Another day full of art. We walk to Santa Croce through wonderful almost wild breezes. It’s close, and the line’s short–and I remember how lovely it is inside.
My memory doesn’t fail. Those high ceilings, the stained glass, the pantings and sculpture. All the floor tombs. It always feels a little disrespectful at first to walk over someone’s tomb, but as the floor’s covered with them, there’s no other way.
I love Dante’s big elaborate wall tomb–the statues around it, the reverence of them. And Michelangelo’s. The main altar’s under restoration and covered with scaffolding. When do they work? I think they must work at night, and how fascinating that would be.
I love the arched niches with the small altars, the pieces of old frescos.
People are quiet and respectful as they wander here.
Macheavelli’s buried here–or as Jason said: Or IS he? LOL.
There’s a plaque out in the lovely begonia covered courtyard for Florence Nightingale. I’m not sure if it’s because of her name or if she had some connection to the city.
We go into another area through the outside, full of wall vaults from the 1800s
There’s a chapel attached to the main church that took over a half century to build–a little delay in there when the Medicis fell out of favor.
Out to the piazza and the wind, and a walk that takes a closer to the Accademie–and lunch.
In the shadow of The Duomo again, but a new place, and it serves us very well.
We walk on and arrive to queue up right on time. Beautiful displays of art, starting with the tempora, all that gold leaf, vivid colors. Mary is once more the star, often with her infant snuggled in her left arm, with various saints or angels looking on.
We wander into an exhibit of musical instruments. I don’t remember this from our previous trip. It’s wonderful. Harpsichords, violas, cellos, pianofortes–brass and flues. And hurly-gurlys. They’re so beautiful.
More religious art–some of it depressingly dour, some brilliant, and out to the main room and The David.
He’s just as glorious as I remember. Almost impossible to believe, in size and scope, in every amazing detail–the cut of muscle you can all but see ripple, the veins in the hands, the shoulders. The calm, heroic detail of the face, even the ears. He’s so perfect you wouldn’t be surprised to see him turn his head, step down and walk.
The image is so ubiquitous the sheer magnificence of the reality makes only more of an impact.
I go back go him a number of times, comparing him to the half-finished work on display, even to Donnatello’s David–a favorite of mine in bronze. (The one with the hat and the, to me, cocky yeah, I can handle this expression.) Michelangelo’s David simply stands alone.
An impressive afternoon.
Walking back, still sort of scouting for sandals for Jason–and Kat finds some adorable ones in a soft, sagey blue for herself. I haven’t spotted a jacket that says BUY ME, so I’m holding off until I do.
But there was gelato–a mix of strawberry and mint for me. Just the prefect thing after a cultural day.
Kat and I head off, with the guys heading back, to find the cash exchange place with the excellent rate. We KNOW where it is, but it’s just not there. We decide it must’ve closed for the day, so settle for the second best rate, then back home to recover from a full day on our feet.
Just Facetimed with our two oldest grandkids. What fun and silliness. Now we’ll take it easy.
I think it might be pizza for me tonight.
The hardest decision I’ll have to make all day!
Oh! We have the windows open and hear the little parakeet across the street singing away.
Nora