Agave, withered yellow weed, purple-white egg-stands, budding shots and deep purple spinners stand rooted in the rocks. At the top of the lower stair, I wait before going inside. The Mediterranean is getting blue like the sky.
The Crypt is like a cave carved out of vanilla ice cream; simple, adequate, cold and quiet. The Basilica up stairs has a gold and flower-rich ceiling with geometry and vigilant artistry as its means of beauty. Chains of model ships hang in the air. The marble arches remind me of Dr. Seuss.
Thousands of hours are underfoot in 1/2 inch square tile mosaics without beginning or end. Bring what art you have and hand it in God’s house. Miracles found in the Bible are depicted in the ceiling. Miracles found on earth are shown in oil canvases which crowd the walls.
They show ships surviving storms, mothers surviving sores, bombing raids, wrecked aircraft, train wrecks, children falling into rivers; angels appearing as devils dissolve.
albaniacalling 