Florentine Fun

So . . . I met the man of my dreams. That's right. He's a tall, really good looking white guy. He's pretty quiet. You might know of him, actually! He goes by David.

After coming down with a bit of a cold, I was looking forward to a nice quiet weekend in Florence. Thursday after lunch I went up to the Piazzale Michelangiolo, located atop a hill on the southern side of the Arno River. With an amazing view of the city and a bronze copy of my man David, it quickly became my favorite place in Florence. While relaxing above the city, I took these shots and watched two boys tossing confetti at one another, which became the focus of my piece "The Confetti Throwers," (included below) for my Writing Traveler class. 

Florentine Skyline

Ponte Vecchio

The Duomo, Santa Maria Del Fiore

On Friday I went to the Academia with a few friends to see Il David. I know what everyone says—that you have to see him in person to truly appreciate him—and I was prepared to have my breath taken away, but when I turned the corner and glimpsed him for the first time I did not anticipate the impact he would have on me. It was impossible for me to take my eyes off him. He really is that amazing. Looking at him, I half expected him to shift his weight or step down from his platform. No copy does him justice (and there are two here: the bronze model pictured above and a plaster model that occupies his former spot in front of the Palazzo Vecchio). The rest of the museum is dreadful in comparison, aside from Michelangelo's unfinished Slaves that line the hallway you walk down to get to David, but I look forward to my return.

On Saturday I went to the art gallery Florence is known for, the Uffizi. It contains practically all of the artwork from the Italian Renaissance. From Botticelli's "Birth of Venus" and "Spring," to some lesser-known works from Da Vinci, and pretty much everything in between (minus the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, of course) this museum is an art aficionado's dream! Tired from walking a good portion of the city before entering the gallery, my friend Peter and I barely scraped the surface with this gallery. All the more reason to return when Mom and Dad come to visit in March!

I spent a lazy Sunday working on homework, which led me to produce the following piece of work. Speaking of work, I will be an interning journalist for the English print Florence Newspaper. I received my first assignment yesterday and will be writing the book review for the next issue! Up next on my saga of adventures: Belgium!

The Confetti Throwers

I.

Although the Florentine skyline dominated the vista, I found my attention drawn not to the Duomo—Brunelleschi’s unparalleled architectural triumph, Tuscany’s crowned jewel—but to Piazzale Michelangiolo’s other visitors. Those who came to admire the view had no idea they themselves might be admired. Two boys, no more than five-years old, seemed more beautiful than even the bronze goliath that stood sentinel over the scene. They could care less about the river that wound its way below us, or the galleries along its banks that held the artwork of masters. Instead, they giggled uncontrollably as they ran around the open square, tossing handfuls of confetti at one another. Their au pair hovered a safe distance away. She shepherded them away from innocent bystanders but mostly allowed them to have their fun. They emptied their bags handful by tiny handful until all that remained were pools of paper bits on the cement, marking their jovial clashes. After the smaller boy tossed a final fistful at me I watched them go and wondered why all wars weren’t fought with confetti-bombs and didn’t end with smiles.

II.

Miles of buildings, a tower here and there, some spires, a dome. It’s what I came up here to look at: a classy arrangement of stone, plaster, marble, and terra cotta. Picturesque? Sure. Pristine lifelessness. Not even the bronze guardian breathes as he surveys the scene. He turned sickly green in his patience, waiting to exhale. A boy runs after his friend, their jackets blur against the static skyline and I welcome their distraction. His laugh, happy and vital, bubbles from the depths of his belly, shaking his small frame. He spins in a haphazard pursuit of his dwarf-like companion. They leave a trail of color across the giant’s shadow in their attempts to douse one another with confetti. Clumsy handfuls pollute the air with kaleidoscopic explosions. Bits of paper flutter where my little friends left them in the breeze. They swivel, dance, and twist like the hands that threw them. Motionless, I watch them, trying to remember how it felt to rush all wild, uncontrolled. Instead of joining their revelry I assume a statuesque pose of maturity and hold my breath as their chase nears my vantage point. Chase me with your confetti clouds! The one with a yarn puff on top of his hat dusts my legs with the last of his sweet, magic flecks. A smile softens my cheeks and I can breathe again.

III.

Today will barely stain your memory. It is but a moment, a flicker of color in your years. So many await. Blink and you miss a lifetime: a suspension of milestones. It’s exploding from you, at this point from which you spin. Right now. You can’t see it? No. You have no inkling that as you walk, skip, leap, twirl, your life launches more into the world. It will burst all around you wherever you are. From today until an eternal tomorrow. Then life stops. Yes, yours will too. All your color, your wonderful, your terrible, your being will cease completely. The bits you sent into the world will fall gracefully from the sky like the confetti in your hand. They will scatter across pavement. They will be trod upon. And they will be forgotten. Sleep tight, tonight.