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December 2001

Spotlight: Florence, Italy

The Artist's Florence
by Jackie Goyette

The Lover's Florence
by Jackie Goyette

Views Over Florence
by Jane Lofton

Photojournal: Florence and Siena
by Michael Strickland

Beyond David
by Karen Bergeson

Florence at Night
by Elizabeth Wareham

Florence on Foot
by Sheri Ann Richerson

Elinore's Room
by Marco North

The Florentine Love Letter
by Phil Pisani

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Archives

December 2001—Spotlight: Florence, Italy

The Artist's Florence
by Jackie Goyette

Florence is an artist's dream. Almost every street—from the Ponte Vecchio to the outdoor marketplaces near San Lorenzo—is filled with the kind of sites and sounds that inspire painters to paint and singers to burst into song. Salted with scattered unimposing museums, you'll find works of art unique to the Italian Renaissance housed in spaces, like the former offices of the Uffizi or the abbey of Fra Angelico, that were not built as museums and fit seemlessly into the cityscape. There are countless books, stories and essays brimming with intensity for this enchanting Renaissance gem, confident in each artist's unique epiphany. Writing about Florence is like retelling a loved story over and over again, expecting with certain failure to find a changed ending.

Art here is a dime a dozen. In a place filled with some of the most amazing sculpture, architecture, and painting in the Western World, finding the real treasures is sometimes hard. For instance, people will stand in outrageously long lines at the Accademia to view Michaelangelo's Florentine masterpiece—The David, but often times you'll find the nearby Bargello, a mostly-sculpture museum housing one of Donatello's famous works, his bronze David, almost empty. Tourists who stand in the heavy heat, sucking on gelato and waiting to get into the Uffizi, might not even look twice at the view right beside them of the Arno river, lazily flowing, continuously keeping pace with this city. Sometimes even the most obvious sites escape us because getting through Florence as a tourist is always quick-quick-quick, and people miss the whole point of this city--to take it slowly.

I went to Florence for the first time during a tourist-free February. I went with my study abroad program based in Macerata, Italy—a quaint hill town in the Le Marche region off the Adriatic Coast. We often went on weekly excursions with our Professor, Filiberto (we were all on a first name basis), who was an expert on art, architecture, history--basically everything. Normally we toured Le Marche, but two excursions took us to Rome and Florence. It was a whole weekend in Florence, and we spent plenty of the time exploring the big museums and sites, trying also to find the hidden treasures of Florence that you really have to search for.

On our last day, however, we decided to split up to look at things. Some people wanted to go to the Boboli Gardens, Florence's famous gardens which used to belong to the Medici Family. Others wanted something different. We weren't sure what we wanted to do, but Filiberto, who once lived in Florence while studying architecture in the university, said he wanted to show us a treat. He claimed there was a view overlooking the city that was outstanding. We had already climbed up to the top of the Duomo the day before, able to look out over the whole city in one breath, snapping photos like crazy. He said this view was different—from a much quieter, less tourist-infested perspective.

We had to head up a hill that led through some of the beginnings of the outskirts of Florence. This area was much different than the rest of bustling Florence. It seemed quieter, much more peaceful. Little grocery shops and colorful buildings dotted these wider streets, and we hiked up isolated garden roads. Finally, we got to The Piazza Michelangelo, a great spot that overlooks the city. While this was not our final destination (there were still more hills to hike), we did take a break and look out at the breathtaking view. There were little platforms with binoculars you could put money in to look closely at the city, and tourists were gathered in front of the view, getting their pictures taken. It seemed like another one of Florence's museums to me. The piece of art they all framed with their cameras was this view of Florence.

We climbed the rest of the way up, and we found ourselves in front of a quiet church, San Miniato, where a Florentine Monastery had its roots. In front of the church was a small church graveyard covered with family plots years and years old. Inside, the church was dark, but you could see frescos on the walls, faded from the years, and on the ceilings were mosaics and art work, painted in blues and yellows, brightening the corners of the church. My friends and I walked around, reading plaques about people buried here, and Filiberto told us about the history of the church and the Monastery around it.

We went outside, and my friends and I took pictures from a small wall that overlooked the city. We posed like other tourists in Piazza Michelangelo, aware of the backdrop of Florence behind us. Smiling into the camera and glad we'd spent the time climbing the hills to this church, we saw this view of the city as it truly is—one of the artistic, unexpected treasures that outlasts even some of the most amazing scultptures and paintings and architecture in this city. It was one of those masterpieces of art that you find in Florence if you look hard enough.