Italy Part Seven - The Statue of David - Florence

Six hours of sleep later, I reluctantly get up to shower and prepare for the day, leaving the most beautiful Hotel Favorita in a van to the train station. One hour later, we arrive at the station two hours before our train is set to arrive. The hotel was kind enough to pack us breakfast and lunch, seeing as we were gone before the complimentary breakfast was served.

It’s rainy in Sorrento today, but it bothers us none as we sit inside the station with a glass roof, watching as the rain droplets patter against the glass above. I am now sporting three bags, one for my clothes, one acting as a purse, and a third that I packed that is now filled with various souvenirs. Despite being the second largest, it feels as though the souvenir bag is the heaviest. Though I'm unsure if this is because of the contents within, or the fact that my shoulders are already occupied, and so I must carry the bag in briefcase fashion. Either way, the less walking I have to do to get to the next hotel, the better.

We board the train under a covered overpass and begin our journey to Florence, where we will be staying for just one night. The scenery, while still very beautiful, is different under the dark, stormy overcast. The sun is completely absent today, refusing to shine a single ray through the rain. However, the dim lighting still illuminates the grassy fields through the overcast clouds above despite their efforts to snuff it out completely. The houses beside these fields look especially lonesome amid the dark and dreary sky. Their simplicity seems at first unimpressive, but I know that they serve their function well, and despite the many colors on their walls, are effortlessly well-loved with repairs instead of left to ruin. Standing perfectly content in their field, watching over the crops of next season.

In the distance, we pass by a mountain tall enough to almost break the coverage, and I can't help but be reminded of stories on Mount Olympus. I wonder if beautiful yet intimidating mountains like these are what caused the mythical tales to be written before the age of Christianity. While I know that Roman myths were largely adapted from Greek Mythos, it’s fun to imagine an ancient Roman hearing these tales and applying them to their own Italian life and landscape.

As the singular mountain passes, it is replaced by a landscape of distant peaks. The sharp inclines in the distance have become so close that they appear as a wall separating us from whatever lies beyond their dampened slopes. I watch as the ground becomes littered with trees, though the train I ride in resides higher than most of them. In between the thick patches of brush are a few spare fields that become less and less common until soon we are traveling above and through a thick rainy Italian forest. Though in these less common fields, I notice that while many have crops grown by the locals, there are also a few with spare ruins in the shape of houses that once were.

After a good many moments traversing through the luscious green, we pass by a new mountain, much closer this time, the top of which is completely absent in the mysterious fog. At its base exist a few buildings and houses of a town sporting various sunset colored terracotta roofs atop their cream, white, and sorbet colored walls. The rain gives the buildings a glittering gleam that reflects the grey sky beautifully.

Though this small mountain town seems minuscule compared to the tightly knit city we pass next. While distant, I can see the city resting on a precarious cliff that reminds me of Capri Island. Why the Italians are so set on building their cities on the cliff’s edge, I may never know. Though the sheer number of white beautiful buildings are too many to count as we pass by them quickly due to their distance from the railway.

After a brief closing of my eyes and a dark passageway through a tunnel, I open to see the beautiful Roman sun shining through a brief parting of clouds far from the still foggy mountains. The land seems all the more beautiful for it, as the sun-kissed fields and houses breathe in a sigh of relief from the warmth of the rays. However, this God-gifted blessing is short-lived.

It's another hour before the clouds clear enough for consistent sunlight. And while there are still many cumulonimbus clouds floating amid a lapis lazuli sky, the soggy land appears as though it is breathing for the first time since the storm, newly refreshed.

We ride for three hours, taking a stop in Rome, before arriving in Florence. When we get there, we are immediately surrounded by a horse parade. They played Smoke on the Water with a marching band, and in a total of fifteen minutes, it was over, and everyone was gone. This was by far the strangest entrance to a new location of the entire trip. Though I was quick to realize just how unique this city was compared to the other places in Italy we had visited thus far, with tall buildings and tight alleyways, there was something new to see around every corner. Of all our locations in Italy, I wish we had spent more time here.

Our hotel, the L'O in Firenze, is clock-themed. There are huge portraits of clocks and Rolex, and a gigantic display of various expensive clocks in the lobby. Unlike in Sorrento, where our hotel was located in a tourist destination, this hotel stands tall in the heart of the city, unassuming and seemingly unremarkable at first glance. Though the inside of the building itself is beautiful and well-tended, I come to appreciate its unassuming nature, as the city is bustling, busy, and beautiful enough to carry the scenery.

When we drop off our stuff, we take thirty minutes before making our way to The Galleria dell'Accademia, where we see the famed Statue of David. I must admit, it's much larger and taller than I initially thought, standing at seventeen feet, which is the same height as an average two-story building, or an adult giraffe, weighing nearly twelve thousand five hundred pounds. But what was the purpose of the statue’s immense size? The Statue of David was originally intended for placement atop the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, now known as the Duomo of Florence, and needed to be large enough to be seen from the ground below, forty feet away. For this reason, although Michelangelo was a master of proportions, there are a few things that stand out as strange on his Statue of David. For one, his head is larger compared to the rest of his body, with the intention of making his face stand out when seen from a distance. His hands are also enlarged for the same reason, and his torso has been stretched to be seen from afar.

If size alone is not enough to make this piece stand out, its beauty is sure to convince you despite the few proportional inaccuracies. Looking at the male figure, it becomes immediately apparent that this marble statue is more gorgeous than any photo could capture. Clearly, I am not alone in my admiration, as throughout history there have been thirty replica recreations of the piece, now standing all over the world. The most notable being the Statue of David in front of the Palazzo Vecchio, where the David statue was originally erected, and the Piazzale Michelangelo, where it was replicated in bronze.

In 1857, a replica of the statue was sent to Queen Victoria of England. Due to her Victorian sensibilities, she was distraught by the nudity portrayed by the sculpture. To rectify her discomfort, she ordered a fig leaf cast from plaster to cover the statue and protect David's modesty.

What was not understood by Queen Victoria and other pushers of the “Fig Leaf Campaign” (see previous post “Italy Part Two - The Vatican”), is that in sculpting a man completely nude was part of the Renaissance artistic culture, with historical ties to Ancient Greece. In Ancient Greece, nudity was seen as honorable and virtuous, representative of a true hero. These heroes were thought to be perfect in every way, and their bodies should be representative of that fact. This is why, when the Olympics first began in 776 B.C., many young athletes competed completely naked, to be admired for their physical physique and virtue.

So naturally, when Michelangelo began working on the Statue of David in 1501, he wanted to portray not just the honor and virtue of David, but also the inner perfection, heroic nature, and higher moral qualities. Like many others, Michelangelo saw these qualities in the perfection of the male figure. Through the beauty of David’s idealized male form, Michelangelo was able to honor not just the sculptors of Ancient Greece, but also distinguish Renaissance sculpture and art from other periods.

David was originally commissioned in 1464 by the Opera del Duomo for artist Agostino di Duccio. However, Agostino was not experienced with large-scale sculpture, and after a trip to Carrara to select the marble, his final product was filled with imperfections and tiny holes. Aware of his mistakes after its arrival in Florence, Duccio gave up on the project. Ten years later, Antonio Rossellino tried to salvage the piece, but deemed the marble unusable. The block remained in the courtyard of the Opera del Duomo for another twenty-five years, until Michelangelo accepted the commission in 1501 and inherited the previously deemed “unworkable” block of marble. Historians credit the previous artist’s chips and chisels to certain characteristics of the final piece, most notably his slender twisted figure.

The large block of marble used for David, nicknamed “the giant”, had grown quite the reputation for its flaws. In 1498, Michelangelo released a sculpture named Pieta in the city of Rome, which depicted the sorrowful Mary holding her son Jesus after his crucifixion. The overwhelming positive response to this piece caught the attention of the Opera del Duomo, which commissioned the artist, who was only twenty-six at the time, to work on the beautiful figure we see today.

What makes the Statue of David truly unique is how it was carved in reference to the story. For those unfamiliar with the biblical tale, the story of David and Goliath is about how the Israelites defeated the Philistines. The Israelites were terrified of the giant Goliath, champion of the Philistines, who stood at nine feet tall. During a stalemate, the giant Goliath taunted the Israelites with daily challenges to fight him, announcing that all losers would become his personal slaves.

However, the young shepherd boy, David, was enraged by his taunting and vowed to defeat the giant despite being outmatched. In the classic story, it is his determination and faith in God that allows him to rise, possessing the courage to face the giant. When David approached him for the challenge, wearing no armor and only equipped with stones and a sling, Goliath laughed and mocked him. However, after hitting Goliath squarely in the forehead, he was able to knock the giant unconscious and cut off his head with his own sword. This won the war for the Israelites after the Philistines fled.

Most paintings of this tale depict the moment of victory, with David holding Goliath’s head or chopping it off. This moment of triumph is meant to represent that with a strong faith in God, anything is possible. However, Michelangelo’s David does not show his victory, but rather the moments just before battle. His face set in determination to achieve his goal, as he looks out onto the crowd with his trusty sling resting over his shoulder, as he prepares for the legendary fight. Though ironically, the weapon he carries is very small within the sculpture. This is a silent nod to the Renaissance Idealism that true victory is the result of intellect, not strength.

After its construction, the committee decided that the Statue of David was both too beautiful and too heavy to be placed atop the cathedral. Instead, they opted to move the statue to the Piazza della Signoria, using four days and forty men to transport it just a half mile from Michelangelo’s workshop. Here, it would rest for three hundred and sixty-nine years.

Despite its beauty and immediate affection by the people of Florence, the original sculpture received its fair share of damage over the years. Both intentionally and because it was being held outdoors. It’s been hit by stones, floods, earthquakes, lightning strikes, and a bench, which caused its left arm to break into three pieces in the riots of 1527. Thankfully, his arm was able to be reconstructed by the artist Giorgio Vasari and Cosimo I, who collected and reattached the pieces using copper nails and plaster.

After the vandalism, many citizens grew concerned for the statue, insisting that its current place outdoors would only lead to more damage. As a result, David was moved in 1873 to the Galleria dell’Accademia, where it currently resides today. This is also when David's fig leaf was removed, restoring the statue to its original beauty. Though, despite the new layer of protection, David has not been completely successful at avoiding future damage. In 1991, an Italian artist named Piero Cannata visited the Accademia, concealing a small hammer under his coat. Once he was able to get close to the statue, he leaped towards David and began smashing the left foot, shattering a toe, before he could be captured and subdued. All guests who visit now must go through a scanner similar to TSA Airport Security to prevent future damage from being done to the piece.

While it feels strange to list this singular statue so highly on my ranking in terms of the sights I have seen and the things I have experienced on this trip, he's just so damn beautiful. I find it difficult to describe the magnificence of his size and detail when it comes to the whole of his body and face. I'm well aware of how famous he is for his “man parts”; however, his face is just as beautiful and mesmerizing to look at. Even his belly button is sculpted down to the navel, leaving absolutely no detail behind. Michelangelo might be more famous for the Sistine Chapel, and don't misunderstand that piece is absolutely beautiful as well, but the passion for his work shines much brighter with David, in my humble opinion.

After our visit with David, we bum around town for a bit to shop and explore. Much like Rome, you can't walk three minutes without running into a basilica. Though unlike Rome, fewer marble statues stand in the street, and all the buildings are excruciatingly tall, which makes the streets feel more narrow, while also making it easier to get lost.

Once we find our hotel again, we spend a quick hour resting before heading out to eat at the Sabatini. Florence is known for its steaks and its leather due to its large cattle production. Though in order to be considered an authentic Florence steak, the meat must come from a Chianina cow, born and bred in Tuscany. While this breed of cattle was once used as work animals, they are now exclusively bred for their high-quality meat.

When the steak came, it was easily the biggest I’d ever seen. I picked out the very best piece to give to my vegetarian sister, a woman I hold the highest regard for, since she stated she doesn't want to miss the experience but also feels too badly to fully partake as an animal rights activist. I share a bite with all other family members before digging into the dish myself.

The steak came pre-cut, which was quite the surprise, as pre-cut steaks are not normally served in America. Though I was quick to realize that all Florence steak of this quality is pre-cut to prevent the meat from continuing to cook on the plate. My wife would describe the meat as earthy and tender. My parents agreed that it melts in your mouth with a delicate flavor. My sister thought it was chewy, but she didn’t dislike the taste.

As for me, I can confidently confirm that this is the best steak I’ve ever had. As my family said, you barely had to chew this steak as it melted in your mouth the moment it hit your tongue. Because it was only seasoned with salt and pepper, the rich flavor of the beef was twice as apparent. I couldn’t imagine seasoning this steak any more than it was, for fear of losing this delicious natural flavor. All in all, we gobbled up the meat quite quickly, and I was left very full and happy.