Globalog Florence

Farewell to Florence

2008-05-16T15:40:00.011+02:00

I will never be the same. Teaching at Lorenzo de Medici and living in Florence has been a mind altering experience. I might (hopefully) lose the fifteen pounds put on, but I won't lose the friends, the memories, and the gift to wonder, again.

Some of the folks who made my stay terrific:

Fabrizio Guarducci

Fabrizio is the Founder, President, and, yes, owner of LdM. A generous, enthusiastic, and, er, maybe slightly eccentric visionary. He extended himself to me in surprising ways and never missed a chance, even while rushing to and fro, to stop, say "Buon giorno!", and ask, "Come stai?" I met Fabrizio for the first time when he handed me one of the cookies he was passing out in the LdM library.

Carla Guarducci

Carla is the lovely multi tasking can-do General Managing Director of LdM (and Fabrizio's younger sister). LdM is a success because Carla is at the helm. She shares Fabrizio's visionary side (if on a more practical level), and works to extend the reach of LdM and better the experiences of its students. Carla always made me feel funny, smart, and important (now THAT takes real skill and charm).

Jonathan Woolfson

Jonathan is the Academic Director. When I arrived, he took me out to lunch and over the next five months acted in many ways to help me feel at home. Jonathan is smart, affable, fun to be around, and speaks Italian with a British accent.

Markus Legner

Markus is Faculty and Course Coordinator. Underlying the long official emails and a no-nonsense approach to course syllabi, Markus has a wry sense of humor and a quick wit. He is this blog's biggest supporter (next to my lovely wife, Stacy) and corrected several of my observations (you might think he has too much time on his hands!).

Marsha Steinberg

Marsha is the Painting Department Supervisor. She is a "do it and do it now!" energizer who was at first intimidating to this "save it for after my nap" kinda guy. It didn't take long, however, to find that Marsha is a sweetheart under the taskmaster, and we enjoyed lovely evenings gabbing under the influence of pizza and wine.

Gene Baldini

Gene was my immediate colleague and closest buddy in Florence. An intelligent painter with a scathing sense of humor, Gene went out of his way to be friendly. We took a successful, if brief, road trip in his 18-year-old Ford convertible in search of the Renaissance painter, Pierro della Francesca. A day with the top down, hair blowing in the wind, sunglasses on, watching the Tuscan countryside go by is a day you can't forget. Gene Baldini won't be forgotten either.

Justin Thompson

Justin is an artist, art critic, and Art Professor. He invited me to go with him to a contemporary art show in a town about 30 minutes by car outside of Florence. He wasn't quite sure of the way and seemed not to believe in using a map, but we did get there on time. On the way back we stopped for a beer and chatted about art and music. It was my first social engagement in Florence and happily broke the ice of my early solitude.

Glenn Wyatt

Glenn is a Graphic Design Professor from Australia. He arrived at LdM about the same time as I. Glenn made a good companion for strolls about Florence. We had some dinners and a few drinks together, and talked copiously about the good and bad of relationships, the good and bad of teaching, and the mostly bad of trying to find a decent cocktail bar in Florence.

Alex Subrizi (sorry, no portrait of Alex)

Alex is a Photography Professor. He shared my taste for Chinese food (while growing up in NYC, his family had a regular Chinese restaurant habit, so I'm not entirely convinced that he isn't part Jewish) and we had good conversation over several meals that invariably started with hot and sour soup.

The Students at LdM

Whether in the painting studio, in the markets, or out on the streets, students were an essential part of my experience and brought an energy and excitement that only they can. Of course, Florence has been a destination for students for, oh, 500 years, and to have been part of that tradition as an art professor was an extreme privilege.

You might think returning home to my ordinary life in a middling American city like Albany, NY, would be a disappointment after living in Florence. Certainly, in many ways it is, what, with the absence of the Renaissance's greatest art and architecture! But after the first couple of weeks in Florence, the thrill of all the great art settled a bit and I began to notice everything else. Yes, there were the dramatic edifices and domes, but it was this doorknob, or this milk carton, or this street traffic, or this fly on my wall that became strange and wonderful as if I came from another planet (which I kinda did). Everything is a wonder when seeing it as if for the first time. The practice of really looking again is the most important gift that I've taken back from Florence. I hope that my life here in good ol' Albany will benefit from being able to wonder anew.

Art and Tourists

2008-05-07T09:43:00.013+02:00

It's normal to wade through tourists now that high season is upon Florence. Luckily (for me) most of the tourists spend their time lined up at a few major sites for long hours. Though there are fewer at secondary sites, groups are unavoidable and have been part of the Florentine landscape since medieval times.

Groups of people in medieval painting were unrealistically squished against the front of the picture (probably the way it feels to be lined up at the Uffizi Museum) as in this detail from a Duccio painting (1308).

A more naturalistic arrangement of figures was a benefit of understanding perspective in renaissance painting as in this Masaccio detail (1426)

I started to appreciate tourists almost as if they were figure groupings in paintings. Compare this detail from a Ghirlandaio (1486) to a photo (2008).

Here a few more snapshots of tourists to enjoy.

Birth, Death, and Justice.

2008-05-04T20:06:00.014+02:00

First the baby went on the "rota," a stone lazy-Susan, then the anonymous mother rang the bell and the baby was rotated into the Spedale degli Innocenti, Europe's first orphanage.

The window where the baby rota was located.

It's fitting that Spedale degli Innocenti was housed in the building that gave birth to renaissance architecture. This was Brunelleschi's first masterpiece (he was soon to design the great dome of Florence) and a stunning inauguration of an architecture based on Roman antiquity and a new Humanism.

Andrea Della Robia designed the round medallions between the arches, on each is a slightly different porcelain infant wrapped in swaddling clothes (the current symbol for the American Academy of Pediatrics). The Spedale has continued to care for children for over 400 years, and today, in addition to child care, is a site of UNICEF, the United Nations Children's fund.

As I was leaving, a woman with a happy little girl, maybe three or four years old, came out of the Spedale to be greeted by two also happy adults (you can't see the man who is holding the kid in the photo). A scene repeated countless times over four centuries on the steps of the Spedale degli Innocenti.

The Spedale, joined by two other similarly arcaded loggias, becomes the perimeter of Florence's most beautiful piazza, the Piazza della Santissima Annunziata. It's a lovely place to stroll or sit on a warm spring day (it's featured in the movie "A Room With A View"). Only a handful of tourists and tour groups wander about, and it is thankfully free of market stalls, ristorantes, and shops.

On the same day, I went to see the Andrea del Sarto frescoes at the Chiostro dello Scalzo. This is a lovely small cloister that was (is?) run by the "Confraternity of St John the Baptist" who were known for walking barefoot (Scalzo) when carrying the cross in processions.

A colleague told me that this confraternity prayed for those who were sentenced to death. I can't verifying this, but it could help explain the crossbones and skulls at the bottom of each column. It may also help explain why the frescoes are monotone.

Speaking of sentencing, on my way home I happened across a monkey looming over the main entrance, and grotesques lurking under the windows of Florence's Court of Appeals. Maybe Italy's criminal justice system has its own lazy-Susan rota.

LdM in Tuscania

2008-05-01T17:11:00.012+02:00

Tuscania (the city, not the region called "Tuscany") Northwest of Rome is the site of Lorenzo De Medici's third campus (the other two are in Florence and Rome). During a visit this week, I found it a beautiful and picturesque medieval town quietly free of all but a smattering of tourists.

Its medieval history is not experienced by rushing to dozens of "major" sites, but by meandering through its quiet 15th. c. streets. It's also not about living in the medieval past. Tuscania is a town whose streets, churches, and houses have been preserved while, at the same time, it has continually adapted to the modern world.

LdM chose Tuscania precisely because it represents an Italy that is very different than that of Florence or Rome. It is a less intense and transient environment where serious students can work peacefully, be steeped in history, and feel a part of a contemporary Italian community. It also has gelato that can compete with Florence's.

Here are some photos.

This is Lorenzo De Medici in Tuscania. It's attached to the ancient city wall.

Carlo, Mei, and Luisa are LdM's administrative staff in Tuscania. They showed me a wonderful time.

The two entrance gates from inside the old city wall.

Napoleon slept here, too?

2008-04-28T17:53:00.008+02:00

Massive and brutish, the Palazzo Pitti was original built as a home for the Florentine banker, Lucas Pitti in 1458, later purchased and enlarged by the Medicis, and from then on it was the seat of Florentine power until it was turned into a museum in 1919. Even Napoleon Bonaparte used it as his Italian palace; his royal bathroom and tub is displayed in all its glory.

Once inside, the museum wasn't as imposing as it looked from the outside. The rooms (former bed chambers, sitting rooms, billiard rooms and the like) are smallish for a museum and the paintings are hung salon style. Each room has very clear descriptions of the paintings, so moving through is actually fun and informative.

Above is the Venus Room with this stellar Titian Portrait of a Young Woman (below). It is the same model he also used for his famous Venus of Urbino (in the Uffizi Museum, Florence).

Titian's Venus of Urbino in the Uffizi.

The Boboli Gardens are out back. "Gardens" is a bit of an understatement, it's a huge park meant, I can only imagine, to be traversed by horse and buggy.

The view from the start of the Boboli Garden looking at the back door of the Pitti.

There are a few curiosities in the garden, such as this grotto by the artist Giambologna. Two of of Michelangelo's prisoners were jammed into the darn thing at one point, but someone wisely decided to remove them and leave copies.

My walk home from the Palazzo Pitti at half past noon was a very different than my walk there at eight in the morning. In these two photos of the Ponte Vecchio that I crossed on the way to and from the Palazzo Pitti, see if you can tell how it was different.

How many ways to...

2008-04-23T20:08:00.010+02:00

Like the old adage about Eskimos having many words for snow, the Italians have many words for restaurants. Here are a few of them:

"Ristorante" (this one near my apartment not only has great food, it also has 60s era modern decor. Looks like some Italian places in the States, unusual for Florence).

"Trattoria" is a traditional sit-down restaurant, same as a "restaurante," usually family owned and operated. If there are chain restaurants in Florence (besides the occasional McDonalds), they are well disguised.

A "Bar" is not a drinking establishment, it is a snack-bar with stand at the counter espresso, sweet rolls for breakfast, and sandwiches for lunch. Sometimes a few small tables. There is one on almost every corner. When I first arrived I thought it was the land of pubs. Turns out there are very few pubs and they are for tourists or students.

Then there are combinations that can't quite make up their minds.

"Rosticceria" is for take-out and has been commandeered by the foreign take-out communities.

"Pizzerias" are not what you expect. They are sit down restaurants, trattorias really, that also offer pizzas. Oddly, a plain cheese pizza in Italy is called a Margherita.

Then there are official "Tabacchis" which are snack-bars that also sell cigarettes, bus tickets, postage stamps, and lottery tickets.

Ain't No Balonie.

2008-04-19T16:56:00.021+02:00

The city of Bologna, when I was a youngster, was just some place whose namesake got plopped between two slices of Wonder Bread. Two days ago, I was speeding on a train preparing to plop down in Bologna.

The main train station in Bologna was the site of a neo-Nazi bombing in 1980 that killed many people.

I walked for a mile under long protective porticoes down a busy main street.

The handsome medieval center of Bologna, Piazza Maggiore, is commandeered by the world's fifth largest church, the Basilica of San Petronio.

But I wasn't looking for "more old art in old churches," here. Instead, I was headed for the museum of a 20th C. painter who I have admired for almost thirty years, Giorgio Morandi (more about Morandi below). After spending the morning in rapture with Morandi's work, I continued by train on to Padua to take in another great Giotto fresco cycle at the Arena Chapel.

Bizarre is the only way to describe entering the chapel to see the Giottos. The folks at the Arena Chapel had provided, by phone, a 3 o'clock appointment. Tickets were to be picked up one hour before the appointed time, then I had to appear at the entrance exactly five minutes early.

Twenty five people (including myself) were then led into a sealed environmentally controlled room (with hissing StarTrek like doors) for education and decontamination! In exactly fifteen minutes, the interior doors hissed open and we were led into the barrel vaulted chapel to view Giotto's paintings. The doors hissed closed behind us.

In another fifteen minutes, a chime sounded, the doors hissed back open, and we were promptly escorted out. That was it, fifteen minutes decontaminating, fifteen minutes in the chapel. Hardly time to scan the frescoes. Ah, but still, a once in a lifetime event for a painter.

On Morandi:

The signature bleached color in Morandi paintings could be derived directly from the weathered frescoes so prominent and beautiful throughout italy.

Andrea del Sarto fresco

Giorgio Morandi oil painting

The bottles and jars in his paintings have the solidness and stability of a Giotto...

and the contemplative dignity of a Fra Angelico.

At the same time, Morandi was a modernist who absorbed the twentieth century's fetish for flatness and enjoyed the tension between the illusion of space and the hard fact of the picture plane.

Morandi's vision was as steeped in tradition as the city of Bologna, and as modern as a bologna sandwich.

Night in Florence.

2008-04-17T09:35:00.012+02:00

"Enchanting" may be too romantic and cliché a word to use for Florence by night, but it is its own world after dark. The busier roads take on a more cosmopolitan air, it's dramatically lit monuments become grander, and its quiet narrow streets become the ghosts of their medieval past. Here are some photos and you can decide whether "enchanting" fits.

The Duomo's campanile at dusk (click photos to enlarge).

Busy Via Cavour on a misty night.

Street vendor by electric light.

Venders closing shops near Santa Croche.

Palazzo Vecchio and full moon.

Walking home.

And a parade of food vendors after shutting on a rainy winter night in Florence.

Heroics

2008-04-13T09:42:00.008+02:00

Michelangelo (1475 - 1564) was not the first artist to sculpt a nude David during the Renaissance. That honor belongs to Donatello (c. 1386 – 1466), whose bronze David was the first stand-alone nude male sculpted since antiquity. You may not be familiar with Donatello, but he was the quintessential early renaissance artist and laid the groundwork for the later Michelangelo (among many).

Click to see larger image.

Donatello's David, which I saw yesterday in Florence's Bargello Museum, is shocking when you consider it was made barely out of the middle ages when art was mostly a means for the Catholic Church to portray its great stories. It is an effeminate nude adolescent boy, standing with a cocked hip and one foot on the severed head of Goliath, a sword in one hand, his other holding a stone, and on his flowing locks is a girly hat with garlands and ribbons.

But it is was also Donatello's St. George, commissioned for the sword makers guild, that must have been an inspiration for the determined, but vulnerable expression of Michelangelo's heroic nude David.

Mamamiya!

2008-04-10T16:14:00.009+02:00

After a high speed train, then a regional train, a bus lurched up mountain switchbacks to finally drop Stacy and I in the center of Roccagorga, an obscure but quintessential hilltop village southwest of Rome. Hoping to make contact with some of Stacy's relatives, we arrived with photos and a list of distant cousins, but no phone numbers or addresses. Only half expecting to find anyone, it looked like a quiet two days before we headed back to Florence. WRONG!

Not long after showing a shop owner a few photos, we were swept up in a frenzy. For the next 36 hours we were wined, dined, toted about, introduced to cousins galore, and even serenaded by Orasmo, the head of the clan (see video)!

Here is what we (with a dozen relatives joining) had for meal at cousin Gilda's house on our second day:

Wine (home made)
Prosciutto (home made)
Sausage (home made)
Salami (home made)
Pecorino cheese
Mozzarella cheese
Olives
Bread
Pasta with meat sauce
Grilled Artichokes
Omelette
Salad
Fava beans
Cookies
Scotch
Grappa
Coffee

Oh, yeah, that was lunch!

Galileo - A "guest post" by Stacy

2008-04-04T17:43:00.010+02:00

We spent this afternoon walking the streets of Florence, in search of Galileo. And we met with SUCCESS.

GALILEO'S LEGACY
Galileo gave us telescopes, the moons of Jupiter, and the Principle of Inertia. For some reason, he also gave us the finger (though I do not believe this was his intention).

GALILEO, A HERO OF SCIENCE (note arrow)

GALILEO'S FINGER - WHY?

THE HOUSE WHERE GALILEO AND HIS FINGER LIVED

Venice

2008-04-04T11:19:00.012+02:00

Venice is a unique and beautiful city. Stacy, Christian (Stacy's brother), Mike (Christian's friend), and I arrived in Venice close to noon. We purchased our return train tickets before leaving the station, and at the exit we stepped directly into a vaporetto, one of the many water-buses that ungainly motor up and down Grand Canal, Venice's main thorough-fare.

Our first stop is Piazza San Marco. After the gauntlet of trinket and souvenir stands, we let the steady current of tourists carry us to the piazza. Stacy happens to glance at our hastily picked up return train tickets to discover that we had the wrong ones! A troubled tour around the piazza and we decide to take the vaporetto back to the train station to get proper tickets.

Here we are at the train station wrestling with the ticket machine.

Ah, finally the correct ticket!

With new tickets safely safely in hand, our few hours in Venice shortened considerably, we board another vaporetto and head for our second destination, lunch.

After pizza and beer on a lovely quiet piazza, we go to the Scuola di S.Rocco where we find ourselves surrounded by enormous dark and turbulent Tintoretto paintings that cover every conceivable biblical episode from Adam and Eve through the Resurrection.

Next door in the Church of Santa Maria Bloridosa dei Frari the mood is relieved by a couple of Titian and Bellini altarpieces that are full of light.

A short stroll and a few snaps of the camera and we head for the vaporetto and begin our trip back to Florence.

Still not the high season, Venice was swamped with tourists. Ok, so I suffer from the tourist malaise of finding more like myself. But unlike Florence or Rome, where tourism becomes an integral part of much larger working cities, Venice seems like a shopping mall emptied of anything real beyond its tourist trade. Its beautiful architecture, intense art, and lovely canals seem like nothing but stage props for gawkers and shoppers. Or as one colleague put it, Venice is like a graveyard.

For The Birds.

2008-03-26T15:45:00.009+01:00

The cold wind and spitting rain caught Stacy and I as we stepped off the 2 1/2 hour ride on a local train.

A walk through the city gate, and up the hill took us to the Basilica of Saint Frances of Assisi where the artist Giotto painted important frescoes.

Giotto is not as familiar an artist as, say, Michelangelo or Leonardo, but he is a towering figure not only in the history of art, but in the history of western culture. He turned the fixed conventions of medieval pictures into the art of observation, creating more natural representations of people in the world. These important Giotto's tell the story of the life of Saint Francis of Assisi. To see them click Giotto.

The purpose of so many frescoes in churches is to teach about important Christian ideals (not brought up a Catholic, please read my remarks in the spirit of respectfulness with which I write). These frescoes are an inspiring tribute to St. Francis who offers a universal lesson in humility and respect for man's relationship to nature. Click St. Francis of Assisi to learn more. Perhaps Saint Francis was an inspiration to Giotto, for a saint who had the humility to speak with birds might have inspired Giotto to respect the world as it is and represent it more faithfully.

Though Giotto's pictures may still seem too primitive, and the life of Saint Francis too ascetic for contemporary tastes, they both helped build a bridge from the medieval world to the modern. They gave us modern eyes.

My pilgrimage to see Giotto was also an a eye opening encounter with Saint Frances of Assisi. As we left the Basilica and walked back towards the main gate, the sun was breaking through the grey March clouds.

Our Future Past?

2008-03-22T09:12:00.015+01:00

The streamlined train glided out of the Florence terminal and headed for Rome.

Arriving mid-morning, Stacy, Ben, and I made for our hotel on foot through wide bustling boulevards instead of cramped Florentine streets.

Our hotel was in the midst of street vendors selling everything from zucchinis to flip-flops. The window and shutters opened to the street market three floors below. The day was partly sunny and cool.

A short hop on the graffiti gilded subway train brought us to the foot of the Colosseum, a startling sight as we emerged from the subway tunnel.

The gate to the Palatine Hill and the Roman Forum was a short walk. Tickets in hand, we entered to encounter the crumbling brick edifices and broken marble columns of ancient Rome.

Like a deep deja vu, the ruins pricked a residual collective memory. More than just remembering from books, there was the foreboding sense that this is us, with the same familiar streets, houses, and shops. This skeleton of Rome is a reminder that our own civilization may only have a few short fragile years.

Here are some photos of our 36 hours in Rome. This first is a glance across one of the Roman arches towards a Baroque era church that sits just above the forum. The church facade uses the architectural elements found in these Roman structures.

The interior of the Colosseum.

Trevi Fountain.

The Pantheon.

Interior of the Pantheon (now a church).

Rome landscape with Vatican dome in background.

The Vatican.

After two days of marching about the city, we were beat. A last meal before heading back to Florence.

Trapped

2008-03-17T07:34:00.005+01:00

Wet clothes trapped in the washing machine is not a good situation. No matter how I pulled, tugged, and cajoled the darn thing, the door would not open. The machine worked ok, I saw the clothes tumble around as they should. Other than taking two hours to complete the washing cycle, all was well until I went to retrieve the clothes.

The miniature washer is tucked into a corner of the terrace. Since the temperature seldom drops to freezing, keeping it outdoors works fine and makes more room in the apartment. There is a lot of laundry drying outside (though only from windows not visible from the street), so automatic dryers may not be common. People are careful about their energy use in Florence (fluorescent replacements for incandescent bulbs is universal).

In a drawer with the apartment guide, I found the instruction booklet for the machine. Oh, you have to press a button and wait for the light to go off, about two minutes, before opening the door. Phew, I was able to rescue my clothes from certain mildew!

There is a fold up drying rack. Spread the clothes around on it and hope it doesn't rain (you can take it indoors). Other than getting knocked over by the neighbor's cat, the system for washing and drying outside works well (now that I know how to open the door).

Markus' comments and Lucy's show

2008-03-13T06:29:00.005+01:00

Markus Legner is Faculty and Course Coordinator at LdM. In his comments to an earlier post, he fixed my coffee preparation and explained the confusing plug situation. He has officially earned his title!

Lucy Jochamowitz is an artist and teacher at LdM. Her show "La donna nell'arte" opened last week in the Museo Casa Rodolfo Siviero (Rodolfo Siviero, dubbed the "James Bond" of Italian Art, helped prevent Nazi troops from sacking Italian art treasures as part of the resistance in WWII). The museum is Rodolpho's home containing his personal art collection as he lived with it. Lucy's poetic sculpture, drawing, and painting is strategically embedded into Rodolfo's collection creating surprising and moving associations.

Being A Late Night Snack

2008-03-09T08:13:00.008+01:00

"Don't kill mosquitos on walls," so reads the apartment handbook, and there are two flyswatters in the closet (in Italian colors).

Curious items until discovering that there are no screens on the windows. A colleague from Australia said, "Italians can invent perspective, but can't figure out window screens." Another said that leaning out of windows is part of the Italian social structure, screens simply won't do (photo below from another blogger).

After waging battle with a few late night mosquitoes and, yes, squishing them against a wall or two, I went looking for mosquito netting. An everything-store (where everything spills out onto the street like Michelangelo's Laurentian Library staircase - maybe that's where he got the idea?) had a role of plastic window screen (yes!).

Yesterday, I put it up on the bedroom window. A scissors, ruler, and masking tape is all that I needed. Now I can sleep more soundly knowing I'm not l'antipasto.

LdM

2008-03-05T14:41:00.009+01:00

Students at Lorenzo dé Medici are studying abroad for one semester, so they come from a variety of schools and experiences. I had to give a "level exam" on the first class: 45 minutes to paint a still life. Sounded crazy at first, but it allowed me to know at what level the students were working before I began the course. Here is my class.

This is a view in the studio, which is named "Peggy Guggenheim." I like the idea of naming studios. It is referred to as "Peggy."

Jonathan Woolfson, the Academic Director, is British, but now lives just outside of Florence. He introduced me to my first restaurant lunch and a good wine bar (standing only).

Marsha Steinberg is my Department Supervisor. On the day we first met, she was conversing rather, er, energetically to a person on the other side of a glass partition. She stopped abruptly, turned to me and said, "Oh, don't mind me, I yell a lot." Marsha, with her can do (and must do!) attitude is intimidating at first, but she's really a sweetheart.

Justin Thompson and I share Peggy. He's from the States, but married into a Florentine family. We went together to a contemporary art exhibition in a nearby town. On the way back, we stopped at an Irish pub(!) and talked about music and food.

This is a photo of Gene Baldini who teaches painting in the adjacent studio. He's also from the States, but has lived here for many years. On a recent afternoon, Gene introduced me to Dan, a friend who is teaching for a semester at another nearby school.

Warning: art lesson ahead.

2008-03-01T09:35:00.015+01:00

Click on images to see them larger.

My eyes had to adjust to the dimness in the Church of Santa Felicita. To my right through an iron gate was Jacopo Pontormo's painting of The Deposition From The Cross (1528). I had seen it often in books. With a euro clunked into the machine to light the painting, I was able to see it much better, although still through the iron gate.

A painting is an invention (Definition of "invent": verb [ trans. ] create or design [something that has not existed before]; be the originator of). History decides whether a painting is a good invention or not.

History decided that Pontormo's Deposition is a good invention. To see how it's inventive, compare it to Raphael's Deposition (1508), an example of the "state of the art" in painting at the time.

In Raphael's painting, people are solidly and logically planted on the ground. Christ's body is heavy and strains the people carrying it.

Where and on what are many of the folks standing in Pontormo's painting? Some are floating to the top almost as if in zero gravity. Christ seems light as a feather.

Raphael's painting is like a play with figures spread out on a stage space. Each figure helps tell the painting's story. The background landscape has crosses on the right and a cave on the left to further provide context for the action.

Pontormo's painting is a swirling oval of expressive figures. We know the story from the title, the body of Christ, and Mary, but that's about it. There is no background accept for a cloud that stands in for a figure.

The color in Raphael's is used to realistically describe the people, objects, and the landscape, while unifying the composition.

Color in Pontormo's jumps out to create a whirl of bright blues, reds, and pinks, calling attention to itself and flattening the composition (the purply-pink tone on the bottom figure is especially outstanding).

With his Deposition, Pontormo invented a more modern way to think about painting. He didn't tell a story with figures placed solidly on a stage outfitted with props, as was expected at the time. He used the story as an excuse to make a melodramatic picture that was as much about color and composition, that is, a painting more about itself. You might say that Pontormo invented "art for art's sake."

By the way, that's the troublemaker, himself, staring out on the right.

Portraits of Florence

2008-02-26T12:18:00.007+01:00

Here are some photos from around town.

Four Mysteries of Florence

2008-02-22T08:13:00.010+01:00

Mystery #1. Coffee making is a solved mystery. Having never used this kind of espresso coffee pot, I was afraid it could explode on the stove (why else would there be a pressure relief valve on the side?). Seeing no other coffee pot in my kitchen, I purchased coffee with a picture of this kind of coffee pot on the label. The coffee tasted less burnt after adjusting the flame to the lowest level. My coffee pot makes one regular cup or two espresso cups of very strong coffee. I see, now, that it is not likely to cause injury.

Mystery #2, Electricity. There are three kinds of plugs and two kinds of wall sockets. There is the "normal" two thin-pronged plug, like on a lamp. There is a three pronger, with the third post presumably a ground (like in the U.S.), and then there is a round plug with two fat prongs. Wall sockets are either the three thin-hole type, which can take either the two or three thin-pronged plugs, or a deep set type for a fat two pronger.

Mystery #3. Italians use 24 hour time (18.00 = 6PM) but a 12 hour clock. Must be helpful for children learning how to add.

Mystery #4. Another solved mystery (sort of) is the string pull in every bathroom. I refrained from pulling it for several weeks, not knowing what would happen if I did. Finally, in a hotel room in San Gigignamo, overwhelmed by curiosity, I pulled the darn thing one morning after getting out of bed. It rang the doorbell and woke Bruce up.

Skyscrapers In Fashion

2008-02-17T10:40:00.022+01:00

Building tall is not a modern idea, it's been in fashion since undertakers rolled carts through medieval streets chanting "Bring Out Your Dead." Ambling into the countryside after renting a car, Bruce (in Florence on holiday) and I took a road-trip through Tuscany.

Our first stop was Siena. After wandering about in it's medieval streets, we came to the shell shaped Piazza del Campo. Restaurants line the upper border facing the very tall clock tower (330 ft. or over 30 stories). We had a lunch (pizza for me, a sandwich for Bruce) and a cold beer as we warmed ourselves in the sun.

Siena's Duomo (main cathedral) is a short walk from the piazza. It is a spectacularly beautiful black and white striped behemoth. A huge "new" nave was left partially built, its construction having died when the Plague hit Sienna in 1348.

Next, we headed for San Gimignano to hold up for the night. On our way we made a quick turn and drove up to a walled hilltop. We walked through the gate and entered what was once a medieval convent or hospital. We snuck up the stairs (closed for the season) and walked on the ramparts to get a view of the famous Tuscan countryside.

Arriving in San Gimignano late in the day, we secured a hotel room overlooking a 13th c. piazza. San Gigignano's 14 tall towers (there were originally over 70) were built for protection and status, and are forerunners of today's urban skylines. The plague decimated the city's population and left these remaining towers undisturbed for centuries.

One of the few open restaurants (it's off season) was quiet when we entered, but by nine o'clock was filled with locals and tourists enjoying dinner. I had a delicious pasta, Bruce had, er, don't remember, but it was good, too. Our desert was warmed at the table.

The next morning was sunny and cool, with market stalls being set up in the square below our window.

A 12th c. Romanesque Church with an interior covered in fresco painting cycles from the old and new testaments was a last stop before leaving town.

A long serpentine ride through the hills of Chianti eventually brought us to Cortona. Along the way, we stopped briefly for a little wine tasting and purchased a bottle of local Chianti (what else?). Cortona is way up a on the side of a mountain. We parked in the center of town, putting a couple of euros in a parking machine.

Cars wound about its steep medieval streets, while locals chatted and watched the few tourists. We passed up the first hotel, kinda dumpy, and ended up at a little B&B not far from the center of the village. As we walked around, Bruce caught sight of a poster for a jazz performance. After our dinner in a pleasant trattoria, we sauntered to the Signorelli Theater, an 1859 neo classic "opera house" like place. Gianni Basso, a famous, but aging, Italian tenor sax player and his quartet provided an evening of lovely classic jazz. We had front row seats.

The next morning, after a brief tour around the town, we chose the highway knowing the drive would be a couple of hours. Suffering from stimulus overload, we wanted to make it to Lucca and then Pisa, see the darn Leaning Tower already, and be home for dinner.

Lucca is a renaissance, rather than medieval, city. The streets are wider and lined with larger palazzos. Its open piazza's (squares) are appropriately populated with more upscale shops and restaurants. A change from the claustrophobically narrow streets and stone houses of our earlier stops. Lucca, too, has it's share of tall phallic constructions. Though mostly church campaniles (bell towers), the city's symbol is a medieval tower with oak trees growing on the top (we didn't find it). Ok, been there, done that, off we go.

I often poo-poo famous tourist sites. When I do see them, I understand why they are in so many pictures. Pisa's baptistry and duomo with it's leaning campanile, rising in white marble on the green lawn of the "Field of Miracles" is a true wonder. The Leaning Tower would be impressive even if it were not falling over.

I think about the Plague having destroyed the population in cities like Siena and San Gimignano, leaving it's towers as symbols of man's necessary humbleness in the face of nature. I also think about the destruction of the World Trade Center towers on 9/11 and how lack of humility seems like the human plague for which there is no cure. The majestic Leaning Tower of Pisa, forever in the act of falling, becomes a reminder, perhaps, of human pride constantly leading to man's fall.

Bruce and I had lunch with the Leaning Tower of Pisa as a backdrop. Happy and contented, we headed for good old Florence.

Fiesole

2008-02-12T09:12:00.000+01:00

Sunday was an excursion to the nearby town of Fiesole. At 8:30 AM, after a quick caffe latte and a pastry thing, I purchased a day bus pass at one of the ubiquitous tabacchi shops (small tobacco, lottery, incidental store). The number 7 city bus (orange) shuttles between Florence and Fiesole.

The machine to stamp the ticket on the bus, like everything else with Italian instructions, was a little confusing. I put my ticket in the slot, but nothing happened! Did it silently put an invisible time stamp on my ticket? Did I do something wrong? I sat down and waited. A bus official got on and I asked (with a lot of pointing). He took my ticket and pushed it in the slot. There was a definite "kachung" and my ticket came out with a visible time stamp. I just hadn't pushed it in far enough (timidity is a product of mystery protocol).

Up, up, up went the bus, with teasing glimpses of the distant countryside between houses, walls, and trees.

Fiesole was the last stop, so I knew to disembark. The large main piazza is rather spartan and is arranged to handle a lot for tourists arriving on buses.

Dominating this main piazza is a medieval bell tower. There was a chocolate festival just starting under some white tents. Later, I would buy few chocolate candies to take home.

An Etruscan/Roman archaeological park and museum looked like an interesting place to go. I took a wrong turn and ended up circling around the perimeter of the park, down and then up steep inclines (considering how much I've been eating, I can use the exercise).

I found the entrance, paid the €10, and walked in to face a startling array of ancient Etruscan and Roman ruins of an amphitheater, baths, and temple. The adjacent museum had the marble, clay, and bronze artifacts, which provided the humanizing element. My favorites were tiny thumb size bronze figures with arms cocked at the elbows with palms up (I'm thinking typical Italian gesture, but probably seen as an ancient religious symbol). I wasn't allowed to take pictures in the museum.

Later I walked up a very steep road to a high point with a terrific view of Florence. Once back down, I had a ham sandwich in a small snack "bar" where there was a late Sunday morning "happy hour" with a little spread of appetizers and orangish colored bubbly (champaign with peach juice, a local favorite).

On my way to the bus, I purchased a few candies at the festival, and had a comfortable ride back to Florence very ready for a Sunday afternoon siesta.

My Happy Birthday

2008-02-09T10:11:00.000+01:00

Yesterday, Feb. 8, was my birthday. It was a lovely crisp day with bright sunshine. To celebrate, I took myself to the Galleria dell Academia, one of the most important museums in Florence. At its nondescript entrance, the information board next to the door is all there is to let you know that this is the museum.

Best known for its permanent exhibit of Michelangelo's David, the museum also houses his unfinished "prisoners" (a must see), a passel of 13, 14, and 15th c. locally produced paintings (madonnas galore!), a wonderful collection of medieval Russian icons (more madonnas!), a musical instrument collection, and a strange room filled with plaster busts from the 19th c. Way too much to see.

To finish the day, I took myself to a recommended local trattoria, Il Grillo Parlante, for a celebratory dinner. Though the ebullient waiter complained at first about how slow this time of year was, before long the place was filling up and lively.

I had a traditional three course meal and some red table wine. First was the antipasto, a selection of items on olive oil drizzled toast.

Then the "primo" course, a bowl of pasta and meat sauce (my favorite part of the meal).

The "secundo" course was grilled fish with olives, cherry tomatoes, and, oddly, French fries (which came as a surprise). Ok, but not great, would've been better without the fries.

Finally, for desert I had teramisu. Earlier, the waiter bypassed my table as he was lighting candles, so I said that I was celebrating my birthday and would like my table candle lit, too (an oversight for which he was most apologetic). Later, when he brought the teramisu, there was a birthday candle in it and a table of students from London singing Happy Birthday. A perfect end to my special day. Happy Birthday to me.

Good bones.

2008-02-06T12:11:00.001+01:00

Monday was my first day teaching at Scuola Lorenzo Dé Medici. It was good to have something to do besides indulge my every whim (that can be tedious after a spell). I’ll have more about Lorenzo Dé Medici in a later post.

Yesterday (Tues), was a visit to the Church of Santa Croche, about a mile walk through downtown Florence. Not referring to my compass often enough, I took a longer route, but I’m never disappointed to wander more than I plan.

I passed several 13th c. buildings (from before the time of the Plague!). They continue to be part of the fabric of downtown, but now, through arches under which knights on horseback may have passed some 800 years ago, there are upscale dress shops and car garages.

The Church of Santa Croche dates from 1294, (it’s pretty marble facade was added in the 1800s). After paying the visitor fee of €5, I entered an age of great gothic arches, marble crypts, and deeply spiritual art (there are sections set aside for private worship). This is time travel at its least expensive with no upscale dress shop to disrupt the wonder.

One wall has a series of elaborately carved marble tombs with the remains of many famous Florentines including Michelangelo, Galileo, and Machiavelli. The floor is festooned with marble crypts of lesser notables.

But it is the Bardi Chapel that is breathtaking, filled with some of Giotto’s most important fresco paintings. Giotto triggered the change from the archaic flat caricature of earlier medieval painting to the weight and mass of the idealized human form that would become the hallmark of the Renaissance. It is fitting that Giotto’s frescoes are on one end of Santa Croche, and Michelangelo, who represents both the highest achievement and the close of the Renaissance, is entombed at the other.

Later in the day, I came across a street festival celebrating the last day of Carnevale, a final party before Ash Wednesday. Here is a group of percussionists and costumed “dancers.” Click play button to play the video.

When I reached home, I found the lock for the outside door gone. Perhaps in the spirit of Carnevale? It would be a joke, indeed, should the lock be replaced and I’m left to roam the streets of Florence all night. No such luck, and the landlord brought a shiny key for the newly replaced lock this morning.

Ramble

2008-02-03T09:22:00.000+01:00

It’s a sunny morning. I decide on a lengthy stroll following what’s left of Florence’s medieval city wall (visible in this 15th c. view - click to see larger). Roads that link the few still standing towers and gates follow its former path.

I walk east along the Arno River to reach the first tower. This one stands ignored adjacent to a parking lot and a roadway. What would a 13th c. guard think looking down and seeing 21st c. cars buzz around his tower as if it were simply in the way. Another is visible looking across the Arno.

Turning left, I headed toward a gate along Viale Giovane Italia, which is nothing like the skinny roads where I’m living. This is a wide busy tree lined boulevard with upscale businesses and apartments on both sides.

In little less than a mile, I come to the first gate. A monolithic brute of a thing in the middle of Piazza C. Beccaria. The piazza is a grand rotary with curved building edifices containing stores and restaurants around its perimeter. The gate is the center of attraction, with people strolling through the massive opening.

I snap a few photos and stop for a bite. Standing at the counter (it’s just eat and run in snack bars, so no need for stools) I enjoy a pastry with lemon creme filling and a caffe latte (espresso with milk). Ready to pay at the register, I’m confronted with a line of people buying lottery tickets (sound familiar?). My server is kind enough to take my two Euro. “Grazie,” I say, and she responds with, “Prego.” I’m becoming quite fluent with a couple of new Italian words.

Heading north toward the second gate, the boulevard continues as before, but the sky is threatening and there is a sudden cool breeze to my neck. The distance between the two gates is about ½ mile and the sky opens just as I approach. This gate is also in a piazza (della Liberta), where I duck under a broad portico until the down-burst abates. It is similar to the previous gate, but the proportions are slightly different with a larger opening. Again, I’m struck by the incongruence of this medieval structure in the center of rushing automobiles.

The last leg takes me by an old fort, Fortezza Da Basso, standing in ghostly guard of Florence’s modern train depot. In a ramble of a few miles, I had traversed the edge of medieval Florence along its protective city wall.

Even with today's permeable borders easily crossed by cars and airplanes, we live with the same fear of what and who lurks beyond the gates. I’m a little wet from the insistent drizzle, so make a mental note to take my umbrella when the forecast is for showers, even if the sun is shining.

On my way home, I stop in a market and purchase some Mozzarella and fresh basil to have on bread, as Ben suggested while IMing the night before. I’m looking forward to a delicious lunch and a rejuvenating siesta.

Imagining

2008-02-01T13:34:00.000+01:00

When strolling among Florence’s 16th c. palazzos, I sometimes imagine leaving the contemporary world and being back in the Renaissance. Michelangelo might be over there purchasing a leather pouch at a seller’s cart, or perhaps that’s him, there, stepping into a trattoria for a bowl of pasta.

“‘Contemporary’ is a word you won’t find very favored in Florence,” I heard a colleague say. It’s true, “New” and “Now” are not what Florence immediately brings to mind. But when Michelangelo was carving his “David,” Florence was the Now place and very “contemporary” (upsetting a lot of people who had more traditional tastes and values)

Florence was so modern that we are still benefiting from it. Michelangelo’s “David” is not a crucifix made by an unknown medieval artisan. It is an idealized human form sculpted by a known artist of genius and ambition. This idea of the individual genius and entrepreneurial spirit, this idea of a Michelangelo, or a Beethoven, or an Einstein, or a Bill Gates, began here in these once very contemporary renaissance streets and palazzos of Florence.

Curves and Groceries

2008-01-31T08:57:00.000+01:00

Curves

Curves in Florence soften appearances while increasing strength. Here are welcomed curves outside and inside my apartment, and the big curve seen from all over in Florence.

This curve in my apartment has been turned into an unwelcome rectangle to produce a most uncomfortable seating situation. Stacy said it was probably designed by a woman who doesn’t use the bathroom as a library.

Groceries

It is a rainy day in Florence. A good time to grocery shop at the Mercato Centrale (the central market) just two blocks from my apartment. The carts surrounding the market that sell mostly leather goods are covered in tarps.

Here’s what I purchased for about €15 ($22). A dozen oranges (I’ll use a few for a still life in my painting class), two large chicken breasts sliced into eight cutlets (four dinners worth), enough salami for several sandwiches, prunes (the most expensive item), two potatoes, a huge celery, a weird broccoli with spiral florets, and a loaf of bread.

The Man

2008-01-29T07:32:00.000+01:00

There was a circle of people on Via Por S. Maria. In the middle, at the feet of a nattily dressed man, were three little black boxes and a small yellow ball. The man slid the boxes about, hiding the ball under one, then another. When he was done, someone would bet money that the ball was under a certain box. It was the classic shell game. People were winning about one out of every four games, but I was accurately seeing where the ball went every time. How clumsy of the man; even a visual artist should miss once in a while.

I’m not a gambler and don’t even bet on the lottery, but this was a sure thing. Even though the stakes were high at 50 Euro (about $75) a pop, I would only bet upon absolute certainty. I couldn’t lose.

Seeing exactly under which box the ball landed, I placed my bet by handing the man a €50 bill. I bent down, lifted the box, and presto,.. NO BALL! I stood dumbstruck. A woman leaned over and whispered that the “trick” is to put the toe of a shoe on the box when placing the bet, so the man can’t shift the ball while the better is handing him the money. Then she played the next hand, put her shoe on the box, and won €50.

A-ha! Now I got it! The jig was up! Again, I trained my eagle eye on the ball and watched the boxes. Knowing with precise and absolute certainty under which box the ball landed, I promptly placed the toe of my shoe on that box. I handed the man two €50 bills this time, because there was money to win back and then some. Bending down I lifted the box, and presto,… NO BALL!!!!!!

After losing €150 (about $220) in three minutes, I left in a stupor of profound idiocy and disbelief. Walking away, knowing that I would come clean on the Globalog, I turned and snapped a picture of the man and his game.

The man had one more trick up his sleeve. After loading the pictures into my computer, I went to find the photo of the man. Presto,… NO PHOTO! Yup, all the other pictures from before and after were there, all but the one of the man.

"The Conjurer," painted by Hieronymus Bosch.

White Rooms

2008-01-28T09:54:00.000+01:00

Using my “Ginormous” compass, I walked to the Church of San Marcos a few blocks from my apartment. In 43 “cells,” or small rooms for Dominican monks, Fra Angelico painted a series of devotional frescoes (completed by 1450). These are not the elaborate paintings usually seen in renaissance churches, but small, serene, contemplative works.

I Walked down the long corridors and stepped into the white cells and lingered. Looking at each fresco as it was originally painted, mirroring the small arched window and ceiling, I felt a sense of quiet contemplation.

At the end of one of the corridors is cell number 12 from which Savonarola was forcefully dragged and burned to death on a cross in 1498.

How To Look In Florence

2008-01-27T09:13:00.000+01:00

Ever careful about public appearance, I considered looking like a local when out on the street, perhaps walking to work or strolling to meet a friend for a cappuccino. I found that it is more fun to use quizzical expressions, page through a guide book, unfold a map, stare at buildings, and snap pictures, so I am happy looking like a tourist. People are more tolerant when you suddenly stop walking in front of them, too.

My best friend (so far) in Florence is an inexpensive hand-held compass. Maps are important, but if I didn't know in which direction to hold the map when looking at it, I would often walk the wrong way. I also look for street names very dependably carved into the sides of buildings.

Dinner Guests

2008-01-26T19:57:00.000+01:00

Watching from outside the door to my terrace while I cooked my first supper in Italy was a chubby black and white kitty. It looked forlorn and confused. While the kitty looked on, I sipped wine, munched on olives, sauteed chicken with garlic and onions, cooked pasta with mushroom tomato sauce, and made a salad (all salted appropriately). The former tenant must have paid the cat some attention.

Also intent on joining me for dinner was a large mosquito who sat down beside me at the table. Not in the habit of murdering dinner guests, I hesitated. Mosquitoes must be slower in the winter. It was fun to be alone drinking wine and eating pasta at my own Italian table.

Salty Italian Word

2008-01-24T18:22:00.000+01:00

Yes, I've been in Florence for a few days. Welcome to my new blog.

The butcher expertly sliced and wrapped four thin cutlets from a chicken breast for a customer. I indicated by pointing that I wanted a chicken breast, too. The butcher asked, by making a karate chop gesture, if I wanted it sliced as well. "Si," I replied. "Si" quickly became my favorite word to say in Italian. I said it several more times while purchasing vegetables, and again later while shopping in a small grocery store for spices and paper goods.

When I couldn't find the salt, I looked the word for it up in my pocket phrase book. "Sale" seemed easy now that I had gained confidence with "si." I said to the store clerk, "sale?". The clerk smiled and shook her head, "no." Now I put two words together and made a longer sentence, "No sale?". "No," she insisted, speaking in a shorter sentence than mine.

Later in a different grocery store, I tried the new word again. "Sale?", I said to the young man behind the cash register. "Si," he said, and took me to the salad dressing. Feeling that I had learned the word for salt incorrectly, I said, "No, uh, salt?". "Oh, sale, si!", he replied, and brought me to the elusive sale.