Firenze, 24.4.09

Last Friday I traveled to Firenze for the day with my dear friends Erin, Abby, Jake, and Josh. Upon arriving we discovered that, because it was the EU’s “Culture Week,” all of the museums were open for free! We had ambitious plans for the day, so this was a great help, saving us around 23 euro in museum admissions and long waits in line (I assume that the lines moved so quickly because there was no jam-up from needing to pay).

Our first stop was at the Palazzo Pitti, a short jaunt across the Arno. We were excited to start the day with a visit to the modern art section of the museum, since we don’t get a great deal of that here; now and then we crave it. We quickly discovered, however, that the term “modern” was being used in the same way that historians use it: as a loose time period beginning in the mid-1700s and extending up to the end of the 19th century. This was very frustrating to me because in art history, the term is used completely differently, referring to a specific time period beginning at the end of the 19th century. While I appreciate the skill of the art coming out of the age of modernity (in the historical sense), I have little personal interest in it.

Palazzo Pitti was not, however, a disappointment (don’t worry Dana! It was a great recommendation). We had thought that the attached Boboli Gardens might make a good 15 minute refresher before we set out for the next museum. The next thing we knew, we had spent about an hour and a half wandering the newly verdant grounds, which were a perfect blend of water, sculpture, manicured lawns and slightly checked growth. We saw about a third of the gardens. The weather was perfect, and after the day of rain before it was wonderful to merely wander in sun and look out over the city from the top of the hill. Hopefully we will be able to return with a picnic lunch and explore the rest of the grounds.

When we finally rolled our pant legs back down and summoned the resolve to leave the gardens, we set out to recross the Arno and visit the Borgello museum. I had been here two summers ago, but I insisted that we add it to our itinerary because no one in our group should miss what it has: Donatello’s David, and the plaques created by Ghiberti and Brunelleschi in the contest over the design of the Duomo’s baptistery doors. David is an incredible piece of early Renaissance sculpture, and is specifically important for Firenze as a symbol of its dominance over other nearby city-states. The plaques, however, stand out even more in my mind because many feel that their creation can be definitively pointed out as the start of the Renaissance.

We next headed up the street to the Accademia, the museum in which are housed Michelangelo’s “enslaved” unfinished sculptures meant for the tomb of Pope Julius II, and, of course, his David. I was very prepared to not be overly impressed with what I thought was likely an unduly popular piece of sculpture; there is plenty of art that is like that, so popular and constantly being thrust into our visual vocabulary, when it really isn’t all that great. This is different. Michelangelo’s David deserves all the recognition it gets. I was prepared to be unimpressed, but woefully unprepared for the opposite effect; it is awing in its grandeur. The photographs do it no justice – it is twice as large as I thought it would be, and is additionally overwhelming because it stands on a pedestal that is above eye-level.

Upon leaving we stopped at a tiny restaurant to grab a panino to go. It was one of the best sandwiches I’ve had in my life, ham with eggplant and a creamy truffle sauce.

Following lunch we stood in line at the Galleria degli Uffizi for two hours. This was not exactly what we wanted, but it ended up being ok because we met an older couple from Toronto, and we traded stories of our travels for the whole time. So the time passed quickly, and soon enough we were inside. The wealth of art that is inside that building is staggering. The halls are lined with statues like Roman replicas of the Doryphoros, and each room contains some of the most famous works of art in the world. Highlights: the room with the Madonna enthroned altarpieces by both Giotto and Cimabue, Rembrandt portraits, a giant Da Vinci cartoon, Caravaggios. The greatest highlights, though, were seeing the Artemesia Gentileschi Judith Slaying Holofernes painting next to the Caravaggios and actually liking it better than the Caravaggios (!), and the Botticelli room. Primavera and The Birth of Venus are two of the greatest paintings I have ever seen. I suppose what draws me to them is that they are paintings that look like drawings, but it is also the extreme delicacy and precision, especially in Primavera; as dark as that painting is, the whole thing communicates weightlessness, the uplifting spirit of spring. The intricacy of the patterns on the fabric, the small details all add up to a massive painting that is about what is tiny. And then, The Birth of Venus…another artwork that bombards us almost daily, but once again with good reason. After seeing it in person, I am convinced that it is the loveliest treatment of the female form that I have seen. It kills me that this room will in such a short time become inaccessible to me; it is the type of museum space to which pilgrimages should be made as often as possible.

What was NOT a highlight was seeing Parmigianino’s Madonna with the Long Neck. I had wanted to go my whole life with never seeing this monstrosity in person, but the kind folks at the Uffizi just had to place it at a point through which passage was necessary to see half of the museum. What an abomination.

When we had exhausted the Uffizi, we took a quick trip to H&M, where I did not buy anything (be proud, Mom and Dad!). On the way back to Sta. Maria Novella for our 7.13 train, we ordered gelato at Corona’s Café – it was the best gelato I’ve had, I was essentially eating a cold, creamy mango.

I cannot pretend to judge Firenze on the few short times I’ve been there, but the impression it has made on me is this: what is sincere and (relatively) permanent is old and kept inside, and it is from these objects that the city continues to derive its identity and its sincerity. Firenze is a fashion center in every meaning of the word: Italian designers have their flagship stores in this city, even if all the work is done in Milan. The streets are wide and clean, shops abound, there is a sense of a congruous fusion of medieval and modern (unlike so many of the Shakespeare plays done today) in the look of the place. However, take away the Botticellis and the Donatellos and what does Firenze have that is not transitory? Perhaps it is simply what every other city has, but since other cities do not have the start of the Renaissance, this all becomes more apparent. It is interesting to me that what is contained within walls and behind laser beams is the heart of the city. Firenze is, perhaps, still a Renaissance city, and it has not yet been re-birthed as other cities continuously are.