Isabella Ubaldi — A Drip in Time

Within the lesser-known Marche region of Italy, bang in the centre of the boot, is the almost-forgotten town of Genga. Sitting at the bottom of the valley, below the soaring cliffs of Vallemontagna, the Sentino River traces through the lives of a population barely stretching to 2,000. Silence occupies the space. A strong espresso and stale cannoli in a faded timber chalet offer a little refuge from the splintering wind. It’s a far cry from the commercial glitz of Northern Italy and rugged sexiness of the South.

In Genga, people are accustomed to staring into the abyss. That is, the Ancona Abyss within the Grotte di Frasassi: Europe’s biggest cave system. Above ground is an eerie picture of faded glory, an Italian take on the film The Shining. Below ground is a quiet labyrinth. A treasure, built on a series of single drips, that’s taken shape over the past 150,000 years. That’s three times longer than humans have been on earth. With every drip the Grotte continue to form.

Discovered by accident in 1971, the caves are over a mile long and house chambers with domes reaching up to 400 feet. To walk through is to understand the present moment moulded by the landscape’s past. The river above that carries sulphurous waters and calcium bicarbonate from the surrounding limestone mountains. Earthquakes that forged cracks in the rock, making way for water to flow and folds of stalactites that sit like fresh tagliatelle hung out to dry. The stalagmites warped into Baroque columns over 10 feet high, formed by a single drip consistently falling in that very place moment after moment, day after day, year after year. Halls of alabaster are filled with lime castings and crystalline lakes in all shades of cream, mascarpone, custard and eggshell. At 98% humidity, this world is seemingly breathless. Life is only confirmed by slow echoes of dripping water.

Above ground, our modern world rushes at the frenetic pace of downstream rapids. When the social currency is comparing ourselves to each other, it’s easy to quickly feel stale. Be it from poor performance, illness or judgement from others, we feel like we’ve been benched. Drifting in a place we can’t escape, with no fresh air and 98% humidity. That dark place harbours self-doubt, it lingers long enough to dig itself into your layers of muscle and tissue, embedding itself in your very flesh. Such is the inner world when you feel like you’re falling short. Not enough. In this place we often find ourselves staring into the dark abyss, asking…am I doing enough? We want the money, we want the recognition, we want it now.

We should, rather, take our cues from the natural world where all the best things have formed over time. Exchange the sirens and cacophony of all that we’re not doing for the sound of a singular, focussed drip. One at a time. A single drip is useless, but a series can provide a full cup from which to drink, a restorative bath or build an alabaster wonderland. Consider that dark, inner world of self-doubt part of the quiet, underground treasure that is far more than the sum of its parts. An expression of perfect imperfection. Consider experience a drip in time.