Reflections from Florence

People fascinate me. Cultures fascinate me. Standing on these ancient streets... entering places of worship from hundreds of years ago... art depicting so many differing views of beauty.... the old mixes with the new. The modern coexists with the ancient. Sandals and Smart cars on the cobblestoned streets. Tiny shoppes, and the big, flashy, stores. The Italian men standing on the street talking loudly, gesticulating wildly. Biking to work... suit, briefcase, umbrella.

The excitement in the air as a whole line of people speaking all different languages stand in line for an hour to see Michelangelo's David. Their presence is evident: the wall is covered in dirt where tired tourists lean up against it for shade or cover from the beating sun, the torrential rain. Scribbles: "M go Blue" "Texas. REPRESENT." "Jesus was here" "I love David" "Espana!" motivational quotes, and various names joined together with hearts and dates. Most of these people scribbling seem to have little or no appreciation for art at all, except maybe the fellow that drew a pretty decent sketch of a person's face in black sharpie. But still they are here, in line, to see what is heralded as the greatest masterpiece of perhaps the greatest artist.
The wall is caked in layers of paint, hoping to cover up the sign of these exuberant tourists, eager to leave their mark. The hundreds of tourists that had babbled excitedly, boredly, and loudly outside are now gathered in the central location of the museum to stare at the masterpiece, staring in hushed silence... in reverent whispers as they circle around the magnificent David. They whisper and point. His gaze, unmoving, bold, confident, strong. His sheer size holds people quiet. All people from every part of the globe are struck by him. Even if their interests do not involve art gallery hopping, they are still drawn to him. They recognize the beauty, the power, the masculinity, and the perfection in his form. The coldness of the marble, the detail of the sculpture. The time, work, and exhaustion of a real man that really worked on this real masterpiece.

Then I wonder: did Michelangelo know what he was creating? Would he ever have guessed that his work would be trumpeted as possibly one of the most beautiful and perfected works of all time? Was he aware of his own genius? How would he have reacted to all of this attention? Would he have puffed out his chest, or would he have humbly accepted the praise?


I love art because it gives me a window into a time period, of people that otherwise I'd never get to understand. I always wonder what future generations will think of us and our time period... who will be the geniuses that emerge among us? What will be the new "modern" that mixes with our "ancient"? It's a humbling thought to ponder.