Sunday. I was sick, lying on the couch, my flight to Milan leaving in hours. Should I cancel the trip and stay in the malaise that had consumed me or venture out into the world in search of…what? That was the question. I told myself I was going “on assignment.” I worked for a major publication, Have You Considered, and they were sending me to Milan, Paris, and London to cover the fall art scene and report on the beau monde. I was to come back with dazzling photography and a story that would delight and inspire. But the idea of boarding a transatlantic flight with a head cold was not appealing. Billy Strayhorn’s “Lush Life” lyrics lounged in my head: “A week in Paris might ease the bite of it…” I also thought, if I cancel this trip, I’m going to lose money and since this “major publication” was still in solo-entrepreneurship-manifestation-mode, I best get up and figure this out. I moved my trip back one day to sort out the cold and, in the process, found a much cheaper upgrade to business class ($1800 vs $500 = indulge, live, fly in comfort dear). 

It is now 12:12 a.m. on a Tuesday and according to the video map in my seat, we’ve just flown past St. John’s, Newfoundland. Oddly, as I traverse the Atlantic Ocean the only thing on my mind is how profoundly disappointed I am in humanity. To be fair, I’m supposed to say “some of” or “a large part of” humanity. But no, I’m looking side-eyed at the whole lot of us. Why, you ask? Well, turns out the contemptuous disregard for human life feels a bit contagious, like a cold, like…COVID. Unlike COVID, however, we can’t seem to come together on a baseline belief that everyone deserves a cure. How do you even “cure” what is going on? This is where I normally say, “that is between you and God.” Inherent in that statement is that I can only do what I can do, the rest of you need to consult whichever higher power takes your phone call. Though, I am keenly aware that this moment in time requires more than a mindful mantra. What I can do is stay in the light. Not only can I stay in the light, I can actively shepherd the light.  And that is what I do.

To break it down, celebrating the best of art and culture is a celebration of creation, a bonding with imaginations and visions made real, manifested, brought forth from “the light.” Now that I am older, I realize that I have always been intentional about finding beauty. And on my transatlantic business class flight, I am reminded of a little boy for whom this would have been the ultimate fantasy. That little boy used to dream of travel, far-away places, exotic locales, the Orient-Express, the Concord, pyramids, deserts, the list goes on endlessly. And I did more than dream, I would send away for travel brochures and obsess over the trip details in my head. One day I knew I would travel the world. The desire in me was so intense. And now, most of those travel dreams have gratefully been achieved. There are only three more places that I must see - the pyramids, Angkor Wat, and Machu Pichu - but I can say that I’m proud of my travel card thus far. Most importantly, I’ve stayed true to two beliefs held since childhood. In junior high I used to pray, “Dear God, may I never lose my sense of wonder.” I probably heard it on a TV show and it resonated with me so much that it became a constant prayer. And then when I got a little older, I proclaimed, “I want to see the world with my own eyes.” I didn’t want photos or PBS documentaries; I wanted to see the world with my own eyes. Interpret and feel life for myself, not through someone else’s lens, but through my own being.

Yes, I have checked tourist spots off my list. But I somehow inherently knew travel was about discovery and respect – respect for cultures, peoples, and traditions. And for one who delights in art, travel for me has always started with finding that connection to the creative soul of a place. The little boy has grown up and still wonders at the places he has been while quietly yearning for ever new horizons.

This was my second time in Milan. The first time was a few years ago during a men’s fashion week in July. Everyone knows Italians have impeccable style. There is a uniformity in their general good taste. But they take it to a completely new level in Milan. It’s not just me, there are entire YouTube channels dedicated to watching fashionable people walk the streets of Milan. But this time I arrived on a cold and rainy Tuesday afternoon in October and quickly whisked myself to my hotel room. People watching would have to come later. As I had pushed the trip back a day, my room was ready upon arrival. (There is nothing more sobering than getting off a flight and having to wait for your room! It says, “no, you are actually just a regular person, you need to wait like everyone else.”) Channeling my inner Naomi Campbell, I did my Clorox bleach wipe down of the room and then headed to the Carrefour supermarket conveniently located one block away from the hotel. I’m vegan so going to the supermarket is almost a necessity at this point when traveling. The unexpected plus is that it makes me feel very, “look at you in a foreign country at the supermarket buying food-n-stuff like you actually know what you doing!” It’s basically a pantomime. Do I speak Italian? No. Do I know if these prices are good? No. Can I find chips that don’t taste like Chef Boyardee? Maybe. But I’m alive, people. I’m out in this world at the grocery store buying tiny bananas and liters of water from brands I’ve never heard of. I’m doing it. Thank you!

The Milan schedule was tight. Only Tuesday and Wednesday before an early morning train to Paris on Thursday. Tuesday night was dinner with a Milanese friend from Yale. The afternoon itinerary was to eat and shop, or at least do some heavy looking. While the Etro outlet store was walking distance from my hotel, my trusted vintage stores were an Uber away. As I said before, the fashion game in Milan is next level. And that also goes for their vintage shops. If time is limited head to Via Gian Giacomo Mora. There you will find several shops including Cavalli e Nastri which has separate shops for men and women, Sartoria Bassani, and Bivio Milano. The quality is top notch fashionista level. These are not wade through dusty bins vintage stores. These are boutiques where you will find high-end designer treasures at accessible prices.  After perusing the merchandise, I didn’t find anything that needed to be my friend but so enjoyed the simple pleasures of wandering and wondering.

A late dinner with Helena at LuBar within the courtyard of an 18^th century villa that houses the Galleria d'Arte Moderna, found me answering an interesting question. Discussing the topics of the day we placed ourselves in the very real happenings of the world. She mentioned past generations of family members who were jailed in Italy for being anti-fascist and though they were released, afterward their lives were never the same. I told her that as a gay Black man, there are only so many places in this world I can live freely. Expecting the next point of conversation to be a discussion of where those places might be, instead I heard, “You consider yourself to be Black?”  - insert cosmic boom, slip into an alternate reality moment here - “Uhm, yes.” Now, for those of you who don’t know, my Black meter is somewhere between Malcolm X, James Baldwin, and “you ‘bout to get your feelings hurt.” So, this was a bit shocking to me. But why? Helena, a millennial, grew up in a completely different country and culture. She told me how it is actually illegal to ask about race in many instances in Italy. If I analyzed her reality, it is one where “Nicholas being Black” is not even real, because “Nicholas is just Nicholas.” Hers was not a denial of my identity, but rather an honest, “what?” To be fair, in the same way I don’t know the nuances of Italian identity politics (is that even a thing?) or Italian history past my high school European Studies class, why should she be expected to know about my “American Blackness?” I knew this conversation could easily go deep into PhD thesis territory.  Tired from the travel and genuinely taken aback by the moment, I showed her a photo of my parents and we changed the conversation to real estate and Helena’s recommended art museums, instead. Funny, I’m sitting in Milan, on a trip to explore and keep the creative juices flowing and this is the question I was presented at the top of the journey. It is my Blackness that has me traipsing distant shores due to the fact certain factions are trying to erase my Blackness. Feels like the Universe is tapping me on the shoulder with this one. I think the editorial committee just changed the assignment from “Beau Monde in the Fall” to “In Search Of.”

It is now Wednesday afternoon. Not Wednesday morning, because I overslept. I never oversleep. The Capricorn in me knows a morning well spent when traveling is to be up and out the door savoring a cappuccino and a croissant no later than 9 a.m. But the clock said 1 p.m! I donned what is now my standard travel outfit: Etro jacket, blue Banana Republic pants, stylish hat, and glasses I bought from that cute store (and even cuter guy) in Florence, and headed to the first museum Helena told me to check out, the Pinacoteca di Brera (Brera Art Gallery). The Brera area of Milan is considered upscale with lovely shops and restaurants galore. Centrally located in the neighborhood is Palazzo Brera, which houses a historic collection of Italian art. According to their website, “The Gallery was commissioned by Napoleon Bonaparte and complements the pre-existing Accademia, which was founded by Maria Theresa of Austria.” Indeed, I was pleasantly surprised by the museum, not because I didn’t think it would be great, but because my camera immediately began to connect me back to the previous night’s conversation, this time, interrogating not with words but with images, feelings, emotions, wonderings – who were the people in these paintings? No, really, look at these paintings, Nicholas…who was this man? That baby? Who was the model the painter used to depict this martyr, that Jesus, this angel? The images allow for so many more questions and conversations, as only art can do...even centuries later. Oh, the power of art to transcend time and still connect us to the immediacy of now.

I could honestly say that I did not feel alienated in this historical “foreign” museum. I could see, if not myself on the walls, definitely versions of life where I would have existed, maybe even thrived. What I did not have to do, thankfully, was imagine my existence, as it was clearly there for everyone to see and know as fact.

The afternoon quickly passed by, but I still had one more very important stop to make in Brera. Leaving the museum, I walked down Via Solferino to one of my favorite stores, the Bisazza tile Milano Flagship showroom. If you have to ask, then ask me. Because I know this is what you need when you are in need of the most exquisite tiles for your home. Say it with me: “BISAZZA!!” Once upon a time, I had only seen these tiles in magazines and always thought, “I need this.” Visiting their showroom and immersing myself in the decadent designs and mosaics felt like a guilty pleasure. But why feel guilty? I do need tiles. OK, maybe not gold mosaics - but maybe yes, gold mosaics! Take their virtual tour here and you’ll see what I mean. I am beginning what I hope is not an arduous journey of renovating our pied-à-terre outside of Rome. And though I haven’t even decided on contractors, I am visualizing the tiles for the bathroom and kitchen. He has a dream. And lest you think there is no rhyme to my reasoning, spending the afternoon looking at history totally informs my aesthetic choices, what I bring into my home, what I collect, what I live with on a daily basis. It is all a reflection of oneself. And are we all not worthy of being reflected in gold tiles?

From old masters to contemporary questionings, Thursday morning I was on my way to Paris with a 6-hour train ride that I was not mad at. There was a time when I would have chosen the quick early morning flight to get a start on the day. But age and dare I say wisdom, now lead me to opt for the high-speed Trenitalia that bypasses the all-around unpleasantness of the airport. The magnificent Milano Centrale station is such an elegant architectural gateway for a 6:25 a.m. train. The sun hadn’t yet risen when I arrived at the station, but even in the darkness it had that glow of history one associates, sometimes stereotypically, with European grandeur of the past. I live the fantasy and relish every moment as I make my way to, thankfully, the not historical, but very high-tech train.  For this voyage, I have an entire reading list planned that I already know I will not even touch. I will simply look out the window, meditate, and watch the world go by.

Do Consider

If it is your first time in Milan, by all means, shop until you drop. It is a mecca of fashion with great shopping all around. I will not deny you this most simple of pleasures. But if this is your second time to Milan, then dear, have some decorum, and slow your pace. Spend the day in Brera, one of Milan’s most important design districts. The Pinacoteca di Brera will ground you and from there the neighborhood offers art, fashion, and food. You will still find tourists here, but not the rush and capacity like near the Duomo and Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II.

• Pinacoteca di Brera (Brera Art Gallery) — A jewel of Italian art history, this intimate museum features masterpieces by Caravaggio, Raphael, and Titian among others. Perfect for travelers who only have an hour but it also offers enough if you want to linger. The museum also has a nice cafe.

  📍 Via Brera 28, Milan

• Bisazza Flagship Store — A temple to tile. This Milan showroom of the legendary mosaic house is where fantasy meets craftsmanship. Even if you’re not renovating, the artistry alone is worth the visit—consider it a pilgrimage for the design-minded.
  📍 Via Solferino 22, Milan

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