Berkley Center

Growing up in Florence, I imagine, is more similar to growing up in London than it is to growing up in America. I read a quote somewhere that “a European thinks a hundred miles is a long way; an American thinks a hundred years is a long time.”

Italy and England are both very old countries, and this fact remains important in both cultures. The deep respect and prioritization of Italian history reminds me a lot of home. A key difference is that English history focuses on empire, military conquests, and politics. In a city like Florence, although there have been powerful dukes and key battles fought in the region’s history (just as there have been important English artists), the Italian focus remains on art history, unsurprisingly. I believe this distinction is one of the features that make my London upbringing varied from a Florentine one. When I was younger, dinnertime conversation revolved around William the Conqueror, Henry VIII, and Napoleonic wars. School trips were to the Houses of Parliament, the Cabinet War Rooms, and the Tower of London. I must have visited the Imperial War Museum at least 20 times to see their World War I trench warfare exhibit. To be sure, we would visit London’s art galleries as well; certain rooms in the Victoria Albert museum remain my favorite spots in the city, while I have a rather traumatizing memory of getting lost in the National Portrait Gallery at around age 5. Admittedly, my education was probably more focused on political and military history because of my father’s interest in it. Nevertheless, the study of English history emphasizes the monarchy and the British Empire.

In Florence, the focus is on art. Florence’s Uffizi Gallery, which houses works by the greatest Italian artists, is one of the two most visited museums in all of Italy. While the vehicle for English history has been the oral and written word, Italian history is viewed through the prism of its art. There is a greater emphasis on preserving Italian history in a visual form because of this irrefutable connection between art history and political history (including religious and economic history).

When I imagine growing up in Florence, I picture being surrounded by striking art and with a sense of pride for the artists that lived within this region. I think this pride is important. British pride revolves around military battles won or the memory of Winston Churchill (and, for some unknown reason, for our World Cup victory in 1966). Were I to have grown up in Florence, my national or regional pride might have revolved around the lives and works of Michelangelo and Leonardo (though I’m sure football would be a key feature too). The Italian pride carries a greater appreciation for superior art, painstaking skill, and beauty. This has been a revealing change for me. Before I came to Florence and before I began studying art history, the description “aesthetically-pleasing” meant “superficial” or “shallow” to me. It’s been an exercise to appreciate a painting for its stylistic importance rather than to use it as an historical source for information about the commissioner and the artist’s contemporary society. I’ve always been encouraged to see things for their utility rather than their beauty or artistic significance. So to examine the David and see Michelangelo’s expert technique, his sensational symbolism and to appreciate just how incredible the final product looks (and why) has been a delight. I remember going to the Louvre in Paris when I was little, and seeing the Mona Lisa opposite Veronese’s The Wedding at Cana. Well, I’ve always loved the Veronese, but now I really can’t wait to return again, to see the canvas and to grasp just how magnificent and utterly outrageous it is in context.

Living in Florence (however briefly) has proven to me why a culture needs art. Visiting the Opificio delle Pietre Dure for our "City of Florence" class was an especially eye-opening experience. The Opificio was established by Ferdinando I de’Medici in 1588 as a workshop for commesso pietre dure, a mosaic of semi-precious stones. Today, it is one of two Italian state art conservation schools, and it still has a commesso workshop where artists spend months painstakingly choosing, cutting, and arranging these semi-precious stones into intricate mosaics. Hearing how these artists still practiced the commesso technique for the sake of art preservation, rather than for economic benefit, was astonishing. Moreover, it was incredible to witness how the restorers were spending months repairing a set of Roman floor mosaics that would never be viewed by the public (as they belonged in a restricted area in the Baptistery of St. John). In Florence, the preservation of art and skill supersedes the supply and demands of our contemporary economy.