I lived in Siracusa for about eight years, before the tourist tide after the so-called Arab Spring. What held me captive was the light—unyielding, precise, impossible to ignore. This province appears to host two springs: one when you'd expect it, and another in November, after the October rains. The land warms again. Color returns after the arid summer and the countryside behaves as if nothing has happened. Before I began exploring the wider region, I was content to wander the strange countryside at the tip of what is called Isola—a quiet place with an old German U-boat base carved into rock. From there, I painted the view back across the Porta Grande to Ortigia. Painting buildings here is difficult. The sun turns fast, and with it, the scene. Light and shadow swap places with unnerving speed. The beach along the Porta Grande is strewn with the usual symbols of abandonment—rubble, illegal construction—but it improves as you move toward the estuaries of the Anapo and Ciane. There, the view opens again toward infinity, framed between Ortigia and the so-called “Isola.” This gallery gathers six of many paintings I’ve made of these twin faces of Ortigia.