It showed a white ground, and onto it were placed delicate, colored etchings of wild herbs and flowers. The overall shape was nearly square and it was held in place by a pale, shiny blue ribbon.
“Nice mask!” I blurted as we waved.
Marina lowered her creation. “Home made,” she said in English.
“Well, it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. We must try.”
The mask as fashion statement has gone way beyond the occasional patterned fabric. Granted, most of us are not that chic. I still use the masks left in my mailbox a few weeks ago; they’re comfortable and do their job. And most of the rest of town, if not exactly following my example, does the same or wears basic white. As I enthused a few days ago, black masks have made an appearance and are very GQ, as a friend described them. But even then, there are distinctions. The barista/baker, Giancarlo, by way of example, wears a black mask that integrates the ear straps into the overall design, giving it a kind of science fiction flare. He says it’s a wild west look, and I could see that, too.
Some of the ones with patterns aren’t randomly made, they embrace the features the way a well-upholstered chair centers its brocade. The wearer of one I admired during the last few days pointed to a store we were near as the source.
“They will make masks to order, by your design,” she said, shrugging. “You can even bring in your own fabric. Like it’s such a simple thing, but why not?”
The store she pointed to is, in concept, one of the most solid formulas for a happy marriage I’ve ever known. She likes yarn and to sew. He is a cyclist. So the store, called Ciclostile, sells bicycles, accessories, and yarn. Of course. They also host meet-the-author events with Arcimboldo, one of Orvieto’s independent bookshops. They may share reading as a pastime.
One of the restaurants on Piazza del Popolo is Osteria da Mamma Angelo (the motto: like at your house). The menu is solid, the food is very good, and the service is professional. And the décor reminds me of an Italian-themed, semi high-end diner in Silicon Valley; pleasant and comfortable, and a Californian interpretation of what Italy looks like through the lens of Marie Callender. I passed today on my way to lunch. The waiters were all outfitted in black with red aprons and very snazzy red masks – with the osteria’s logo emblazoned on the right half. Quite attractive and, well, perfect.
I’ve seen masks advertised that swoop up like a patterned serpent from the base of the throat. Others that mimic a diaphanous scarf. Ones that draw inspiration from belly-dancers. So far, Orvieto hasn’t embraced the more extreme creations, though given its history a mask integrated into a medieval wimple and veil might catch on. Or for men, a monk’s cowl.
For lunch, I went to Montanucci. The décor at Montanucci is courtesy of Bottega Michelangeli, whose trademark is wood sculpture and furnishings made of layers of cutout planking. It’s difficult to describe, so have a look at their siteand at Montanucci’s, too. The latter is decorated as a small village with houses and balconies and people and animals; all whimsical and charming. And hidden here and there are extraordinarily beautiful wood sculptures in the Michelangeli style. I didn’t know quite what to make of that look when I encountered it twenty years ago, but I’ve come to more than appreciate the it, I love it.
Back and center as you walk into Montanucci are the Giraffes, three friendly creatures that greet everyone who enters with a studied bemusement. That’s them in the photo, now in fetching blue masks.
I mentioned to Slavic how much I liked them, and I believe he replied, “We sort of thought they should do their part.” They do their adorable part very well, indeed.