I knew little of Bramante and nothing of his famous spiral ramp when in 1972, as a post-university traveller, I crossed the threshold of the Vatican Museums. Wandering the labyrinthine exhibits in the salons and hallways of the various floors I became overwhelmed by the quantity of white euro-centric sculptures backgrounded by end-less medieval frescoes and tapestries. I returned three decades later, almost to the day, for a specific undertaking: viewing several artifacts from the Indigenous Civilization Collection.
Coincidences often have a way to encounter wonders in apparent casual ways.
The curator of the Ethnological section ushered me into a cavernous laboratory where three staff members were exploring and cataloguing the precious pieces. I marvelled at a model of a dog sled, snow goggles, masks, a kayak, and a wampum belt. The icono-graphic belt, in white and black beads, more than two metres long and the width of my hand, was highlighted by two standing figures with hands joined holding a cross. One figure seemed clothed and the other ‘unclothed’: a catholic missionary and a local na-tive! We spoke of the possibility of curating an exhibit that would come to Canada and travel to the indigenous ‘reserves’ from where the pieces originally came from. Upon completion of the meeting the curator told me that the Deputy Director of the Museums wanted to meet me.
We climbed the various flights of the oval staircase, trudged along an endless corridor, and entered a space devoid of any artistic quality. This was the administrative area. I was led into a windowless room, in the middle a large wooden desk covered with piles of paper and files. Behind it sat a man with a salt and pepper beard. Strands of straight tanned hair fell across his brow meeting his bushy black eyebrows. He stood up, no taller than I, and greeted me by extending his hand, indicated a chair and I sat down.
He asked bluntly without ceremony: “Who are you and why are you here”. I told him of my interest in the indigenous people in relation to the Gallery of Human Migration. I added a little of my background and ended by saying: “Oh, and I am an architect”. “What projects have you done?” he asked. I mentioned a few and realized that the names meant nothing to him.
I therefore opened my constant companion ‘sketchbook’ and showed him a few images of my latest projects, including ideas for a new urban precinct in China.
He paused at the page with the illustrations of the ‘truccioli’, a digital photo of a model and the notation: Spiralia, a city of vertical villages. He looked at me, remained silent for a few minutes, as if thinking, leaned forward and asked: “Do you know about the Bramante’s Ramp?” I replied: “I know of Bramante’s Tempietto, but of his ramp, no, I’am totally unaware”. “You must go and see it”. He commanded the curator to take me and to return when done. I collected my sketch book and off we went.
In the anticipation of seeing a creation of Bramante I paid little attention to the count-less marble sculptures flanking both sides of the long corridor, nor of the number of visitors that were moving like waves from one hall to the other. The polished and shiny corridor ended in an octagonal room, home to the sculpture of Laocoon and his Sons, being devoured by a serpent. How mean were the pagan gods. Opposite the sculpture stood an immovable museum guard. Behind him was an opening with a black iron metal gate. The curator told him to unlock it and we both went through the opening.
I found myself standing on a herringbone brick sloping floor, it was the antithesis of the marbled hallways I had just walked upon. I steadied my balance, leaned on the cheap looking wrought-iron railing fastened between two columns and looked upwards. The void was surrounded and defined by stone columns spiralling upwards. This was the spiral ramp. Rather sepia-ish I thought.
The curator left me alone and I wandered downward in a clockwise direction. At the bottom a wooden door emitted a few rays of light through its edges announcing that beyond it was the exterior. I took a few steps towards the centre and took in a momentary splendour of the void defined by vertical columns. At first what came to mind was a gem, like a pearl hidden in an oyster. My gaze reached the top expecting light, instead it was met by a dark oppressive ceiling. It seemed incongruous to the architecture of the columnar orders.
My curiosity was piqued…
I climbed upward, passed the gate, the immovable guard still at his post, and continued my ascend towards the top. The slope of the ramp was steeper than my liking. More than once I stopped, stepped onto the levelled corner niches, and looked out to the roof scapes of Rome. Finally, I arrived at the top, somewhat short of breath, and I saw in front of me the abandonment of the harmony that the ‘columnar orders’ had offered. I thought: “This is not the way Bramante, the architect of order, perfection and luminosity would have ended the ascend.”
At that moment the curator came to collect me and led me back to the deputy director’s office.
Upon entering his office, I was offered a chair at a nearby round table. A large wooden tray with cups, the iconic Neapolitan coffee maker and biscotti was clearly a sign that the encounter would continue. We set down and the Deputy Director asked: “Allora, architetto Maragna what do you think of Bramante’s staircase?” I responded: “I am de-lighted at being introduced to that which until a few minutes ago was unknown to me, however, I am disappointed at the lack of colour and the manner it comes to an end at the apex.”. He nodded and said: “So am I. Many have studied Bramante’s works for centuries and little is known on his intentions for completing it.”
As we sipped our coffee I ventured to add, tongue in cheek: “Professore, it is possible that Bramante took a coffee break and decided not to return.” And he with a smile responded: “Quasi, quasi, he left one day and never came back. He passed away shortly thereafter, and the ramp was left unfinished without any indication on how to complete it”. Adding “What you saw was poorly done by others years later.” “Your project Spiralia has awakened my interest and I would like to ask you: if you would consider on how Bramante would have completed the staircase?” I felt humbled by the request and mumbled something that to this day escapes my memory.
He handed me a book, ‘Bramante’s Spiral Staircase’ and said: “Give it some thought and should a spark incite your architectural imagination let me know.” He added as an afterthought: “…and by the way stay in touch with the curator regarding the indigenous artifacts”. With those words our encounter came to an end. We bade each other fare-well and with an indescribable excitement and humility I left the unadorned floor. The curator accompanied me to the Museum’s security area whereupon I retrieved my passport and stepped out in Fellini’s Roma.
Immediately I was surrounded by the cacophony of honking cars, noisy motorini, and the blabber from purported to have tourists. While walking without a specific destination I thought about what had taken place at the Museum: from the indigenous artifacts to the spiral ramp there is an insurmountable disconnection. Yet, a coincidental link bridged the two. I knew something of the artifacts, nothing of the ramp and quite a lot about the ‘link’.
I crossed the Tiber on the Bridge Sant’Angelo, adorned on both sides with partly stained monumental angelic sculptures. I looked up at each one in the hope of receiv-ing a clue, even a coincidental one, that would help me come to grips with the request posed by the Deputy Director. Instead, I perceived a gloomy and evocative scenogra-phy telling the story of the passion of a young man who lived two millennia ago.
When I reached the sculpture holding a spear, I followed its shaft towards the sky and adjacent to a white cloud an helicopter was flying towards the Vatican. This time without the hanging Christ, unlike in Fellini’s La Dolce Vita.
Unable to see or feel any synchronicity with these abstract and unrelated happenings I directed my feet towards the Cafe’ in the Chiostro del Bramante, and uncoincidentally enjoy a casual lunch.
