Michelangelo, Bernini, Donatello and Tuscan Wine Tasting
Last week, I visited Museo del’Opera del Duomo with my Renaissance Art class. I wasn’t entirely sure what was inside other than Michelangelo’s late Pieta, but I quickly realized that it was full of art historical gems. When we moved into the room holding Donatello’s Magdalena my breath completely left me. This wooden statue of the penitent Magdalene is overwhelming. It looks like a form of Rodin’s style, only transplanted to 400 years earlier. She is so full of texture and emotion. And her feet! They are so real and full of weight! She has this emaciated look about her, but her feet are spread across her rocky base as if to grip the ground. The statue was amazing; it was both terrifying and beautiful at the same time.
Michelangelo’s Pieta had a similar effect. His sculpture, more massive and made of marble, was completely unfinished. He made a self-portrait of himself as Nicodemus, the man accredited with having made the first sculptural image of Christ, and shows a muscular and weighty Christ falling into the arms of his supporters. The way Christ’s head falls onto Mary’s unfinished cheek! Even without the smooth and expressive finish of Bernini, Michelangelo captures so much emotion, so much expressiveness. And his composition is perfect. The more I see of him, the more confident I am in his genius, as tortured and mangled as it may have been.
After that we moved into the Bargello, the old government palace meant to oversee the courts (coincidentally, this place is also ON our street, maybe two doors down from my apartment). It is a really substantial and influential medieval building in Florence, and is gorgeous on the inside, though fortress-like on the outside.
After wandering and admiring the famous and impressive collection of the Bargello, we came to the last room. We stood in front of a huge and initially unimpressive sculpture of a drunken Bacchus, the Roman god of wine. The closer I looked, however, the more I could see that this Michelangelo sculpture captured the inebriation and expression of Bacchus. The surrounding sculptures of the same subjects couldn’t match the physique, the glazed look, or even the hungry and erotic visage of the satyr at the god’s feet. Indescribable and unforgettable. I will be going back soon.
And just because I hadn’t seen enough, a friend and I decided to make our first visit to the Uffizi. It was overwhelming. Just their International Gothic room alone, holding the most famous altarpieces of Cimabue, Giotto, and Duccio, would be a blessing to any museum in the world. Each room we passed through was another surprise. Oh! There’s Raphael’s Madonna of the Goldfinch. Oh! There’s Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. Oh! There’s the Portinari Altarpiece. Oh! There’s a Caravaggio. It was absurd. All of these canonical paintings crammed into a massive museum with at least ten other paintings in the same room. Impressive doesn’t begin to describe it. I will need to go back, however, and visit single pieces over and over again this semester. I cannot get enough of the art here.
Later that day, the whole program attended a wine tasting. I wasn’t sure what to expect from this; I had never been to a wine tasting before. We walked into this fabulous little wine store called “Pozzo Divino,” made our way towards the back of the shop, and wandered down a small stairwell into the wine cellar and a small seating area. It turns out, this cellar was actually a part of the Bargello, and 700 years ago had been a prison, complete with secret passageway to and from the government palace. I know this seems a little scary to think about, but it was a neat little aspect of the building’s history–the exposed brick and medieval arches were all still in place, but were now just covered with wine racks and barrels. The man who owned the wine shop, Pino, was this very eccentric Italian man who spoke some English, but most of what he said had to be translated. Thankfully, my improving but limited Italian enabled me to understand almost all of what he said! My vocabulary has grown exponentially since I arrived, but it was so gratifying to be able to understand and communicate with a born-and-bred Italian.
Pino supplied us with white and red wine, along with some small plates to enjoy with the liquid. All of it was Tuscan: made with Tuscan grapes grown on Tuscan soil. The most famous wine of the region, a red and slightly fruity wine, is called Chianti Classico. It is loved by many in Italy, and can only be made in a small region just between Florence and Siena. We tried some of Chianti and another local red wine. The latter was much drier, and somewhat smokey. It was “piu vecchio,” translating to older and of higher quality, and was served in a specialty glass. The white wine was good, but not comparable to the flavor of the red wine. He also served us this incredible balsamic vinaigrette (aceto balsamico). I’ve never tasted anything this delicious. I put it on the tomatoes, the cheese, the bread. I probably could have had it by itself. It was 15 years old and 35 euro for each tiny little bottle. Tasting that stuff made me think it might be worth it though… It was interesting. It was not just about tasting the wine or knowing where it came from, there was a technique to it. We were taught how to identify a good wine just by looking at it, as well as understand the appropriate times to drink red or white wine, as well has how to drink it and what glasses to serve it in. It was so educational and very Italian–I think that was the best part.
First Few Weeks in Italy Part 2
On the Saturday after the first week of classes, a large group of us traveled to Siena, a small hilltown just south of Florence. We got there at around 9:30, which was before most anything was open–there was just a hint of sunlight coming over the top of the city center. Il Campo, the massive piazza in front of the city center and Torre del Mangia, or the city tower, was almost completely empty, but all the more beautiful for it. We made a quick stop there before wandering up towards the Duomo. As we were walking, we passed a small fruit market, where a very nice and purely Italian man helped us pick out the sweetest apples. We then entered the Piazza del Duomo, and it was blinding. The entire facade was completely lit up with morning sun. We waited a few minutes, and then decided to go into the Museo del’Opera del Duomo first. Most of the Duomi in Italy have a museum of this same name, and it is where they put all of the objects of the Duomo that were too delicate or valuable to leave exposed inside the cathedral. I don’t think I could decide what the best part of that museum was. After Duccio di Buoninsegna’s stained glass window, we saw his Maesta. It was indimenticabile (unforgettable). An art history book or slide could not have captured the effect of his soft painting or gold leafing. The entire altarpiece, in pieces now as a product of time and war, was outstanding. I now understand why that particular piece was such an instrumental part of the early Renaissance.
Following that, we went to the relic room. This was really amazing because relics are not something we have an equivalent for in the states: they are generally parts or possessions of saints in decorated “reliquaries” and during Medieval times and even a little before, they were in high demand all over Europe. One of the ones we saw in the Siena Museo was this brilliantly bejeweled glass box that held, visible to all who passed, the complete skeleton of St. Clement Martyr. The European pilgrims would have loved that. The other object in that room that I thought was really cool was this small tree made completely out of gold by Gianlorenzo Bernini (one of my favorite artists). Pope Alexander VII of the Chigi family was from Siena, and as a gift to his hometown, he presented this tree to their cathedral. This was a huge gift in the Seventeenth century, and I was completely blown away by the craftsmanship. Roses and tiny leaves made completely of gold–its effect is indescribable.
But better than the entire museum and worth the price of my ticket alone was the view we saw from the proposed wall of the church. After Florence built their massive cathedral (thanks Medici!), Siena wanted to expand in the same way by making the current church into the transept and constructing an entirely new nave, a common practice in the Middle Ages and Renaissance. But after Siena fell into decline and the Black Plague ravaged the population, they were unable to finish the new building, and just left the new wall in place, unfinished and towering. Siena’s loss, our advantage. The Museo del’Opera now has a nice little stairway that takes visitors all the way to the top of the wall, presenting each viewer with the most magnificent view of Siena and surrounding Tuscany. None of us were expecting that much of a view, so we were completely shocked when we emerged from the winding stairwell to a virtually unobscured view of all of Siena.
Then we finally visited the Duomo. The Florence Duomo is impressive on the outside, but the inside could not hold a candle to the magnificence of the inside of Siena’s cathedral. You can see a lot of it from my pictures, but it was as if they had forgotten no details. The floors were probably my favorite aspect of the interior–there would be roped partitions about every 10 ft to prevent you from walking on the floors. They were beautiful, and I didn’t have enough time to look at them all closely enough. My other favorite was Bernini’s sculptures in one of the side chapels. Not so much because the statues were any of his best, but because I had never seen a Bernini in person before, and so I was naturally in awe. One of the more interesting parts of the Duomo was the decoration along the cornice of the ceiling. Rather than simply leaving it plain, the designers decorated the space with the heads of popes. It made for an outstanding addition, but I cannot lie: it was a little weird.
On the bus ride home from our day trip, I could not stop watching the countryside. There is no comparison to the Tuscan hills. After being in Florence for 11 days, I finally realized that I was in a relatively large city. It was amazing to see the rolling yellow hills specked with countryside villas and houses. Most of the time, the fields were completely covered with grapevines or orchards, and it reminded me of a cousin of the similar fields in my homestate of Kentucky. As much as it somehow reminded me of home, however, I truly think I will find no comparison to the idyllic and untouched look of the endless farmland and patches of Italian trees.
“You’re Welcome” – “You Are Welcome”
What started out as a trip to complain to the landlady turned into an hour-long tea and dessert sitting in which I became acquainted with her friend and tenant from the Phillipines (an aerobics and belly dancing instructor); her husband (a TV and refrigerator man); and college daughter, cosmetics-store-in-Amman daughter, and adolescent daughter….. so not quite what I’d anticipated, to say the least.
I had been brooding in my apartment for the past 4 hours, treading around the issue that there was no running water in the apartment, but too grateful for the reprise from the week’s exposure to want to face anyone with whom communication in Arabic was necessary (so…everyone). I had knocked on the landlady’s first-floor door earlier, when I had a brief gust of can-do energy, but the timid tap tap went unnoticed among the audible family bustle behind it, and I was in a space of giving up easily. After my 4-hour retreat I ventured out again, trying to think of the word for “water” as I descended the one flight of stairs. I was met this time immediately by Umam, the landlady, who quickly deciphered my hand gestures, strode past me in her house gown, and with the flick of a switch reduced my 4-hour debacle to a one-handed solution. “Now come have tea.”
In my apartment to lock up before the tea-time as I had been instructed, I nervously rehashed our exchange. She had only asked me to come to tea once, as far as I could remember, and I, overwhelmed by the instantaneous solution and unanticipated kindness, had immediately and gushingly accepted. I kept going back to the makeshift cultural lessons from my Arabic class in the states, and the oft-stressed “don’t accept invitations the first time.” As I shut the door I contemplated escape routes—could I get her to ask me again so that I could perform the sequence correctly? Should I just go down and say the waters working, thank you, and bolt? I was given neither of those options as I descended to find an open door awaiting me, my hesitant approach harnessed by a “T’fadili fibi!” which left no room for an interpretation beyond “you are welcome.”
First Few Weeks in Italy
I began my semester in Firenze without firm expectations. I had never traveled outside of the United States, and I only knew the Florence of the art history books. As a major in History of Art at Vanderbilt University, I was ready to immerse myself into the artistic culture of the Italian peninsula. Professors and students alike had raved about Florence and gushed about Italy, and I came ready for the food, wine, art, and personality only found here.
I climbed three flights of stairs to a beautiful little apartment in the center of the city– high ceilings, wooden furniture, a gas stove, red brick floors. A set of flats attached to an entire line of buildings, the street and apartment was quintessential Florence. While green space seemed absent, it was old and beautiful in an urban way that I loved.
Initially, I was most afraid of finding a social fit in Florence. I was so comfortable with my friends at Vanderbilt and in the U.S. that I worried the transition would be difficult. Though I fast found that everyone in the program was friendly and welcoming, since those first few days, I have used the city as an escape. There is so much to see, and so much to learn. I quickly figured out the map of Florence and can now orient myself from almost any spot in the city. The streets are something of a maze, but everything blooms out of the Piazza del Duomo, so it is easy enough to navigate around the towering dome. Street names have proven harder though. The streets are labeled on the corners of (some) buildings, but that is not always helpful since the street names will change a block or so later.
On the fourth day we were here, two other girls and I climbed the Campanile, Giotto’s famous bell tower alongside the Duomo. Only the first of many high views we will see around Italy, this one impressed all of us. While we could see the churches of San Lorenzo and Santa Croce, we could also see the rolling Tuscan hills that surround the town. The red-tiled rooftops stretched in every direction, and we could see high gardens and hanging laundry. The light was perfect, and Florence could not have looked more idyllic. It was strange to imagine that this view would not have been so different 400 years ago. The tower of the Palazzo Vecchio would still hover over the city, and the River Arno would still wind through a bustling city. Standing on top of that 500 year old bell tower, we were experiencing the living, thriving history of Florence.
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