A Florentine Notebook
David2
The Bargello Sculpture Museum: Friday, 11:00 AM
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o many of Florence's masterpieces are impressive to me for no other reason than their antiquity or their notoriety. I'm often blown away by seeing something—a painting, a building—that has for years existed to me only as a picture in a book.
However, every so often one of these great works of art will leap out at me, enter my soul, and affect me in a deeper, more personal way. Botticelli's Birth of Venus did it the other day in the Uffizi. Now, here in the Bargello, Giambologna's bronze of Mercury has jolted me from the "routine" of gazing at greatness. (The Bargello contains, among many other things, several famous works by Michelangelo.)
The subject helps, of course, since Mercury and I have a history, of sorts. Mercury, in his role as god of communications, represents for me that psychological aspect of the mind that drives me to write. He's also the god of commerce, and is rising in my horoscope, so I make my living (and best approach the world) via writing.
Mercury, cast in bronze
Yet so graceful, so fluid;
Quicksilver messenger, invisibly fast
Yet so permanent, so unmoveable;
Caduceus-bearer, symbol of eloquence
So ancient and yet so personal.
Winged feet,
Borne on the wind's breath,
I will make you my emblem:
A pointer to the inner movement
That impels my life
And gives shape to my being.
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The Bargello Sculpture Museum: Friday, 11:45 AM
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When you climb the stairs to the Bargello's second floor, doors immediately on the right beckon you into a large, vaulted, room. This cavernous area is thick with statues and reliefs, but your eye, indeed your entire being, is drawn forcefully, almost violently, towards Donatello's David in the back corner of the room. It feels as though the entire floor slopes towards this famous figure, and you have no choice but to ignore the other pieces and head straight for him.
Beginning with the initial psychic shock that courses through your body when you first lay eyes on him, the world becomes a very narrow place as you walk, heart beating faster, towards this superb work of art. Damn, this Bargello is a truly heavy place!
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The Accademia: Friday, 2:00 PM
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Jeezus. Donatello's David was amazing, but I'm glad I saw it before I got here. I've seen a million pictures of this David—indeed, along with the Mona Lisa, this may be the world's most recognizable artwork—but nothing prepared me for the sheer size of the thing. The entire structure absolutely towers over us mere mortals paying obeisance beneath it.
Once you get used to its overpowering height (if that's at all possible), the immense bulk of David's features command your attention. Hands the size of footballs; salami-like fingers; feet large enough to carry a nation in battle.
The hands aren't just huge; they also exude an overwhelming competence; clearly, using a slingshot to bring down a giant is only the beginning of what such hands are capable of.
Finally, there is David's Sphinx-link gaze into some infinite distance, an infinity not just of space, but of time. In the end, this gaze is disturbing because the expression shows concern, not at some approaching danger, but at the ultimate fate of mankind.
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Copyright © 1995-2008 Paul McFedries and Logophilia Limited
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