The Ufizzi (which means “Offices,” which is what they were when the Medici used the building) houses one of the world's greatest collections of art—right up there with the British Museum, Spain's Prado, Russia's Hermitage, and New York's Metropolitan. It has a couple of Caravaggios, of course, but probably its most famous paintings are Botticelli's "Birth of Venus" and "Primivera" (Spring). The "Birth" is so well known (I call it “Venus on the Half-Shell”) that I'll include only the "Primivera" to discuss here.
Imagine people emerging from over a thousand years of two-dimensional, heaven-gazing Christian saints coming across something like this in 1482, ten years before Columbus sailed the ocean blue. Yes, the subject is Classic allegory (which made it sort of okay with the Church), but the lush, sensuous imagery must have given some clerics cause for uneasiness.The overall meaning of the picture is widely debated, but there's general agreement that the action on the right side shows Ovid's myth of winter in the form of Zephyr blowing the chilly winds of March on the poor wood nymph Chloris, whom he ravishes, transforming her into the next figure, Flora, Goddess of Flowers, or Spring. Once the transformation is complete, Flora, who looks quite pregnant, seems to be quite content with the way things turned out.
In the center is Venus, whose pose and leafy halo suggests the Virgin Mary (divine love?) and the blind Cupid about to shoot an arrow that may hit one of the three graces, who dance about seemingly oblivious of the danger they're in. So, does divine love lead to its expression in the arts? If so, why isn't Mercury, messenger of the gods, at the far left, paying more attention to the lovely ladies? Could he be looking beyond earthly love toward divine wisdom? He must have something on his mind!
Since the painting was apparently commissioned by one of the Medici clan and given as a wedding present, it could suggest that the fruitfulness of spring leads to wedded bliss which leads to knowledge which leads to thoughts of the afterlife. Whatever interpretation one gives, it's filled with sensuality. That should have been one happy bride and groom.
During our three hours in the museum, we also knocked off a painting--yes, a painting--by Michelangelo, Leonardo's "Adoration of the Magi," Raphael's "Portrait of Pope Julius II" (unless it's a contemporary copy of one in London), two Caravaggios, one of which, "Baccus," was so poorly lit or so in need of cleaning that almost any reproduction would have been preferable, Titian's "Venus of Urbino," and a long--no, really long--corridor with busts of Roman emperors starting with Julius Caesar and including Hadrian along with a larger-than-life bust of Antinous.
On our way to the Ufizzi, we stopped once again at the Piazza della Signoria, or Government Square. It and the Loggia dei Lanzi, an open air porch which overlooks the square, is filled with statues, some of which such as Michelangelo's "David," are copies, but most are originals. Of particular note are Giambologna's "Rape of the Sabine Women," Cellini's "Perseus with the Head of Medusa," and a whole row of Roman women looking not a day over twenty-five but actually nearly two thousand years old, just standing againt the back wall.In any other city, these statues and even their copies would be in museums under constant guard and with security cameras. Florence, however, seems to have so much art stuffed into its museums and attics that this seems like as good a place as any for the overflow.
The square is also a reminder of the conflict between the worldly Renaissance and the strong undertow of medieval morality that it challenged, for here, in the late 15th Century, the puritanical priest Savonarola preached hellfire and damnation against worldly excess and whipped people into such a frenzy that they happily threw their paintings, statues, and jewelry onto the bonfire of the vanities. It was also the square where Savonarola himself, once the Pope got fed up with him, was hanged as a heretic.
After lunch, we wandered back toward the hotel looking at worldly goods to bring home, not to toss on any fires. On our way, we stopped briefly for photos with the Ponte Vecchio in the background.
