Reflections on Italy's Past and Present

While searching for hotels and hostels to stay in during my spring break, I stumbled upon a series of poor reviews for many highly rated hotels. Reading closer, I found that each negative paragraph had the same complaints: the water was not always hot, the walls were thin, the air conditioning was insufficient, the building was old. After reading these reviews from unhappy Americans, I realized that the only flaw these accommodations possessed was that they were Italian. Americans are often accustomed to a lifestyle of cutting-edge efficiency and expected luxury. While the Italians splurge in many ways, much of their culture seeks to preserve what has always been. Rarely do they expect a visitor to be early, and air conditioning? Strong heating? They don’t need it. The Italians, in more ways than one, do not seem to seek change, but instead preserve what they have.

Last week, my Renaissance art class visited a restoration lab called the Opificio delle Pietre Dure, where they specialize in the preservation of hard stone. One of the most prestigious conservation institutions in the world, the Opificio handles many marvels of Italian history. As we wandered through the open rooms, we passed a potential Michelangelo sculpture; the stone was simply sitting on a desk. Our guide took us to a back room and talked to us in front of a restored Roman floor. The lab had completely removed each tiny tile from its original mounting and placed it in a more ecologically sustainable base. The team of conservators had spent a full year restoring the mosaic. In the next room, the massive bronze doors of the Florence Baptistery sat in a nitrogen-controlled case. The lab had been working on these for almost a decade. Among the efforts to conserve and restore, the lab always differentiated modern work from the original work. The fragmented Michelangelo sculpture differentiated the original pieces from the new ones, and the new pieces of tesserae were a different color than the rest of the mosaic. Not only was there a tendency to restore, but also separate the old from the new.

In Venice, history always takes precedence. Before this past weekend, I had never been to the legendary city—I only knew my parents’ ravings and descriptions from friends. As soon as we stepped out of the train station, my professor wove us through the labyrinth of streets, bridges, campos, and piazzas until we finally arrived at the Frari Church, a famous chiesa in the city center.

I am a very spatial person; I love maps, and I love being able to orient myself in new cities, but after that walk, we could have been anywhere on the island, and I would not have been the wiser. The architecture of the city climbs up and around the canals and walking paths. As the town was essentially built upon a marsh island, nothing is flat. The cobblestones push up and push down. Walking through San Marco, the floor looked like a checkerboard of miniature rolling hills. In one bell tower we passed, the lower half was built at a different angle than the top half, as if the constructors had corrected for the sway midway through the process. These tiny quirks and flaws in Venice’s fabric have been preserved for the past millennium. Repairs have been made at different points in the city’s history, but the buildings were rarely replaced. Even today, building or renovating in the historic center is a literal nightmare. Simple projects can result in mountains of paperwork. Venice, a city slowly sinking into the sea, a town that still collects garbage by boat, is reluctant to change, no matter how necessary it may seem. The cultural and artistic history is so rich, and the tendency towards historic preservation so strong, Venice seems like a city frozen in time, moving neither forward nor backwards.

As an art historian, I both appreciate and adore Italy’s embrace of its historical culture. I love that I can see the development of art over time; so much of the Renaissance and Baroque period remains here, especially in the cities like Venice and Florence that are no longer the economic and political centers they once were. Italy gravitates towards historical and artistic tradition, and I wish I could see more of that in the United States. But in spite of my attraction to this culture, I wonder if Italy’s tie to cultural tradition serves to divide it from countries developing more rapidly. Does it lead to wealthy and unfit politicians like Berlusconi taking power? Does it lead to the preservation of the power of the Catholic Church, even when few Italians attend mass? I love the Italian culture, but its implications are much farther reaching than the conservation of the art that brought me here.

Passion of Italians

PASSION: A strong liking, desire for or devotion to some activity, object or concept

During high school I was always told to avoid starting off an essay with a dictionary definition. First of all, this can hardly be considered an essay, and secondly, I think that the incompleteness of Merriam-Webster’s definition of “passion” provides a fitting context to illustrate the real “passion” I have seen exemplified by Italians in my first month in Florence.

…for one another

My first Friday in Florence was spent at Pangoro Firenze, a small pub Oltarno, watching Giacomo, one of the CET Italian roommates sing. My apartment mates and I were among the first people there and were blown away by the crowd that had gathered by the end of the night. Giacomo played Beatles covers (which everyone sang along to), American pop classics (Stacy’s Mom was quite the hit) and to our delight, some Italian ballads during which we observed the Italians harmonizing with gusto. A friend of Giacomo’s even hopped up on stage with him for a few of the songs! The amount of support exemplified by Giacomo’s friends was astounding and the dynamic between performer and audience was enlivening.

…for their history

During a weekend in Milan, I unexpectedly bore witness to the passion that Italians have for their history. At Basilica Sant’ Ambrogio, a church a bit off the beaten path, I wandered around searching for the uncorrupted body of Saint Ambrose that I had read about. When I fortunately ventured down to a small chapel underneath the altar, I found the body of Saint Ambrose adorned in gilded garments. Though the chapel was quaint, I was not alone. A man with rather torn clothes knelt in the presence of the saint and held a crumpled scrap of paper in his hands as he recited prayers in Italian under his breath. With tears in his eyes, this man was deeply moved as he payed homage to the fourth century bishop of Milan. This outpouring of emotion was completely authentic and representative of the unadulterated passion exemplified by Italians I have as of yet encountered.

…for us!

For some odd reason, and to my surprise, Italians are curious about and intrigued by American students. CET arranges certain activities for us throughout the semester, one of the most recent being a cooking class at InTavola. With the help of the staff, we prepared a delicious eggplant appetizer, homemade pasta main course and a sinful tiramisu. During the whole preparation, we attempted to converse in Italian. Though I am far from being fluent in Italian, humor hardly needs translation. Fabrizio, our instructor, continuously teased Brian throughout the cooking process, since he originally stood out as the ‘Celiaco’ (Celiac). All the teasing, of course, was good-natured jesting, and any slip-up one of us made was inadvertently blamed on ‘Brrrrrian’. Fabrizio and his staff seemed thrilled to share their culinary culture with us and were pleased with our willingness to learn with a positive attitude.

I finally grasp why a dictionary definition is an inappropriate way to start a piece of writing. The word one seeks to define cannot be condensed into a single sentence or string of words. “A strong liking, desire for or devotion to some activity, object or concept” cannot possibly convey the raucous applause Giacomo’s friends showed towards his performance, the humbling sight of the kneeling pilgrim, nor the jest with which Fabrizio teased our cooking group. I look forward to the opportunity to continue living in and learning from a culture of people whose actions embody the essence of passion.

Sarah Greenlee, Vanderbilt University

CET Florence Student Correspondent, Spring '12

First 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.

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.

The following 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.

This past weekend, we decided to take another Italian trip, this time to Milan, fashion and banking capital of Italy. As expected, the first stop was the Duomo. I love the Florence Cathedral, but Milan’s Gothic gargantuan beats it in size, scope, and decoration. Every inch of the church is covered in sculptural adornment. And the doors! It was a feat in bronze casting. Though the Duomo of Milan is traditionally considered to be a Gothic church in a Renaissance age, I cannot deny how impressive the structure was, both inside and out.

The interior was cavernous. Even after walking through the smaller entrance doors, I could not see the far-away back of the church. We passed hulking column after hulking column, and each window and side apse sparkled with splendor. But unlike the cathedrals of Florence and Siena, the Duomo of Milan was dark. The photographs I took of the interior were hauntingly dim. The primary source of light was the stained glass windows, all of which were huge and stunning. The intricate patterns and colors of the glass created the “divine light” of the church; I could only imagine how powerful this experience must have been to Christian pilgrims. The gothic windows on the back wall actually staggered me though. Each of the three towering windows were at least 60 ft tall and 25 ft wide, and together they cast a colorful glow onto the empty floors beneath them. On our way out of the cathedral, we passed a column completely illuminated with different colored beams of light, casting a rainbow into the gloomy stone surface of the pillar.

As we walked out of the Duomo, we headed towards Cioccolatitaliani, an apparently delicious gelateria and pasticchieria recommended to me by a friend. We immediately realized that the glittering counter did not specialize in brioches or gelato: they concentrated on chocolate. Though I had told myself I would try to be thrifty, I paid my 2.50 euros for a caffé cioccolato bianco and a petit croissant. My description absolutely could not do justice to how delicious this was. The coffee was a tiny glass with warm white chocolate layering the bottom and a shot of espresso over top. Coupled with a croissant likely made by pastry angels, the combination of flavor told me that my taste buds would never be totally satisfied again.

After reluctantly leaving the chocolate shop, we aimed for the Pinacoteca Ambrosia, a famous art museum and library. My experience in those halls alone made Milan worth the trip. We saw famous images by famous artists—two Botticellis, a Caravaggio, multiple Titians, a bust by Canova—but those did not define the museum for me. One wonderful part about the Piancoteca was that everyone only spoke Italian. When I asked what “bottega” meant, for all the image labels were in Italian as well, the docent told me in Italian. Even better, I understood it all and was able to communicate with her. While standing in front of a portrait bust of Leonardo da Vinci, Milan’s favorite artist to have ever worked in the city, a guard came up to us and told us about the Pinacoteca, about his life, and then asked us questions in return. Each employee of the museum welcomed us with smiles and patience with our imperfect Italian.

The art, however, made the difference for me. The most famous part of the Pinacoteca Ambrosia’s collection is the cartoon, or pre-drawing, of Raphael’s School of Athens. While his students likely painted many parts of the actual painting at the Vatican, only Raphael contributed to the full-scale cartone in the Pinacoteca. I stood inches from the drawing. Inches! I could see the tiny holes poked into the drawing when Raphael’s assistants transferred the image. The only thing separating me from the yellowed paper was a layer of glass. As I sat down before the drawing in the provided chairs, I watched a group of visitors huddle around a computer screen pulled about 10 feet away from the frame. This led screen played a slideshow depicting the Vatican’s School of Athens, as well as identifying different figures in the scene. I could not help but notice how strange that was: juxtaposed were the living image and a virtual representation of it, and still many visitors chose to look at a screen rather than stand beneath the drawing.

Everything about Milan, the food, the museums, the fashion district, all screamed big city. It didn’t have the intimate personality of Florence, though its culture was full and rich. While I have only made two excursions outside of Florence so far, this little city on the Arno has my loyalty. Already the streets and the art feel like old friends that I will continue to get to know.

I’m sure I will have more to tell soon enough, but for now, ciao!

Emma Trawick, Vanderbilt University

CET Florence Spring '12 Student Correspondent