area with sunbeds (you pay a little extra for this). It was ideal for me, with my limited financial resources.

Most people staying there seemed to be from other European countries, rather than the UK. There was a very friendly French couple in the room next to me, who talked to me about the drawings I did each day when we met on our balconies. She was a designer and suggested places that they had visited that would make good subjects for my work. They too were very happy with the Loreley. I overheard some grumbling from a rather overheated looking American couple but perhaps they had not expected to get only what they had paid for. I knew the value of the Loreley's view.

In the event I only paid for four nights at the Loreley, in money that is. I was flattered when the owner of the hotel, an elderly lady who spoke no English, asked me if she could buy a sketch I was making from the restaurant. I at first said "No" because I was not sure I could finish it properly and she didn't seem keen to pay what I would ask for it if I did finish it. At last I was persuaded to part with it for the price of one night in the hotel and we were both happy with that. Here is the sketch that Signora bartered for.


I admit to spending at least one day on the sunbeds of the "beach" at the Loreley. I also went to see the Petagnas in the shop where they make and sell prints and art materials. I had been flattered but taken aback in August when they had broken to me the news that they had used my painting of a Roman building, the Sedile Dominova, in a book that they had written and published, about the history of the Conservatorio di Maria delle Grazione. This is the convent that has its facade along one side of the Piazza San Francesco. (I had had some prints made at the shop back in the summer of 2005 and they had the image on their computer.) They gave me a copy of the book and I was pleased to see the full page reproduction of my painting on page 31.

They had also sold a number of my prints. I left them with prints of some of the work I had done during my August 2006 visit, including a view of the street outside their shop in August following Italy's World Cup win. I had painted this on the spot but then had to replace all the international flags which were really there with Italian flags, at Giovanna's request, for the local market's taste.

On the fourth afternoon of my stay, I took the ferry to Amalfi and the Hotel Il Nido. I stood at the stern, watching the foaming trail we left behind us as the coastline to our left became more and more rugged and scenic. Mountains and islands passed by like one of those panoramic scenes painted on the background of a museum dispay about geological formations. I was joined by two members of the crew, one of whom decided to be my tour guide, pointing out the island that Rudolph Nureyev bought, the funicular down the cliff at Positano, the Martello towers that protected the coast in the war. Finally, egged on by his fellow crew member, he invited me to go out dancing with him in Amalfi that evening. I gracefully declined, the more easily since he was about half my age. But I was certainly flattered - a state of mind that a stay in Italy during the holiday season often produces and that I have learned to avoid taking too seriously.

As the ferry arrives at Amalfi you can see the facades of the Hotel Residence and the shops along the quay, the cars parked up to the railings and the buses that wait to take you up to the towns above Amalfi or back along the coast road towards Sorrento. It's a busy place in the summer. One of the beaches is to the right of the jetties for the ferries and there are others round the point on the Sorrento side of the town. The streets lead stiffly up the hills to each side and in the centre of the town they run through a system of stone tunnels and steps that are like catacombs to the newcomer's eye. Every few yards the covered ways emerge on to a small landing that has the stairs up to the front entrances of houses leading off it, or out into a piazza with shops and open streets.

The Hotel Il Nido is a very well run family hotel, about a kilometre's walk from the quay. Nearby was a strange anomaly in this part of Italy - a bar run by Willy, a Lancashireman, along British pub lines, stocking Guinness and other exotic British drinks as well as local wines and snacks. Willy was large, friendly and a little desperate. I got to know the place when I paused on my trudge up the hill after a day's drawing in Ravello or on the beach. There was always a group of friends there: Australians on their world travels; American students on their summer break; young Italians enjoying the summer tourist influx and practising their English (though Willy spoke fluent Italian). The television was always tuned to Sky sport, usually football and Willy would distribute fliers on the beach, particularly when an English team was playing. Sadly, Willy's Bar was closing at the end of the season and Willy was going back to settle down in his home county. He was truly deserving of the title "mine host". Order a glass of red wine and it was refilled for the rest of the evening like one of those magic cups in a fairy tale. The final account was always clearly in the customer's favour. I hope that his next venture has worked out well for him.

The owners of the Hotel il Nido were grave, professional and dignified, always ready to help and provide advice when asked. Their hotel was spotless, as almost all Italian hotels are, and they provided a good breakfast of cereal, buns. bread and croissants and cheese and ham. There was a lovely view across the bay from the dining room, the sparkling sea dazzling in the mornings.
My room was large and spacious with intriguing pictures of the local area on the walls. The young man who was often the night receptionist was the son of the owner. He spent the night gazing seriously at his computer, below the high counter where he sat. I never found out whether he was playing computer games, surfing the net or doing some kind of work. In the morning he would still be in the same place, with his night's growth of stubble the only evidence that time had passed. He was very helpful and admired my paintings as I brought them back to the hotel, weary and pleased with another day in Ravello, at the Villa Cimbrone or the Villa Rufolo.


When, on my last evening at Il Nido, I asked the night receptionist to order a taxi at six in the morning to take me down to the quay to catch the first ferry back to Sorrento, he insisted on driving me down the hill in his own car, leaving the reception unmanned for a few minutes. I promised to return to Il Nido and to tell anyone who would read my blog about the service that I had received there.


Amalfi from the sea is backed by a rugged cliff scored with crevices and cracks, hung with stalactite like formations that run down to the road along the coast from Sorrento. There's a great shallow cave-like rock formation that frames the cathedral in some of my photographs, though in reality one is less conscious of it than of the intense blue sky above the dome. The cathedral (S. Stefano) is visible from most parts of the town, and especially from the beach in front of the ferry landing. Its green and yellow tiled campanile rises behind the white hotels and pastel washed buildings.

The Piazza Sant'Andrea in Amalfi is dominated by the facade of the Cathedral, dedicated to Saint Andrew. Its highly ornamented marble and brick facade and broad staircase leading up to the gallery along the facade are so often photographed that I was not inspired to paint the view from the piazza. Instead I composed this painting from the gallery itself, looking out on to the cafes and bars of the piazza. The most inspiring view of the facade was to be seen at night, when floodlights picked out the layers of decoration and paintings behind the arches. This view was hard to paint or photograph and I hope to master a technique for conveying the effect that I found so exciting, when I return to the area in 2007.

Drawing Sorrento: the honeymoon period

I had spent the winter of 2004-5 longing to go to Italy but for one reason and another was unable to leave England. My decisions about changing my life had awakened in me a kind of manic behaviour that led me to forget to eat between meals, to eat half of my normal diet in fact, and to exercise regularly, a kind of limbering up for what I wanted to do. I had feelings that took me back to being a teenager – a rebellious one – and I was determined to go back to Sorrento – just like the song – but by myself.

I hadn’t flown on my own for many years. It was a revelation to me of how sad and impotent I was in danger of becoming when I found it quite a struggle to remember how to check in at Gatwick. But once I arrived in Naples and at one o’clock in the afternoon took the bus again to the centre of Sorrento, my confidence came flooding back, despite my having been travelling since half past three in the morning.

It was early April, the Easter holidays. The weather was bright and cool and windy as I got off the bus in the Piazza Tasso. I was greeted immediately by a smiling young Italian. He led me round the corner of the Piazza into the Via San Francesco, where I had booked an apartment. The apartment faced on to the little street where a constant procession of scooters, cars, vans and tourists passed within a few inches of the building. Alessandro showed me the apartment, right on the street side with a tiny balcony overlooking the bustle below. I would enjoy the view, said Alessandro.

Even Alessandro – a very charming and persuasive man – could not convince me that I would get a wink of sleep in this room, and so he showed me, hesitantly, the alternative, facing a silent building site. A building site? I questioned. Oh no, he said, there won’t be any noise – they’ve run out of money to go on with the work. And I believed him and settled into this Spartan – but very clean and – yes – he was right – absolutely peaceful apartment, for the next week.

I had come to draw Sorrento and I set up a working routine straight away. In the mornings, I would go out and get bread, fruit and croissants and have a walk round the centre of the town, getting my bearings and deciding where I would perch myself to draw for that day. In the afternoon I would have a rest in my quiet apartment and continue the morning’s drawing from memory. And in the evenings I went out to explore the restaurants and piazzas that were buzzing with life till midnight. Sorrento is a very safe town. I never felt ill at ease on my own there – though I was an object of pity for the gregarious Italians, I knew.

In my morning forays out I chose my subjects on visual, compositional grounds, rather than looking for the most popular tourist sights. I didn’t have any clear plans as to what I would do with my pictures at this time.

Drawing has always been something I just do, particularly when I’m in a new place. It’s to do with a feeling of wanting to own what I see. Picasso (with whom I would not have the nerve to compare myself in any other way) seems to have had a similar feeling about the power of the artist’s gaze. I have been rereading parts of John Richardson’s vast biography of him and find this: discussing two watercolours of Picasso’s intended lover Fernande asleep, showing her watched by two different men. Richardson writes that he believes that Picasso painted these in an attempt to persuade Fernande to become his lover rather than stay with the sculptor Debienne:

Picasso’s eyes seem to exert a strange power: the mirada fuerte power to conjure Fernande from the bed of the weak watcher into the arms of the strong watcher.
(“A Life of Picasso Volume 1 1886-1906” published by Jonathan Cape (1991) - page 317)

I had no such erotic motivation but I wanted to express my delight in being there in that week, in that cool bright windy Mediterranean town, by capturing the sights in front of me.

So having decided on my location for the day’s work, I would settle down on my folding stool and begin.

First a detailed pencil drawing using only line – I was working on a pad of watercolour paper just a little bigger than A4. This would take anything up to an hour and a half.

Next, I took waterproof ink and a mapping pen with a flexible nib and drew over the pencil, changing it, emphasising the important details and structures and suppressing the superfluous details. I added people who passed by, if they caught my eye and imagination. I built the picture gradually. Then I erased the pencil marks.

Now I could go into colour. With watercolour I touched in washes of yellows greys, ochres, gingery reds, blue and mauve reflecting from the sky into the shadows – for almost the first time I appreciated why that creamy yellow is called Naples yellow, and the difference between that and the harsher earthy colour of yellow ochre. Venetian red and umber – all those so-Italian names, in thin washes. The white paper ricochets the light back through the layers and the colour glows luminously.
Final touches were made with the pen and a very small brush – size 00




This was the first outdoor painting that I made, that cool April week. I was sitting outside the Bar Fauno, the big café-restaurant that dominates the Piazza Tasso. The 17th Century Chiesa delle Carmine, the baroque church on the corner, caught my eye with its flamboyant decorations and peeling Naples yellow stucco. Inside, it is used as an art gallery.

There is a constant flow across the wide piazza, of people of all ages and many nationalities (in August many of them British, at Easter and in October many Americans, as well as Germans, Dutch, Australian, French, Scandinavian, East European and of course Italian tourists.) It’s a popular place in the evenings and the Chiesa delle Carmine looks splendid in its floodlighting.

That first morning in Sorrento solo, my pen traced the arabesques of the carvings and the mobile, voluble figures of the Italians and tourists meeting and chatting in the piazza, and I was absolutely happy.

In the centre of the swirling traffic is a statue of a pope or saint whose name I forget. I think it is Saint Anthony – he has the crook and mitre that show he is a figure of high standing in the church. The square is named after Torquato Tasso (1544-595), the famous poet who was born and lived in Sorrento and whose house you can find in one of the quiet back streets leading down to the Marina Grande.


I found it very difficult to photograph the statue in the centre of the Piazza Tasso because you risked life and limb to cross the road nearby, let alone stopping to take a photo……









I am always struck by the lovely lines of the wrought iron street lamps in Italy. I do attract some funny looks from Italians particularly when I go round the streets with my neck craning upwards at the lamps and the carving, too, over doorways and windows and on balconies.









I found my next subject by walking along the Via degli Aranci and through the ruined Roman city gate arch that leads back to the Corsa Italia which is the main shopping street in Sorrento.


On the pavement outside the Duomo, I found a water-fountain made of bronze, still used by passers-by and by the occasional dog who licked up the drips from the stone work around it. I am told that this fountain may not be very ancient (perhaps only 200 years old) but it had a character that made me stop and look, set up my stool and draw it.



This was later expanded into a large gouache painting that I am still working on – the figures in that rather dreamlike picture have gone through various transformations over the months.

“Drinking Fountain, Corsa Italia”

This version has no figures. I have also varied the colour of the building behind the fountain recently and put in a figure, which will have to be removed, I fear. Begun in January 2006, it is still a work in progress in January 07.

It was a bright fresh April day in Sorrento when I painted the little watercolour sketch of the drinking fountain. It was cool but I was wearing sunglasses when I began the drawing. As always when drawing outside I found myself periodically surrounded by admiring children.

Italian children are among the most polite and charming in the world, I have found. With my smattering of Italian I was engaged in conversation by a group whose comments to each other and me of “Bello! Bellissimo!” were apparently heartfelt. They tried to ask me questions but gave up, all except for one little boy of about 8, who not only managed to make me understand that he wanted to know what I intended to do with my picture when it was finished, but went off and got his father to look at it.

Tactfully, his father assured his son that I would have no intention of selling the work. It was only later that I realised that he was protecting me from making statements that might get me into trouble with the police. Art sales in Italy are heavily taxed and you are not allowed to sell in the street. But, as another artist, in Positano, assured me later, no–one can stop you painting in the street.

It was while I was painting there outside the Duomo that I had my first and so far only experience of bad behaviour in Sorrento. Having put my sunglasses down next to me when I began applying colour to the picture, I was suddenly surrounded by teenagers – apparently interested in my picture – but when they had gone my sunglasses went with them! That was a lesson I needed to learn.

My next stake-out was at the Mona Lisa restaurant in the old part of Sorrento. This café is right opposite the Sedile Dominova, a Roman building that is still a meeting place for Sorrentinos to read their newspapers and chat. A friend who was born and brought up in Sorrento told me that it was originally a meeting place for Roman women to meet, and the name refers to that, in Latin – the ladies’ sitting place.

On this first occasion I was not looking at Sedile Dominova, but at the campanile of the Duomo, up the street next to it. This year the tower has been undergoing repairs but when I painted the picture below it was a lovely sight. Classically proportioned tiers of brick, rusticated stone, marble and plaster arches frame a graceful Madonna, the bells and at the very top a beautiful blue and gold faced clock.

Too late, I realised that I could not include the clock – I had become too interested in the shoe shop and the scooter in the foreground and had no room! I decided to make another drawing to include the top of the Duomo, later on.

The waitresses at the Mona Lisa were very surprised by my activities with pen and watercolour but very patient and flatteringly interested in my drawing. The little paintings took me two mornings to complete, so I drank rather a lot of coffee and ate lots of the delicious petits fours that they served with it – not cheap mornings but very pleasant. When I went back, in the summer, the same waiters were there and I was able to continue exploring in watercolour and ink this extremely old (though now very commercialised) cross roads in the “Historic Centre” part of Sorrento.

Here is my watercolour of the Sedile Dominova, looking directly in at the trompe l’oeuil paintings inside the apse-shaped hall. This one took me many hours of patient drawing before I began building up the layers of colour to show that patina that covered the aged stone pillars. Painting a painting is never easy either – some of the mouldings inside are solid and others are painted illusions by 17th century artists.

This painting was used by Givanni Petagna in his book about historic Sorrento, “Sorrento: Il Conservatorio di Santa Maria delle Grazie” which was published in 2006. This is an erudite history (in Italian) of the Conservatorio, in the Piazza S Francesco, a few yards from where I stayed on that first solo visit to Sorrento.

I visited Pompeii during that first week, too. My tonal drawing of one of the tall arches at the end of the Forum took me all day. It was a little laboured and reminds me of those 19th century illustrations to travel books. Apart from a surreal conversation with a large American surrounded by nervous Italian bodyguards who told me that I ought to recognise him – he was a world famous wrestler and he certainly looked it (his hair was dyed gold and he was dressed mainly in gold lame) this was not a memorable visit to what is a truly fascinating place. I have promised myself that I shall do Pompeii justice one day, but Sorrento had my heart that week in April 2005.