Leonardo's Lover

Antoni Chiomi's Journal

Saturday, May 18th, 1490, Milan, Italy

I write today so I can remember that this was the first day I saw the mysterious nobleman. Normally i don’t suit myself to the discipline of journaling. Certainly I am not like Mother whose den was lined with journals dated from her first day of apprenticeship through my birth and into the abyss of old age. No, my hand feels much less sure than that. I only want to be positive I do not forget this day or perhaps this feeling.

Today I took my first first visit to the market place in the main piazza Sforzesco. Alexander, the thick necked sculptor I met in the workshop today had recommended that I buy my food during the evening. He claimed the crowds would be retired by then which would be less overwhelming for someone like me. Alexander knew without being told that I was a craftsman from the countryside who had never been to a proper city before. Alexander was right, and I took no offense to his assumption, the less crowds the better, probably.

After work I packed my traveling sac with only my wull cape, and the rest of the figs I had brought with me to Milan. I kneeled for a prayer before setting off into the dark streets for what has been today only the fifth time since I arrived in Milan. Now that I have been given my first wage and feel assured I will not be suddenly expelled, I have been able to unclench myself and focus on finding enough food to keep living.

In route to the market I worked my way past several three story palazzos and recounted stories I had been told since childhood of royals families and famous artists. I also recounted my readings of theorist Leon Battista Alberti and With my hand I complimented the limestone exterior of each home, testing the texture. I thought about the workers and servants within. They were 125 centimeters opposite my hand, the royal guests were a floor above them and finally the grand personal quarters existed above the guests, through meter thick lentil, 10 or more meters above me. Once I was angled up toward the level belonging to those who are most powerful in Milan, Italy, and perhaps the world, however, my imagination failed me and I felt lost for a moment. I have never seen or been so close to such wealth in all my years so attempting to picture realistically what luxuries it might manifest was truly difficult. Instead I imagined the court yard in the center of the palazzo. I envision a serene space that was decidedly separate from the city and it’s inherent hazard. The people within, if they pleased, could cordon themselves off entirely and allow the meter of stone to fulfill its natural obligation as a barricade against almost anything. They could be in contempt of the entire city and still have a glorious light well in which to ponder their predicament. From mobs to floods the people on the top floors are safe, I thought.

Milan was magnificent indeed, even at this dishonest hour when it seemed the underbelly of society was finally allowed to expose itself, the city and everything in it seems to diffuse into romance. As I navigated the city roads, the collusion of shadows and architectural details made me feel as though I was being painted into a classical scene using multiple oils that were so vibrant, but also viscous and suffocating. Every step was another brush stroke into my place in Milan

I felt pretend in the darkness for a little and less rooted than usual as I continued north. I gripped for my normalcy and resolved that there was honor in my pursuit, however ambitious, and for many for like me. For how could all of Milan’s citizens be scholarly participants in the arts and sciences? Of course there are masses of more de facto craftsman in my make and size who are not commissioned by the rich or recognized for their mastery of a craft as a child.

I am in a real city now. I am just one of thousands of young faces also trying become a great, respected master builder. I expect that all of us feel uniquely in our moment as Milan booms with culture and capitol and the creative minds buzz in tune. Most of these young faces I realize have likely been here for years and are already settled in society’s saddle with their boots locked in Milan's stirrups, while I scramble for some footing. But even in this disadvantage I am no where near alone as thousands of people arrive in this city everyday every bit as ambitious as the next. What makes me different I wonder.

And of course there are scores of the citizens who hadn’t a craft or calling, who were slaves or servants, and who seemed truly married to the bottom tier. I was at least not known as one of these unfortunate souls, although I was out amongst them.

I could hear the murmurs of dinner and family splash out over window sills only two meters on either side of me as the road I was on climbed uphill and narrowed. Just as the Street began to even out I passed under a large roman built arch and into the Piazza. The market was spread in front of me did not look at all empty but wasn’t busy either. As I approached the cluster of tents and tables I could feel the crowd throb with trade and hear the sparkly sound of people bartering. I entered in an aisle of salted fish and lamb and managed to barter a good deal on several filets of Parrot Fish and Mackerel. I thanked the tall girl behind the counter who despite her height looked ten years my minor. I turned down the aisle and past a table full of only sweet onions and chestnuts when I looked up to see two strange figures silhouetted all the way down at the other end of the market. I continued straight toward the wild shadows trying to make out what they were up to and why they looked so curious. As I approached I could see that they were both seated on stools an arm’s distance from each other and the man on left had a tall, mess of hair, while the man on the right wore a hat and held something. Closer, and I could see the true nature of the man on the left which was alarmingly disfigured. His eyes were sunken deep in his skull and his chin protruded violently from his skull, while his skin rippled endlessly over his jagged features. I stole my gaze away from this physically abnormal person and peered at the man on the right.

He was holding a sketching pad and wearing garments that suggested he was to some degree affluent and as I focused in on him I realized that him focus on the man opposite was immense.