Art as it was Meant to be Seen, #2

Last week I had what started out as a typical tourist-teacher outing and turned into an extraordinary experience I will remember fondly for the rest of my life. Indeed, it was not unlike my initial experience with Pontormo's Deposition, which I wrote about in my first post of this "series," in May 2014.

The morning of Tuesday, June 9 two UNCG students and I went to the Palazzo Vecchio. This has been one of my favorite sites in Florence from the beginning. It's intimately connected with the ducal and grand ducal Medici and it still bears their direct stamp, unlike the Palazzo Pitti, which was significantly renovated by its later royal tenants. Both students are art history majors, one is currently working on fountains commissioned by the Medici and the other is preparing to write about the Sala Grande, located inside this building. Given those circumstances, we started in that impressive space, which you see below.

The room was re-decorated under Cosimo I in the 1560s and represents in many ways the most complete statement of his political ambitions and claims as a grand ducal hopeful. Standing here, it's hard not to feel impressed by the sheer size of the room, its decoration and the pomposity of the whole space, feeling much as I imagine many a visiting foreign dignitary felt as they greeted the Duke, enthroned at the room's far end. Like him or not, Cosimo I was a genius of political propaganda and skillfully employed art to that end. The room IS him. And I hasten to add, "works" because all the pieces are still in situ.

After spending about 45 minutes talking in the space and walking around its perimeter, looking at the ceiling and walls, we entered a markedly different room--the tiny, jewel-like Studiolo of Cosimo's son and heir, Grand Duke Francesco I de' Medici.

This human-scaled space is the opposite of the public, politically charged, ambitious Sala Grande of his father, and as many art historians have noted the two rooms reflect the particular personalities of father and son. While the Sala Grande is large and bombastic, the Studiolo is small, intimate, jewel-like and private--a visual treasure to be savored by an audience of one. And indeed, today it feels like that audience is US, because for the first time in the nearly 20 years I've been traveling to Italy we got to stand inside the space as Francesco did, rather than craning our necks from a rope line at the room's door. What a difference a few feet makes!

Essentially the Studiolo functioned as a cupboard for Francesco's private collection of small and unusual objects. Each themed painting is mounted on a hinged door that hides a shelved cabinet, which originally housed his precious collection of items deriving from the Earth, Air, Fire or Water, such as exotic items made from coral or pearls, bottles of efficacious spa waters, items made of gold, and particularly remarkable gemstones, etc., etc.

The space is another excellent (and exciting) example of the powerful experience gained by viewing works in situ since each painting is part of an interlocking visual program that also contains a frescoed ceiling and eight bronze sculpture located in niches at the room's upper corners (see the third image above). Below is Gianbologna's beautiful bronze Apollo.

Unbelievably, the room was dismantled within a century after its completion and the paintings were displayed separately. In the early 20th C. the room was reinstalled, but until this year the public was not allowed into this space without a special "secret tours" ticket.

It's hard to explain how exciting it was to stand there inside the room and allow the space to interact with us the way it was intended to, like a luxurious, jewel-toned box turned right side in. Documents suggest in condemning tones that Francesco wiled away many solitary hours in this space, but I must admit that last Tuesday as I excitedly stood there, giddily trying to take it all in, I found it very hard to blame him. It could easily take a lifetime to fully appreciate all of the 26 paintings, 8 bronze sculpture, ceiling fresco, marble paneling and hand-carved, gilded wooden frames. To say nothing of  the fascinating objects the cabinets held! Goodness! Suddenly Francesco seems less like an anti-social, morose introvert and more like a man who just wanted to quietly enjoy a whole lot of beauty...

Views of Volterra

Volterra is a fascinating city in the countryside of Tuscany with a long history, first as powerful city-state of the ancient federation of Etruria and later as a Roman town. Today the city is still completely walled with its original medieval fortifications and from its ramparts one gets a 360 degree view of the rolling hills of Chianti. Not surprisingly, the city itself is also hilly with narrow shady streets that open into a handful of sunny piazzas that play host to the commune's former government buildings, still functioning cathedral (above) and various other churches.

Volterra is a difficult city to reach for the interested traveler and despite its many attractions is largely tourist-free as a result. We journeyed with Lawrence for about 75-90 minutes by rental car to reach it--first on the autostrada and superstrada and then on steep, narrow, dramatically winding roads that reminded me of my least favorite rides at Disneyland (Thunder Mountain, Matterhorn, Space Mountain) although with a much better view! Imagine here olive groves, wine vineyards, hills topped with iconic rows of cypress and umbrella pines in clusters, dotting the verdant hills.

Ultimately it was worth every hairpin turn! Volterra's real draw is the 1521 altarpiece of Rosso Fiorentino depicting Christ's Descent from the Cross, which was originally made for the city's cathedral (now in the civic art museum or Pinacoteca) and appears below. Others come to Volterra to see its well-preserved Roman theater (one of the most intact in Italy), while Etruscan afficionados sojourn here to visit the oldest preserved city gate built by those ancient peoples of the peninsula.

For me it was a return trip, last completed in 1995. For Dave is was a first time experience.

This is not the Etruscan gate, but one of the other handful from the medieval period. A mere 800 years old.

Tiny Roman bath building near theater.

And finally...

Although this image is a bit dark, you still get the general idea. Grief-stricken John at the far right is about life size and is clearly meant to be our "entry point" both emotionally and intellectually into the piece. Our group discussed this work and came to a consensus on a number of things:

1) The piece was almost certainly hanging higher than we saw it and in a chapel of the cathedral that forced the viewer to approach the work at an angle from the right. At the museum you could sort of recreate this and it made the work pull together spatially in a more visually resolved way which made John's large size and posture more effecting. Dave, however, had another compelling theory, which he offers in his Poseur's Guide to Art Lesson #8.

2) The piece would have been viewable only at a distance of some feet, created by an altar and perhaps steps in front of this altar. The paint was applied very, very thin in some areas and even allowing for cleanings, Rosso's charcoal underdrawings were readily visible in the lighter garments up close, but from a distance they disappeared and the fabric pulled together as abstract, flickering surfaces, catching the fantastical light eminating from not one, but two fictive sources.

3) Michelangelo's Pieta was likely the ultimate source for Rosso's Christ.

And now for the editorializing... 4) This is a beautiful painting, but not as graceful or visually satisfying as the work it's most often taught alongside and compared to by art historians the world over, namely Pontormo's larger altarpiece but of a similar subject matter and date, the Deposition of Sta. Felicità, c. 1528. [For more on this piece see my May 29 post, "Art as it was Meant to be Seen"]

But perhaps we're all just a little bit biased...quick check...no, I don't think so!

A Poseur's Guide to Art: Lesson #8

Understandably, artists have always been reticent to deal with Mary's unfortunate case of gigantism at Christ's death.  But not Francesco Neri da Volterra!!

The man meets it head on.  Brave.

The reason you go to Volterra's Pinacoteca -- really the only reason it seems to me -- is to see this:

Rosso Fiorentino's Deposition altarpiece.  I'm not a huge Rosso fan, but this was really impressive. Although take a look at John, who has his head in his hands. If he were to stand up straight, he'd be 8 feet tall, which would make him a match for Francesco Neri da Volterra's(!!) Mary at the top of this post. In Rosso's work, as you can probably guess, Mary's knees are being clutched by Mary Magdalene. Both Marys are of normal height and would be about a foot and a half shorter than Giant John. But, more typically of Medieval, Renaissance, and later artists, Rosso was too chicken to portray Mary's gland problem honestly, So he, apparently, transferred the Virgin's affliction to poor John.

Moral of the story: Just because a work is old, in Neri's case 14th century, and just because it's hanging in a Pinacoteca, in this case in Volterra, doesn't mean it isn't really pretty jaw droppingly godawful (so to speak).  I think bad Pietàs, like Neri's, are Italy's answer to velvet Elvises.

But Rosso saved the day in terms of the art viewing.  His Deposition, a great lunch at a little trattoria, and getting to walk around Volterra were well worth the three-hour round trip drive up and down Tuscan hills.

Bologna (the much shorter), Part 2

 This gi-normous marble tomb also contains a reliquary of Dominic's head on the backside (no photo available--sorry, Mom). This piece is a collaboration between the workshop of Nicola Pisano (horizontal reliefs), Niccolò dell'Arca of terracotta fame (the top, most of the upper standing figures and the left candelabra are his) and the very young Michelangelo (right candelabra, two of the upper figures). We spent a good deal of time looking at this piece and here's where my 2014 and my 1995 recollections did not match. 

In 1995 I could not wait to see the Michelangelo pieces here. In fact, my fascination was so intense that before our visit this week, I couldn't remember anything else about St. Dominic's tomb except that there was a pair to Michelangelo's candelabra. (Michelangelo's is below)

 I've thought a lot about why that was the case and I think as a young grad student I was a bit dazzled by "il divino" and unable to see the other artists present at the party, so to speak. Since then a great deal has happened to shape and reshape my visual point of view. I've seen a lot of art from all periods and in different media and I've become less fixated on the mere name of the artist. I've also been pushed outside of my visual "comfort zone" in really good ways by artist friends (Barbara, Chris--I'm talking to you!) who have challenged me to see both modern and contemporary artists in different ways and to appreciate them. I've also developed and become more assured of my own visual taste, for better or worse. And, while that taste is always evolving, and I hope, deepening, I'm still moved by the "power" and in this case effectiveness (appropriate to place) of a piece--and I'm aware that 19 years of seeing art impacts my reactions to that power. So on Wednesday, despite the obvious demonstration of prodigious skill, I found myself unexpectedly apathetic to Michelangelo's robust, brawny, ultimately human angel on the right front of the tomb.

 No. For me, in Bologna of 2014, it was the sublimely angelic work of Niccolò that won me over. This angel seemed to belong among the realm of the fantastic where we humans don't tread. And so, rather than Raphael, I left Bologna thinking about an artist I had forgotten to remember--whose work is essentially unknown to me. And, somehow that makes the art world of Italy feel fresh, exciting and "new" all over again.

Bits of Bologna (the city, not the lunchmeat), Part 1

On Wednesday, June 4, Dave and I took a day trip to Bologna, a bustling city in the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy, north of Florence. On the new Freccia Rossa fast trains the trip is a mere 35 minutes from Florence, which is sort of shocking given that when I first started coming to Florence that was a 60+ minute train ride on the fastest train available. Oh, the technology!

Indeed, this was my first trip back to Bologna since 1995 and interestingly I found that I remembered some things differently than they were. This will be born out below when I mention San Domenico. One thing that impressed me then and impressed me this time too was the color. I love it!! Oranges, burnt red, natural brick--these are the palette of Bologna.

Unlike Florence, or Siena or Pisa, two other towns nearby, Bologna does not cater to tourists. In fact, we saw only one postcard/souvenir shop and that was near the city center and really a Tabacchi  selling mainly cigarettes and snacks rather than a dedicated gift shop. As a result, we felt very much like we were seeing Italy sort of "off the beaten path," which was a nice change of pace.

Our first stop was the Piazza del Nettuno, which is connected to the Piazza Maggiore, linking, quite directly, the former political and religious centers of the medieval and Renaissance city. You can see from the image below how the Piazza gets its name--from the famous over life sized, 1566 bronze statue of Neptune by Gianbologna (not a native of the city, but French from Boulogne). Many of the ensemble's forms are based upon ancient statuary (including the obscene mermaids around the base). 
As you can see, it has also become a comfy resting place for resident pigeons including the one settled on Neptune's head. Also note the azure sky and orange building...stunning.

Next we rounded the corner and entered the church of San Petronio with its curiously half-finished facade. Medieval and Renaissance Italians were notorious for not finishing the facades of their churches, which essentially amounted to a layer of expensive "marble icing" over the building's exterior. As a result, Italian facades are not architecturally integral to the structure's stability, so when money ran out or enthusiasm waned or committees couldn't make decisions (often!) facades were not finished and so it was the case here.

 
San Petronio is a huge and fascinating building started in 1390, but not finished until the 17th century (speaking of money woes). BUT, this was where Charles V (von Hapsburg) was crowned Holy Roman Emperor by Clement VII (de' Medici) in 1530, so hardly a minor site, despite being unfinished at the time.

Notice the use of brick on the interior. Bologna lacks a rich source for stone, but has clay aplenty and therefore embraced this natural resource, which makes for some really striking buildings. Here we have French Gothic a la Italian Bologna.

Once inside, I was particularly excited to see the altarpiece of St. Roch by Parmigianino, but alas it was covered with scaffolding, as were several chapels here. As it turns out, this church was impacted by the earthquake of 2012 and the structure is still languishing under braces and scaffolding, especially in the side chapels. 

On the other hand, the big surprise (and there always is one) was the Cappella Bolognini painted by Giovanni da Modena between 1408-20. The frescoes depict the travels of the Magi on the right wall and the most vivid scenes of Hell I have ever encountered in Renaissance painting on the opposite wall.  Good fun. It might be hard to see, but my favorite part is the center of the left wall where the "Blessed" are sitting in what look to be Renaissance theater seats watching God in his almond-shaped halo above.

 
We paused for a delicious lunch at the restaurant, Diana and I couldn't help but notice how the juicy-sweet cantaloupe of my proscuitto e melone was the same color as the streets of Bologna. See further evidence below.

 

Exhibit A

Exhibits B, C and D.

Love, love, love these colors.
These images were taken on the way to the Pinacoteca or civic museum and indeed the reason we went to Bologna in the first place. Why? Because they have Raphael's Sta. Cecilia altarpiece which I have not seen since 1995 and didn't see this week either! Why? Because the museum's website said it was open until 7 p.m. when in fact it closed at 1:30. Thus, my dear friends, I submit this post as an excellent example of my mostly love-but sometimes hate relationship with Italy. This sort of thing happens all the time. Why do we still love Italy? Well, the photos speak for themselves, I hope!

So, if you want to see Sta. Cecilia you'll have to do what I did and Google her.


After much cussing we moved to Santa Maria della Vita where, three steps into the building, Pisa experienced a fast-moving summer deluge. The sky looks blue in the images, but this storm still managed to whip up out of nowhere. It felt poignant in a way because this is the work we came to see...

Niccolò dell'Arca's late 15th C. tour-de-force, terracotta Lamentation over the Dead Christ. These are life-sized figures and leaving aside any religious beliefs one may or may not have, or the odd way grief is gendered in this work, the two female figures on the right (Mary Magdalen and another Mary--the Virgin is actually third from the left) are among some of the most affecting pieces in Italian 15th C. sculpture. The piece was originally painted, hence the strange spots of color that remain.

  Once the rain abated we made our last stop--again another, unassuming and surprising church. In this case it's San Domenico, which in fact is the most important church of the Dominican order and houses the body (and head, separately) of its founder, St. Dominic, sainted in the 13th C.  

The late medieval building was redecorated on the interior in the 17th C. and as Dave remarked, one could hardly find a more incongruous exterior / interior combination in all of Italy. 

Not surprisingly the highlight of the building is off the right side aisle, namely the tomb of St. Dominic.  [continued, see Part 2]

Amidst all the details...

Today was a day of visual treasures--found here and there amidst all that we saw while traveling in Pisa.  The Church of St. Stefano, the Baptistry and the Camposanto were particularly rich for me; my head is full of ideas for the paintings I will make when I return.  These photographs give just a glimpse into what filled our heads today.

Le Osteria Amici

Even in Tuscany, the land of the Sangiovese varietal, which yields Chianti, Brunello, Vino Nobile, and any number of Super Tuscans, sometimes, you crave a Guinness. (Or, if you're itching for another type of experience, a Super Harp. Took me about three outings to realize "Super" didn't actually mean "really, really good." It meant -- as normal people have likely already gathered -- 9% alcohol ... Sometimes, I can be a little too slow on the uptake, and a little too quick on the intake. And, no, you can't prove that was me stumbling through Piazza della Signoria singing That's Amore back in 2007.)

In any case, when you want a Guinness in Florence, there's one place to go above all others in a city with a surprising number of similar establishments.

The Friends' Pub is on Borgo San Jacopo, a mere 160 meters -- that's about 525 feet -- from our apartment.

Uh-oh.

An Irish pub in the heart of Florence, owned by a couple of Korean guys who speak fluent Italian.  Only in America, er, Florence.

And we're off...

With Heather off teaching, I caught up on some reading and, in quick succession, was serenaded by Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, and John Lee Hooker. When Cab Calloway was next, I realized I was listening to the Blues Brothers soundtrack. In a town where a Kardashian just got married -- in preparation for her divorce -- one whose entire family is famous for, as far as I can tell, being famous, it was nice to bask in the fabulous, non-horribly embarrassing kind of American culture.  Now, where can I listen to some Trane ... ?