Walking through the cobbled, dark, dilapidated streets of Florence — literally ‘the flourishing’ — it’s hard to believe that it was once the capital of the Renaissance, an artistic movement whose graceful wings would harbour the finest contemporary artists, the fluttering of which is still felt today. Undeniably beautiful, in its own rustic way, Firenze today is one of the most attractive and charming cities in the world but… what would it have looked like 500 years ago at the peak of its opulence, at the zenith of the Medici family’s power? What would it have looked like before ‘faithful reconstructions’ and centuries of war-torn damage?
It’s a feeling that haunts me whenever I explore ancient sites and cities, a nagging itch that I just can’t shake: how did it look in its hey-day, before tourism and smogged industry? I’ll never know — we’ll never know. In Ephesus, Turkey, that realisation was hammered home: I could be walking around the greatest and most beautiful city that has ever graced this world, but it would forever just be an image in my mind and nothing more. I can run my hands over fallen columns, their reliefs painstakingly chipped and carved to a level of manual craftsmanship that we’ll never see again, imagining what Ephesus might’ve looked like, felt like, but it won’t bring the city back to life. There its remains will lie, feeding imaginations of adventurous tourists until the end of time.
Back in Florence, at least there haven’t been any earthquakes (the most common cause of destruction in ancient Turkey was earthquakes, and the small fact of building accidentally on marsh land). Much of what you see today, picking your way over the ankle-turning cobbles of doom is authentic, aged, well-preserved. But it’s not really the buildings I’m here to see, it’s what’s inside: the finest collections of Gottis and Donatellos in the world, housed under wonders such as Brunelleschi’s dome, the Duomo, a construction of 4 million bricks that is still the largest masonry dome in the world.
But who am I kidding? The Raphaels are beautiful and the Da Vincis spectacular but the Michelangelos…
Passing through security, I turn to my right. There he stands, in plainly flaunted view, at the end of a long, vaulted avenue. Lined with other priceless sculptures that receive scarcely more than a fleeting glance, the avenue serves just one purpose: to heighten and hone my senses, to zoom in on what I’ve come to see: David. Lit perfectly and elevated, his head and gaze are level and contemplative. I wonder if there isn’t some small measure of irony in the monstrous size of Michelangelo’s finest masterpiece. Surely he anticipated, as he chipped away at a eighteen-foot block of flawless marble that his creation would be imposing. Maybe he was allured by the nickname the local authorities had given the raw block of marble: The Giant; perhaps Michelangelo felt that he was simply carving out the rock’s destiny. But who cares: David is huge. David dwarfs you and absorbs the entire room, sucking in your attention like a miniature black hole. Dare to meet his gaze and he defies you, just as he defies the world with the wordless challenge issued by his engraved face and form.
Aged just 26, Michelangelo would spend two years chipping away at a brave new portrayal of the Biblical figure King David. Most artists had presented David after his battle with Goliath, victorious; Michelangelo created a more ambiguous work, a piece so rich in detail that there are many possible interpretations: does that look of contemplation come from his decision to fight the giant, or is he looking up serenely having just vanquished his foe?
Only one person knows for sure and I hope he took the secret to his grave — where would the fun be if there was only one possible reading? The creation of art is only part of the process; admiration and interpretation are both required to make it complete, to make the work whole. The purpose of art, after all, is to create an effect.
Walking through the streets and museums of Florence, as tired and ancient that they may be, the art still roused within me vibrant and vicious images of life during the Rennaiscence. 600 years have passed and yet the art still stirs visitors such as me to stop and think and admire these great masterpieces. I wonder if any of our contemporary creations will be still be considered art six centuries from now.
Amy
Jun 2, 2009
Beautiful post, Seb. It’s the same feeling I get every time I go back to the UK (although sans art; it’s all about the history for me).
shuping
Jun 2, 2009
Lovely piece of travelogue.
My friend, Flo, was named after the city because her mom fell in love with the place. I’d like to show her these photos!
Jo
Jun 2, 2009
Beautiful piece of writing Seb, and very thought-provoking.
Rica
Jun 2, 2009
Now I miss Europe more than ever.
GRRR.
chrome3d
Jun 2, 2009
Excellent post and all 3 photos are very good.
chrome3d
Jun 2, 2009
Daang, these avatars that you get here sure look butt ugly.
jo
Jun 2, 2009
Hey, Chrome3d, our avatars are very similar…. maybe we are related?
sebastian
Jun 2, 2009
Chrome still has the vestigial wings while yours has evolved, Jo, into little hands…
I hope you showed her the photos, Shup! ‘Flo’ is quite an old English name too, but I assume it’s from ‘flower’ (Florence isn’t from ‘flower’, almost though).
And you should ALL go and see David, sometime, before you die — no rush, he’ll always be there
Renee
Jun 2, 2009
One nitpick: Duomo means cathedral, not dome. The word for dome is Cupola.
Otherwise, very lovely post. I dearly miss the abundance of art and history in Florence.
sebastian
Jun 2, 2009
I know. But it fit better than ‘The Dome of the Cathedral of Florence’, and it still just about makes sense, and adds to the flow of the sentence… so… doesn’t always pay to nitpick!
Sarah
Jun 2, 2009
I thought this was a lovely piece of travel writing
I would like to go visit David, and just to see “Flo” (what a great name idea!)…
your pictures are beautiful!! the 2nd was my fav.
Art
Jun 2, 2009
Aw, you made me miss Florence.
By the way, the size of the David is as such because he was originally on a high pedestal and viewed from below. That’s also why his head and hands are disproportinately large. Not just a gangly teenager. : )
sebastian
Jun 2, 2009
Ahah! I did wonder — I saw his original resting place, where a replica now resides, and I thought it looked a bit more ‘balanced’.
But also, I thought the location wasn’t decided until after it was finished? By a council including Da Vinci and some other important people? Could be wrong, though. Perhaps Michelangelo always planned for it to be on a very tall pedestal, at least!
Sarah, that’s, I think, my favourite sunset of all time.
Art
Jun 2, 2009
Hmmm, well, Wikipedia says it was originally meant to go on a buttress of Santa Maria del Fiore but the original sculptor dropped the project and, by the time Michaelangelo got done 27 years later, the council that you remember decided it should go on that pedestal in front of the Palazzo Vecchio instead of on top of a cathedral.
Jaime @ Fast Times
Jun 2, 2009
As usual, Sebastian, your photos are utterly breathtaking.
I, too, often wonder if any artists of our time will be remembered hundreds of years from now. I wonder if anyone will ever again create anything original to marvel at.
Hannah
Jun 2, 2009
beautiful pictures, as always.
That “wondering what it was like” thing is how I feel when I visit “ghost” towns here in the west. There are some places that are just half a wall, some rubble, and a cemetary and they were once thriving towns and mining centers. Just walking around the shells of buildings and finding tin cans here and there and maybe a cracked peice of china from 100 years ago is both sad and beautiful. But it really makes you wonder…Though my ghost towns are decidedly different from Florence
Renee
Jun 2, 2009
The council decided it was too good to be put so high up, and also this was during one of the times that the Medici were run out of town, so they put it in front of the Palazzo Vecchio as a symbol of Florence as free from the Medici.
sebastian
Jun 3, 2009
Yeah, the ghost towns must be even more creepy Hannah because they were so ‘recently’ occupied. At least here in Europe they were abandoned hundreds of years ago. In America you can still find places that were lived in just a few decades a go… I can’t imagine something like that happening in the UK. I wonder if it’s due to population density…
I had heard the story that David first symbolised ‘freedom from the oppressor’ (Medici). Interesting, considering I’m sure it was not crafted by Michelangelo with that in mind! Just proof that one piece of art can stand for a thousand different ideas
floreta
Jun 3, 2009
beautiful. my favorite is the first picture. how do you make that perfect starburst with the lights??
also, when are you posing like David? ;P
sebastian
Jun 3, 2009
Ah, the star burst! That’s a choice of lens, and a long exposure — 20, 30 seconds or more. I think if you look really closely you might see shadows from people moving through the photo, but I’m not sure. The blue light in the bottom right is from some group of musicians that happened to be playing on that corner… there were a lot of people gathered there, bohemian, student types!
I don’t have the figure to pose as David, m’dear…
the girl in stiletto
Jun 3, 2009
i always love your interpretations of places you’ve been to. i can see how such places stirred such emotions from you, as how they did to me. and i thought, how did this place look like hundred years ago without all the tourists flocking around.
and david…. some said his penis doesn’t do him justice. just saying ahaha.
Melissa
Jun 5, 2009
I think it’s a good thing Michelangelo carved the David at such a young age, so he could still be cheeky enough to pull it off properly. Could anyone other than a young man have gotten the attitude juuuust right? And if I recall my facts he didn’t have an intended place for the David to go. Nobody was buying because nobody thought he could do it. Then he kicked ass so they had to figure out a place to put it. As an interesting note, he made a bunch of his figures “disproportionate” in the interest of getting the final piece to look just right. Like in the Pieta, Jesus is something like 12 feet tall if you measure him out. But he looks just right!
(This is what I get for having taught The Agony and The Ecstasy for 3 years!)
sebastian
Jun 5, 2009
Yeah, that’s the other thing I didn’t mention — David was one of his earliest sculptures! Truly gifted…
I’d rather have studied that than the Tudors, which we studied for 4 years, thanks to a batty and slightly-mad History teacher