The Mediterranean heat becomes translucent. I lean over to take in the abundance of what is laid out in front of me. I’m slipping through a knot in time or ( I’m slipping through a sliver in time) which, inundated with memories of my sister, Lucia, and I setting up our nativity scene under the Christmas tree. The sensations of colors and details in front of me are wending their way back to my Italian family. Disbelief accompanies me too. These both are and are not the nativity figures of my childhood, wildly varying and differing from our simple basic set. READ MORE
The specter of fascism hazes our view of Italy. The black shirts, Mussolini’s outsized visage under a fez, and the fascist salute bound around the public imagination as free-floating symbols. READ MORE
Memoir
There is no Tocci name here, but we know. From family, we know, and some old records, too. READ MORE
History
A reminder of the once-variable whiteness, and the political fragility, of Italians in the United States. READ MORE
Holidays
We used to have dinner at Nonna Marcella’s home for Christmas Eve … she moved to Carrara with my grandpa, who was from Naples, after they got married because he came here to work. READ MORE
Award-winning Chicago photographer Lisa Vinaccia returns with a photo essay celebrating the architecture of New Orleans. MORE