Arrivederci Florence

It's over.  Been over for a few days, but I've been horribly ill.  No more searching for the dome in order to find my way 'home'.  No more rooms full of people intensely interested in Leonardo da Vinci.  The weeks leading up to the Leonardo institute were just as intense as I spent as much as 18 hours a day reading and preparing.  The weeks there in Florence were packed with unusual experiences.  (So was Florence packed, with tourists, so I didn't get many good pictures.)  We met and heard from a dozen of the finest scholars and saw Leonardo paintings and drawings up close and uncovered.  Now it is back to the usual grind, but I am going to try to make some permanent changes in what I do from now on.  Having read over and over reports of Leonardo's death and his supposed last words (Was anything done?), and having heard a remark by Martin Kemp on the bus back from Villa I Tatti that it is what one does with one's talent that matters, I realize with some horror that I share with Leonardo his worst trait -- I never quite finish things.  Beginning things is so interesting that it takes one away and anyway there is so much to do I stagger from one obligation or meeting to another, but that is making excuses.  I also heard once that one should never repeat anything so all my papers at conferences have been new and different from each other.  Even my prints and paintings are mostly unfinished.  So now I have over 20 years of incomplete projects.  I am going to line them up in an order taking into account some have due dates and some are further along than others, and then finish things one after the other and get them out into the world.  It may still be slow going as I tend to choose labor intensive projects. Someone (Seneca?) once said that when you die no one gives a damn what books you have read.  I take this to mean that you must do something with what you learn and give it to others.  Something more than just the day to day teaching, which is like washing dishes.  So I vow to finish things and send them out.  Let those who read this blog be witness as to whether I do this in the years to come.

Sta Maria della Grazie in Milan

Yesterday we spent the entire day in Milan.  First we visited the Ambrosiana Museum where Pietro Marani gave us a tour and we ended by seeing the display of original pages of the Codex Atlantico in the library.  I couldn't take pictures inside, but it is another beautiful space with floor to ceiling, wall to wall books.  Then we went to the Castle of the Sforzas where we were treated to a very thorough history of the attempts to restore the Salla delle Asse, and finally to Santa Maria della Grazie to view the Last Supper.  The panoramic picture above is of the piazza in front of it; the little yellow building to the left of the church is where one enters.  Again, no pictures allowed.  This was a perfect day.  Long, exhausting, perfect.  Today I visited the Ghirlandaios in Santa Trinita, Brunelleschi's Santo Spirito, and the Capella Brancacci in Santa Maria delle Carmine.  Had the place virtually to myself for an hour.
Earlier in the week, Tuesday, we spent hours at the Opificio delle Pietre Dure viewing the restoration of the Adoration of the Magi (and also one of the Madonnas of the Yarnwinder that happened to be there at the same time), then Wednesday we spent the afternoon looking at original drawings by Leonardo and others of the 15th century up close and uncovered by any glass or other impediments at the Gabinetto dei Disegni e delle Stampe in the Uffizzi.  Thursday I trudged about in the Uffizzi for 6 1/2 hours.

18 Views of Verrocchio's Putto

This is a page from my newest notebook. (If you click on these images you get a larger view).  I moved around the wee putto fountain in the courtyard of the Palazzo Vecchio here in Florence, stepping in a circle to capture the figure from all around.  These are quick gesture drawings, no more than five minutes each.  The idea was to get to know the general conformation of the figure in order to carve a similar figure on the peghead of a dulcimer.  Instead of the fishy thing this one holds, my peghead putto will hold a small lute-like instrument.  The sound holes will be the traditional hearts; the sides, back, peghead, and fingerboard are all walnut.

You may wonder why I would draw this instead of take a picture.  Perceptual drawing has many uses beyond capturing an image.  It can be a meditative activity.  It can be used for more expressive imagery.  But most of all it changes how you see.  To draw or to paint is to alter the structure of your mind.  A friend in graduate school experienced a good example of this.  She used to be very bored driving up across the midwest between the university and her home, especially in winter, so she would read novels while driving.  Do not do this!  Anyway, one year she was forced to take three terms of a studio or performance art.  She had never done anything like that.  She chose painting.  Soon she no longer needed the novels for entertainment but she reported seeing colors in the landscape she had never seen before.  The more she painted the more riotous the erstwhile dull grey view became.  Then the three terms were over and she stopped painting to make time for more pressing obligations.  She reported that the colors began to fade, and after a few months she was back to seeing only dullness, but now with the sad memory of having seen something marvelous that she was no longer able to see.

I must be addicted to those colors, and the effects of light and shadow, and the character of lines and textures.  I can't stop drawing and painting and if I'm prevented from doing so I get anxious.  When I can't be wielding pencil or brush, I draw and paint with my eyes and the whole world is a dazzling display of beauty.  I can stare at a glass of water or a shadow on an old wall and be content.  Let me now apologize to anyone I may have stared at a bit much -- I am merely drawing you in my mind.