Snow continued in the early morning, but the skies cleared for a while. Sue and Ruth are ahead of me in the recuperating department, and they went to Ruth’s office so Sue could catch up on some email. I slept until 12:30, then felt well enough to shower and eat some bread It stayed put, so progress made.
The clouds resumed, Sue and Ruth returned, and we decided go to L’Accademia. Sue and I have both been there before, but she really wanted to see David again. Off we went on the #7 bus to Piazza San Marco. A quick stroll, absolutely NO line (it's a clergy karma thing) and soon we were face to face - well, underfoot - with one of the great sculptures of the western world. OK, of the entire world.
David is a marvel. He dominates the space created for him, which, of course, is what’s intended. He’s still and yet, there’s energy, intense and yet there’s a quiet confidence too. He’s so different from Moses, which is still my favorite, to be honest.
Moses sits; David stands. Moses is mostly ‘human-size’, while David is more than twice as big as modern American man. Both characters are powerfully built and intensely focused. But Moses is a man, at the pinnacle, literally, of his heroic journey. He has nothing to prove; he only has to endure. David is a boy, on the precipice of toppling not only the giant, Goliath, and his Philistine horde, but the dynasty of Yahweh's anointed. The stone he throws carries his people to victory and him into the realm of mythic hero. In this moment, David becomes a giant himself. He is a force of nature: shepherd, poet, musician, guerilla, mercenary, lover, murderer. I can see why he’d appeal to the Renaissance Italians.
Michelangelo’s “Prisoners” grace the approach to the shepherd-king. They are wonderful beings breaking free of the marble that holds fast to them. Commissioned for the tomb of Julius II, they stand far from that pope’s actual burial site, a small spot in St Peter’s Basilica. Much like Moses, also commissioned for Julius’s tomb, the "Prisoners" have become works that stand as monuments to the sculptor and his stone rather than to the pope and his reign. They’re a fitting metaphor for the relationship between Michelangelo and Julius, who struggled to free themselves of one another and yet depended so deeply on the investment each had in the other.
We survey the rest of the museum and then walk around the Duomo. It's too late to enter, but it's entirely wonderful from the outside. This is the Florence of postcards, the terra cotta biretta set atop the ecclesiastical center of the city.
We find a small cafe, and though Ruth isn't keen, we have coffee before going back to the villa. Our little ristorante is closed, so we coerce Ruth into driving up the hill for a meal. We have a choice of pizza place or hotel restaurant. We choose the latter. It's a great location, with all the lights of Florence twinkling below. It's also the off-season, so there are only two other tables in use the entire time we're there.
It doesn't matter. The food is all right and company is both good and well. Tomorrow, we leave Italy and fly home. Florence has been a bit of a bust, to be honest, but it'll make a great anecdote - eventually.
We get back to the villa intact. No one feels ill. It's still chilly, but not cold. I have the space heater in my room and intend to use it. Sue decides to pack in the morning. I've already gotten my backpack ready and I'm guessing it's at about 19 lbs since I am bringing back a few of small items: a little leather bag, a scarf, some chocolate, a brochure about the Irish College, the ticket to the papal audience, and half a dozen or so postcards that I decided to keep for myself.
Tomorrow, I'll jot some notes from the road and sky. I'm really, really glad that I've had this time away. I've made some new friends and that's always good. I've had fun. It's been wearing on my body but renewing for my soul. I would do this again in a heartbeat, and I hope very much that I will.
Ciao.
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