History
Botticelli: The Birth of Venus
Fashion in history
Savonarola: x marks the spot.
Here is the marker on the Piazza della Signoria marking the spot where Savonarola was burned alive. On 23 May 1498, Church and civil authorities condemned, hanged, and burned him and 2 other friars in the main square of Florence. It gives me chills to walk over the spot.
Restoration on the Fountain of Neptune has begun.
At least the scaffolding has been erected on Ammannati’s sculptural monument.
Fountain of Neptune, Florence, 1574
Ammannati’s huge white marble statue of Neptune, surrounded by rearing seahorses and frolicking bronze satyrs, towers over visitors to Piazza della Signoria. Despite its imposing character and lavish design, Bartolomeo Ammannati’s Fountain of Neptune has not always been well received. Almost as soon as it was unveiled on December 10, 1574, it was criticised by Florentines as a waste of marble: “Ammannato Ammannato, quanto marmo hai sciupato!” residents are said to have chanted.
Now, however, 1.5 million euro was being spent to restore the fountain, once considered barely worth the raw materials used to create it. The money, donated by Salvatore Ferragamo SpA thanks to the Italian Art Bonus legislation that promotes cultural patronage through tax breaks, will finance a new pump system, allowing water to circulate through the fountain for the first time in years. The donation also goes towards repairing the damaged marble, returning it to its original white brilliance. The restoration project is set to take just over two years; the plan is to unveil the fountain anew on December 10, 2018, the same day it was originally unveiled in 1574.
In 1559, Cosimo I de’ Medici launched a competition to design the first public fountain in Florence. This followed technical innovations in the water systems of the city and the construction of a new aqueduct. The figure of Neptune, god of the sea, is likely to have been chosen to symbolise Florence’s maritime prowess at the time. It was said that the sculpted Neptune’s face, fierce and bearded, actually resembled that of the Grand Duke Cosimo himself.
Baccio Bandinelli, who had recently worked on the Hercules and Cacus statue also in Piazza della Signoria, was chosen for the commission, but managed to complete only the design before he died. Ammannati was drafted in to take over the job, much to the annoyance of competitor Benvenuto Cellini, who wrote a satirical poem expressing his pity for the marble in Ammannati’s hands.
It was hoped that the fountain would be completed in time for the wedding procession of Francesco I de’ Medici and Joanna of Austria in 1565, which was to pass through the piazza, but a series of unfortunate events—“porcherie” as Ammannati described them in his letters to the Duke—delayed the completion date again and again. The arrival of the marble, from the quarries of Seravezza and Carrara, was postponed many times; when it finally did arrive, the marble cutter damaged it so much that it could not be used. As a result, for the wedding ceremony Ammannati had to cobble together the horses and river gods out of painted stucco, which promptly disintegrated in the water.
When the statue was completed in 1574, it was greeted by Florentines with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. It certainly wasn’t the fearsome emblem of Florentine might that had been intended. The statue of Neptune was swiftly dubbed Il Biancone (“the white giant”), a nickname still used now with a certain affection. Residents decided to wash clothes and inkpots in the basin almost as soon as the fountain was unveiled, and still today we can read the plaque dated 1720 on the wall of the Palazzo Vecchio, which forbids such irreverent activities. The sculptures have been vandalised many times over the years, most recently in 2005.
Perhaps the new restoration project for the Fountain of Neptune will bring with it a fresh respect for this late Renaissance monument. Let’s hope these works do not face the same delays as those of the poor Ammannati, and that the fountain will be ready for our appraisal by the end of 2018.
This article is largely taken from:
http://www.theflorentine.net/art-culture/2016/07/new-life-neptune-fountain/
I live in the house where Bartolomeo Ammannati lived and died.
You must pardon my astonishment, but my mind is blown!
Bartolomeo Ammannati (1511 – 1592), was the Italian architect and sculptor, who is perhaps best known today for his giant Fontana del Nettuno on the Piazza della Signoria in Florence. Ammannati was born at Settignano, near Florence, and studied with Baccio Bandinelli and Jacopo Sansovino. He carved statues for various Italian cities during the 1530s and 40s.
Although he is best known to us as a sculptor, during his lifetime he was more known for his architecture. He was called to Rome in 1550 by Pope Julius III on the advice of fellow-Florentine, the architect and art historian, Giorgio Vasari. Ammannati’s most important work in Rome was in collaboration with Vasari and Giacomo da Vignola on the villa of Pope Julius, the Villa Giulia (begun 1551).
He also worked in Lucca. We know he assisted Jacopo Sansovino on the design of the Biblioteca Marciana, in Venice, which closely imitated the style of Michelangelo.
Cosimo de’ Medici (Cosimo I) brought Ammannati back to Florence in 1555; he was to spend almost all of his remaining career in service to the Medicis. His first commission was to finish the Laurentian Library, begun by Michelangelo. Ammannati interpreted a clay model sent him by Michelangelo in 1558 to produce the especially impressive staircase, leading from the vestibule into the library proper.
Ammannati’s masterpiece in Florence is the Palazzo Pitti, where, beginning in 1560 (and through 1570), he enlarged the basic structure by Filippo Brunelleschi, designing a courtyard and facade opening onto the Boboli Gardens. The facade overlooking the courtyard is very unusual in its heavily rusticated (rough-hewn) treatment of successive levels of Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian attached columns. At the Pitti Palace, this rustication provides an appropriately rural yet impressive backdrop for the gardens.
Garden entrance of the Ammannati Courtyard in the Pitti Palace.
Ammannati was named Consul of Academia delle Arti del Disegno in Florence, which was founded by the Duke Cosimo I in 1563.
In 1569, Ammanati was commissioned to build the Ponte Santa Trinita, a bridge over the Arno River.
The bridge’s three arches are elliptic, and though very light and elegant, it has survived even when floods had damaged other Arno bridges at different times. Santa Trinita was destroyed in 1944, during World War II, and rebuilt in 1957.
Ammannati designed what is considered a prototypic mannerist sculptural ensemble in the Fountain of Neptune (Fontana del Nettuno), prominently located in the Piazza della Signoria in the center of Florence. The commission was originally given to the aged Bartolommeo Bandinelli; however when Bandinelli died, Ammannati’s design bested the submissions of Benvenuto Cellini and Vincenzo Danti and Ammannati was awarded the commission.
From 1563 and 1565, Ammannati and his assistants, among them Giambologna, sculpted the block of marble that had been chosen by Bandinelli. He took Grand Duke Cosimo I as model for Neptune’s face. The statue was meant to highlight Cosimo’s goal of establishing a Florentine Naval force. When the work on the ungainly sea god was finished, and sited at the other corner of the Palazzo Vecchio of Michelangelo David statue, the then 87-year-old irascible elder sculptor, is said to have scoffed at Ammannati that he had ruined a beautiful piece of marble, with the ditty: “Ammannati, Ammanato, che bel marmo hai rovinato!”
Ammannati continued work on this fountain for a decade, adding around the perimeter a cornucopia of demigod figures: bronze reclining river gods, laughing satyrs and marble sea horses emerging from the water.
In 1550 Ammannati married Laura Battiferri, an elegant poet and an accomplished woman. In his old age, Ammannati was strongly influenced by the Counter-Reformation philosophy of the Jesuits. He repudiated his earlier nude sculptures as lustful, and he designed several austere buildings for the Jesuits.
He died in Florence in 1592. In my apartment!!
Giardino Torrigiani, Firenze, 4 Marzo 2017
Gardens, with their shady trees, fragrant flowers, and peaceful lanes, have always served as a counterpoint to the narrow, crowded streets of Florence’s city center. During the Renaissance, a new form of garden-design arose, heavily influenced by classical models from Roman villas. Florence, and its surrounding area, is a garden-enthusiasts’ paradise, boasting numerous Renaissance-style gardens, along with examples of 16th-century and English-style designs.
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Hidden behind a set of high Oltrarno walls, is the Torrigiani garden, the largest private garden within city walls in Italy.
A small entrance to a secret garden
Originally planted by the founder of the Italian Botanical Society – the world’s oldest – the garden still has an uncommonly wide variety of trees, especially exotic species, in keeping with its 19th century “English Landscape” style.
One of the several palazzi on the property
Rose bushes surrounded by clipped box
Even in early spring, shrubs were blooming.
Many small vignettes fill the garden as well
Giardino Torrigiani feels somewhat mysterious, and was, in fact, laid out as an initiation path with secret Masonic symbolism. It includes Gothic follies and the recurring theme of research and enquiry. There is no secret, however, in the dedication to the art and sciences, which are still the owners’ guiding principles, as the Torrigiani garden encloses a successful commercial nursery and regularly hosts lectures on the arts and gardening.
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Lovely camellias
Shots of bright yellow and neon coral spiced the garden yesterday, as the mimosa and quince shrubs were in full bloom.
A few hearty narcissi nodded their happy, yellow heads in the spring sunlight.
Magnificent urns filled with sculptural aloe graced one section of buildings.
There were many spots to hone in on, but this door, topped with a wisteria vine, was my favorite.
I hope to return to the garden later this spring when the wisteria is in bloom.
Yes, there is a bamboo grove.
The piece de resistance, the tower:
Some uncommon facts about the Piazza del Duomo, Florence.
If you’ve been to Florence, you’ve seen the Duomo. It looms large from every vantage point.
Above is the most recent vantage point from which (the roof top of the Ospedale deli innocenti) I photographed il Duomo. Not the best conditions for a great picture, but there it was, looming large. I do like the way the sun, hidden under clouds, still shine brightly in the sky over the dome.
So, since everybody knows the Duomo, I want to dig deeper into a few aspects connected to the piazza that surrounds it, that most people never even notice or know.
Cominciamo: Let’s begin:
Did you know?
-the cathedral sits on what was the north-east end of Roman Florentia?
-originally, the piazza was just a modest sized cemetery, surrounding the earlier (5th or 6th century) simpler Baptistry.
-it was towards the end of the 13th century that the piazza took on the dimensions we see today, growing in response to a Medieval need for more space to accommodate the growing city of Fiorenzia. The piazza grew at the same time the city walls were enlarged and work began on building the new Town Hall and other monumental churches, including Santa Maria Novella, Santa Croce, and the new Cathedral itself.
-the piazza is composed of way more than just the cathedral (and its below ground excavations) and the baptistry? It includes those two edifices, of course, but also Giotto’s campanile, the Bigallo Loggia, the Opera di Santa Maria del Fiore Museum, the Cathedral Rectories, and two porphyry columns borrowed from Pisa, and the Column of St. Zenobius.
So, there you have it: on Roman city plan, formerly a cemetery, and more than just the Duomo, Baptistry and Campanile.
It’s a miracle you never even noticed.
When walking through the Piazza del Duomo, most visitors walk right past a white marble column on a base of three stairs, just to the north of the Baptistry. The column is topped with bronze and capped by a cross.
Overwhelmed by the magnificence of the other monuments in the square, few people give the column more than a passing glance.
But, once upon a time, a miracle supposedly took place on this very hallowed spot.
I first noticed this column myself, although I’ve walked through this piazza at least a zillion times, last January 27th. It was the flowers that attracted my attention. Red and white bedding plants surrounded the base.
I thought it was just a post-Christmas attempt to liven the place up. Boy, was I wrong. I suspect pretty much everything I take for granted in Florence has a deeper significance. It is my mission to uncover some of them. Mission accepted!
It turns out that every year on January 27, Florentines commemorate the anniversary of a particular miracle by decorating the base of the column with flowers and greenery.
The miracle was this: supposedly in 429 CE (although some scholars say it was much later, probably in the ninth century), the relics of the much loved and venerated first bishop of Florence, San Zanobi (337-417 CE), were transferred from the Church of San Lorenzo where he had been buried, to the new cathedral, the Church of Santa Reparata (the remains of which can still be seen today under the Duomo).
As the procession moved from borgo San Lorenzo into what was then the open field of Piazza San Giovanni, the bier brushed against the leafless winter branches of an elm tree. At that mere touch, the tree is said to have burst into bloom. Hence, the bronze relief on the column represents a tree in full leaf. Above it, the now fairly indecipherable Gothic script recounts the wondrous story.
So, who was Zenobius? Born into a noble Florentine family, Zenobius was the first in his family to become a Christian. Once ordained as a priest, his fame as a preacher soon spread. Pope Damasus I (366-86 CE) called him to Rome and, among other missions, sent him to Constantinople.
After the pope died, Zenobius returned to Florence and was made the city’s first bishop. He evangelised the city and surroundings, including Scandicci (he was named its patron saint in 1983). Renowned for his great humility and charity, he was known as the Apostle of Florence.
He is also said to have performed many miracles, including one in which he resurrected the dead child of a French pilgrim. This event is recorded on a plaque in Latin on the wall of Palazzo Valori-Altoviti in borgo degli Albizi, where the miracle is said to have occurred.
The saint’s relics now rest inside the Duomo in an urn inside a silver shrine, a masterpiece made by Lorenzo Ghiberti, the sculptor responsible for the ‘Gates.’
It is uncertain whether the trunk of the famous reblooming tree was used to make the cross currently found in the Church of San Giovannino dei Cavalieri in via San Gallo or whether the Maestro del Bigallo used it for his painting of Saint Zenobius with saints Eugene and Crescentius, today housed at the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo. Not surprisingly, many other artists depicted episodes from the life of the saint, including Sandro Botticelli, whose paintings of Zenobius grace the walls of the National Gallery in London and the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.
The original marble column was destroyed by the flood in 1333 and replaced in 1334; the inscription was added in 1375. In 1501, the cross fell to the ground and shattered. The replacement column has benefited from public policy since the area surrounding the Duomo was made into a pedestrian zone in October 2009.
In May 2012, the landmark was restored through the Florence I Care (FLIC) project, a public-private partnership to preserve not only the cultural heritage of Florence but also some of its important buildings. The restoration, paid for by a private company, took three months and cost 20,000 euro. It required a series of delicate operations to remove the effects of centuries of exposure to soot and smog.
After you find the column, look up above the central doorway of the Duomo.
You will see a statue of an elderly man with a beard, dressed in bishop’s vestments and mitre and holding a crook. That is San Zanobi, seemingly keeping an eye on his column.
get back, lauretta! 
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