Thursday, September 5th | 2024 | Day 8
Up early for class at 9, our first lesson is on an unfolding scandal involving the Minister of Culture who appointed his former mistress as a consultant on his staff. While ideas around extra marital affairs are a bit more lax in many European countries compared to the US, access to potentially sensitive documents is not.
For the second lesson, our insegnante Guise, takes our intrepid crew to Mercato di Sant’ Ambrogio—the real market where Florentines shop. The forecast didn’t disappoint and we walk quite a ways down Via degli Alfani in drizzling rain. Vendors with a wide array of produce are outside under blue tarps, though Guise seems a bit disappointed, saying there is less of a turnout than usual. Moving into brick and mortar, the sights, sounds and smells are divine. Mini shops arranged along four aisles offer pizza, panini, fresh meats, cheese, olives, wine, and pasta with proprietors eager to offer samples. They don’t have to twist my arm nor is much imagination required to see myself here a couple times a week when I move to Italy.
After gathering around a high-top table in the center of the market to complete a worksheet, Deb and I head back. By the time we reach the intersection where we part ways with the rain varying from drizzle to steady sprinkle, we’re both pretty soaked. Having left my backpack in the classroom, that was my first stop before moving on to San Marco.
Upon entering the Basilica di San Marco I immediately felt a sense of tranquility. Not only because it wasn’t flooded with tourists, nor was it due solely to grey overcast skies offering welcome reprieve from the heat of days prior. It was the elegant beauty of simplicity that came over me while sitting in the cloister soaking in silence and rain. I can see why Cosimo di Giovanni de’ Medici came here to “retreat from the world.”
Inside, tempura painted wood panels by the somewhat overlooked early Renaissance master Beato “Fra” Angelico hung on the gallery walls. In his time, being a Dominican friar was at odds with being a painter. Deemed an indulgence and distraction from prayer, these objections were overcome by sheer talent which, in his own defense, contributed to the glory of God. For Fra Angelico, painting was a form of penitence and meditation. Now separated from their original contexts as altar pieces, it’s understandable that the significance and meaning of these devotional works might get a bit lost.
Going upstairs, the entire second floor consists of tiny rooms where the friars lived and prayed. With barely enough space for a bed and small nightstand, their dedication to living simply, in service to God is evident. Most of the cells have a single painting or fresco, which are assumedly meant to guide the occupant in prayer on a particular theme—Jesus crucified, then resurrected, Mary as the mother of Christ, and her assumption into heaven.
Of course I’m taking lots of pictures and in trying to get a better shot nudge a door to one of the cells ever so slightly. An alarm sounds. Oh Lord, I’ve done it now. The scene I envision of armed guards charging up the stairs to levy a hefty fine or arrest me thankfully doesn’t unfold. Do-de-doo, nothing to see here!
Another well known Dominican to call San Marco home was Girolamo Savonarola. He wasn’t the only one to take notice of Medici power and influence, but was perhaps the most outspoken. Advocating for return to a simpler, and from his point of view, less corrupt time, both elites and ordinary citizens were encouraged to relinquish earthly possessions. In bonfires of the vanities., an unknown number of books, paintings, music, sculpture and other finery deemed sinful were destroyed. Savonarola was invited to preach in Florence by Lorenzo the Magnificent, but within a few years, religious fervor against social and artistic excesses led the populace to expel the Medicis.
With Savonarola’s grip tightening around both religious and political control, the Republic seemed to be teetering precariously on return to Middle Age tyrannies. For however much the citizenry mistrusted or disliked the Medici, strict doctrine removed many freedoms that in part, gave Florence its identity as the center of scientific and humanistic thought. Perhaps the devil they knew was better than the one they didn’t. Eventually public opinion, as well as that of the Pope, turned. Savonarola was hanged, then burned in Piazza della Signoria—the same location where his bonfires had blazed a short time before.
In the back corner of San Marco, Savonarola is remembered. One glass case holds his frock, his rosary in another. A marble slab with a relief and inscription pays homage to him as an orator, thinker, and citizen. At the top, his likeness is revealed by a bronze bust. Whether or not you agree with Savonarola on theology, one has to admire a man rooted in the courage of his conviction, who had a sense of purpose, and lived and died according to what he believed to be God’s will.
On my way back down to the ground floor, the same alarm sounds again. Wasn’t me this time, I’m just walking here! And smile at the quick realization that correlation doesn’t mean causation.
Entry into the Accademia is about an hour away so it’s time for lunch. One cannot see great works of art on an empty stomach! In the spirit of what I’m about to see, I stop at Caffetteria il David. It’s on the same block as Gran Caffè San Marco and All’ Antico at the south end of piazza San Marco. The only seating is a narrow bar but it’s not busy and the Margherita panini doesn’t disappoint.
Standing in line, the rain maintains a steady drizzle. My jacket does well enough against the weather, but offers no protection from the pointed ends on the mass of umbrellas surrounding me. Luckily I didn’t lose an eye before having a chance to see Michelangelo’s masterpiece. The queue is well populated but moves efficiently once it’s time to go in.
While many go straight ahead, the first gallery to the right catches my attention. Spiraling upward, the plaster model of what is considered Giambologna‘s masterpiece depicts the Rape of the Sabine Women. A narrative as central to the early history of Rome as the legend of Romulus and Remus, yet much more likely to have been a reality. While the subject is horrific, the work is exquisitely striking. Writhing, twisting in anguish and lust, each figure is composed so dynamically that the scene practically comes to life. The finished sculpture can be found in the loggia outside Palazzo Vecchio.
Much of the wall space was filled with paintings and altar pieces. A bit cramped, there wasn’t enough room to capture decent photos. As luck would have it, a tempura on wood of Saint James the Great, Saint Stephen, and Saint Peter was in a good spot. Lucky because Santo Stefano is one of my favorites.
Mentioned in the book of Acts, he was put on trial for blasphemy. Speaking eloquently, he took exception to the hypocrisy of those who condemned Christ to the cross, persecuted his followers, and now sat in judgement of him. Taken outside the walls of Jerusalem to be stoned, Stephen became the first martyr of Christianity. Ironically, Saint Paul who stands beside him holding the keys to heaven, was one of the Pharisees and actively participated in the execution. Steadfast in faith as death was imminent, Stephen prayed for Jesus to take his soul, and to forgive his persecutors for their sins.
At the heart of the Accademia and the heart of Florence itself—the David. Carved from a single block of Carrara marble by Michelangelo, who was twenty-six when he accepted the commission, is an absolute marvel. Unlike contemporary works that portrayed victory, Michelangelo chose to capture the moment just before the biblical battle with the Philistine giant, Goliath. From the side, his gaze is fraught with the weight of not only the challenge directly in front of him, but also that of leadership and becoming a king. David was, after all, a simple shepherd, and victory against such a formidable foe was sure to elevate him to heroic, god-like status. Looking straight on, he stares openly and optimistically into the future.
Much like David facing Goliath, the statue perfectly represents a moment in time. Beset on all sides by rival city-states more powerful than she, Florence stood strong, facing what appeared to be unsurmountable odds. While also gazing towards the future and charting its own course. One the rest of humanity would eventually follow in the wake of.
Off to the left, the Gipsoteca Bartolini was originally created in 1784 by the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Peter Leopold. The hall of models was intended for students of the Accademia delle Belle Arti next door as reference for creating marble sculptures. I spent quite a bit of time here, much of it waiting for clean shots as others passed by. Though these plaster models, less detailed than their counterparts in stone would have been, the themes and expressions were just as captivating.
The next gallery featured works by Giotto, another one of my favorites. When I took Art History classes in college, he was pointed out as the first known artist that clearly broke from Gothic and Byzantine tradition to herald the transition into early Renaissance. While partly due to the use of vanishing point perspective that made buildings and interior spaces appear much more realistic, the most dramatic shift was in the way he represented people. They had volume, took up space, and were proportionate. While on this trip I had hoped to make it to the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua which is considered his masterwork. Another site for the next adventure in Italy!
Stepping out from the Accademia, the rain is tapering off and it’s time to decide where to next. Museo di Medici is only a few block away and, as they say, perché no? As I approach the museum, the first floor of a building around the corner covered in street art catches my eye. Graffiti is an Italian word meaning “scratched” that stems from the Greek verb “to write.” Clearly, whether people are carving out vows of devotion or their discontents, this is nothing new.
I love the spraypainted freedom of expression on those walls. This is exactly the foundation laid in Florence, that built towards the Magna Carta, that built towards the Enlightenment and values we should all be fighting for. While the revolutionary, wanting to change the world side of youth is pumping my fist in the air and marching beside them, the more temperate and perhaps wise side would suggest that cooler heads prevail. “Odia gli USA, odia Israele; ama il prossimo.” Hate these people, but love thy neighbor seems rather contradictory. Florence is hardly the only city in Europe faced with over tourism, but I agree with this sentiment cento per cento. “Basta svendere Firenze. +Studentati -Privati.”
The Museo de’ Medici is located in the Rotunda del Brunelleschi, a Renaissance church designed by the same architect who built the famous dome, but left unfinished until the early twentieth century. Arranged chronologically, galleries packed with artifacts and details ring the central space, bringing the visitor through the history of this illustrious family. Each room has a QR code to scan with your phone for an audio tour in English, French, or Italian. One of the galleries has a slideshow featuring brief biopics of prominent figures. It also features a welcome chance to sit and rest for a while.
Panels in the center display each period of Medici history, as well as a family tree from Cosimo the Elder to Anna Maria Louisa de’ Medici. It is quite fascinating and really helps when trying to keep all the Cosimos, Giovannis and Lorenzos straight!
You may be able to tell by now, but I’m kind of a fan. One could debate all day long about rivalries, power grabs, usury, and influence (aka bribery) leveraged to determine who the conclave elected Pope. Less debatable is whether the Medici were first or last to do so. While such accusations were certainly levied, and therefore carried some foundation of truth, I do believe the broader vision led to greater good than ill. However odious the backroom political chicanery, there is no doubt the Medici embraced ideals of humanistic thought and scientific discovery, gave much to those in need, and conspicuously sponsored some of the greatest artists who defined the Renaissance. The means don’t always justify the ends, but in this case, I’ll take it.
Heading back to the Duomo, the rain has finally let up. I take a few minutes leaning against the iron gate surrounding the Baptistry deciding what to do next. Being amidst the endless, swirling mass of tourists, street vendors, and fashionably dressed Italians is a wonderful feeling. It’s way past time for a spritz, so I take a seat at Move On, hoping for some good shots of the cathedral.
Move On was rather apropos for the current situationship I was in. Someone I cared a great deal for but wasn’t in a place to make anything official. Someone I tried to help, even rescue. Out of caring, of course. But there was also something about her that brought out a deeply rooted part of me that wanted to play the role of protector and provider. Over the previous year, the road had already been quite rocky and there were many signs it was time to move on.
Shortly after sitting down, four guys occupy an adjacent table for two. Remembering to be situationally aware, I start to feel somewhat guarded and move my backpack from across the table to the chair beside me.
Suddenly, the sun breaks through the clouds and the facade of the Duomo lights up. Perfetto! This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. After snapping at least a dozen shots, the server, seeming concerned about the distance I had been from the table, is waiting to ask if I would like another spritz. Certo, per favore.
Returning to the opposite side of the table I had been sitting at, I unnecessarily explain in Italinglish™ “il sole.. it was in my eyes.” He smiles and as we start talking, tells me they are from Israel and came to Florence to escape the war. In this moment, two of them are actively trying to extend their visas out of concern for what hell they may be cast into upon returning. They are all young but certainly eligible for military service. Introducing the group and shaking my hand, his name is Michael. As they finish their tea and stand to leave, I feel a bit sheepish for any concern I had a few short moments before.
In that brief interaction, I was humbled and reminded that while one should be cautious and aware, the entire point of traveling is to connect with the world. Reminded that we are all travelers in space and time. That perception shapes the reality of our experience and that we all have the power to choose whether it is one of love or fear.
As the golden hour glow continues, I can’t help but take a few more pictures.
A lovely woman sits down next to me at the table where the Israeli gentlemen had been, orders a spritz, and pulls a few letters out of her purse. She writes, I snap pics. Speaking in English to the waiter, I’m relieved to stop rehearsing what I might say in Italian, and ask where she’s from. Czech Republic, where my family would be spending Christmas.
Our conversation ranged from art, to Prague, to what’s next in life. I had the impression Adela and I were both facing formidable forks in the road. Career, relationship, where and how to find our place in the world. It would be so cool to spend time with someone passionate about art while here. Though I imagined a day together before she left and the possibility of meeting up in Prague over the holidays, I didn’t ask for her number. Perhaps out of not wanting to be too forward. Perhaps out of some sense of loyalty to the relationship I wasn’t in. Watching her walk away, I couldn’t help but wonder what this chance encounter might have been.
