Accademic Achievements

May 14

The hotel in Florence is on a narrow street called Via delle Oche. When I first read the name, I thought “Street of the Eight.” That has a very cool ring to it, right up there with “seven at one blow” and so forth.

There’s a guy whose name we run into every once in a while, Givoanni delle Bande Nere. John of the Black Bands.What does that mean? Did he lead guys in secret, or at least in black suits, to do heavy-handed things? Maybe we’re talking about some kind of honorific black sashes. But still, it’s a cool name. He may have been a forebear of Cosimo the Elder, one of the Medici dukes.

Anyhow, Street of the Eight can’t be right. Eight is “otto” in Italian, “ocho” in Spanish. The “ch” in Italian sounds like a “k.” This was confusing.

I tried the Kindle to look up “oche” and “ocha” which I guessed would be the singular form. Couldn’t find anything. Then the superiority of paper exerted itself. I looked into my Langenscheidt, bought the old and honored way from the booskstore on the corner (yes, I am privileged to have a live book store in walking distance from my house), and came across “oca,” goose.

That could be it. “Street of the Geese”? The “h” comes in because when you make the “e” plural, the Italians don’t want you to sound like you’re saying “eight” in Spanish.

I made a similar mixup when I was talking about the designer of the cathedral dome. Yes, he was the first European to do that for more than a thousand years, or at least that is what I have read. But Brunellesco, singular, is the brand name of a jug wine that I buy at the corner (not far from the bookstore) when I’m home. The artist is Brunelleschi, the plural of Brunellesco. I have been confusing the names of the wine and the architect ever since I started reading about Florence months ago.

Got to try to get that straight: Street of the Geese. Brunelleschi’s dome.

We went to the Accademia on Wednesday. We strolled up to the neighborhood. It’s not far. Nothing is far in the old city.

We stopped on a square named for Saint Mark and had crepes filled with ricotta and spinach and served with a bechamel and tomato sauce. These were very good, and a small portion, which is a good thing because they were also very rich. We balanced that with a plate of delicious grilled vegetables. I had more Chianti.

The Accademia is an old art school turned into a museum. If it was in the States it would be spectacular. Here it is only OK, but is still a must-see because of one gallery, which holds a half dozen incomplete marbles attributed to Michelangelo, and the original of his David. It’s a copy now that stands in front of Palazzo Vecchio.

That much is worth the trip.

First of all, I observed that David apparently wasn’t Jewish. Either that or he needed a better moil. The slayer of Goliath and soon-to-be-king in Jerusalem is not circumcised. You can’t see that at the Palazzo, because you can’t see it close enough to be sure.

This, the original David, stood outside Palazzo Vecchio for centuries. The statue’s left arm was broken during a riot in 1527, and you can see lump running around the wrist that may be a repair.

It’s much more impressive indoors than out. There are still crowds and pain-in-the-ass tour guides, but you can get a closer, calmer look than you can at the big piazza. You can walk all the way around it. Also, this is the original.

The six other marbles are fun. Four of them were figures for the tomb of Pope Julius II. The tomb project was never completed. I am told that Julius lies in a modest sepulchure somewhere, probably in the crypt of St. Peter’s. Moses in the original plan was supposed to be off to the side, but now it is the central (monumental) figure on a wall in St. Peter in Chains at Rome.

One of the Accademia marbles is a twisting torso that looks like someone stretching out of sleep. This is nicknamed “The Awakening Prisoner.” It really does look like he is waking up and coming out of the stone. Like Christopher Lee’s orcs coming out of the mud in “Lord of the Rings.”

There is also an incomplete St. Matthew, and a Pieta. The Pieta, like the other marbles, shows the marks of the chisel. The figure of the dead Christ is closer to being finished than the supporting figures are. I didn’t notice it at first, but the commentary says that the disproportionate figure of Jesus, whose torso is out of scale to the legs, has led many to suppose that it isn’t the work of the maestro but of one of his followers.

In any event, the rough figures behind Jesus still convey plenty of pathos, but they are suggestive rather than sharp and clear. It made me think of Rodin and also of some of the monumental figures in early 20th century paintings, including early Picassos.

The museum has one room of plaster copies of projects made by former students. Lots of naked ladies, which are always nice to look at, and busts of very important people that none of us today has ever heard of.

Several ground floor rooms and the entire first floor are devoted to medieval art, primarily painting. Three rooms have works by Giotto and his followers. These are interesting in their own right and very colorful. But after the Renaissance, they just didn’t grab me. Maybe my feet were getting tired.

The same with the 14th century altar pieces on the upper floor. Beautiful, yes, but flat and mostly sermonizing. This kind of art is much more moving on site where it was intended to go, like the tabernacle and altarpiece at Orsanmichele.

There is an interesting touch to two painted crucifixions. They are flat, like icons, except that the head of Jesus is painted on a separate panel that tips out from the flat surface. It’s an attempt to add realism to the composition.

No picture-taking allowed inside the Accademia museum, so the photo of the day is for Kate, a bat on a wall that was on a side street somewhere in Florence.

I’m not sure I could find it again. Does that constitute getting lost? Fuck. I haven’t been lost in so long that I miss it.

We stopped at the wine store downstairs to buy, yes, a bottle of Chianti, and then took a rest at the hotel.

We had dinner across the street at Ristorante de Repubblica, where we had vegetable soup served over bread. That was comfort food—rich and tasty. The bread soaks up the broth, but you lose none of the flavor. The waiter added a drizzle of olive oil over the soup.

The main course was a pound of beef called bistecca alla Fiorentina. It was as tender as ribeye, but a tastier cut. We had that with vegetables and fried potatoes. Perfect with, of course, Chianti.

It was only pushing nine when we finished, and Joanna was doing fine, but it was time for me to pack it in.

Good night, all, and sleep tight.

May 15

Heee! Love the bat (and all the updates). I would be in sensory overload.

Love you,

Kate

May 16

The Bande Neri were an illegitimate branch of the Medici.

After the death of Lorenzo il magnifico in 1492, the glorious Medici, inch by inch, became less so.

Which reminds me, I should send a check to the Medici archive project, of which Alan and I are a part. They never bother me for money.

Harry, I hope you got to Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana on Piazza San Lorenzo—architect, Michelangelo.

Beatrice