The Honest Truth

Find out why you don’t need an audioguide to learn about Renaissance art…

We’re standing in front of Mary and Jesus.

“What do you notice about the painting?” a thin Italian man passionately asks the American couple beside me.

Jesus looks like a midget, not a baby, and Mary’s all…cartoony and distorted. They look…Egyptian?

“It’s flat,” says the salt-and-pepper-haired man in a golf shirt. His manicured wife nods.

“It’s flat,” the Italian man repeats, drawing out the words. “You know why?” he asks suddenly, moving around them and gesturing with his hands.

The man,  dressed sharply in a black cardigan and wears glasses, explains that in the 13^th century, people still believed biblical figures were spirits rather than real people. Artists, to reflect the belief, depicted them in flat, unrealistic ways.

Oh, so, it’s not Egyptian…

I smiled at the newfound information, feeling smarter by the minute. He is the perfect guide: Smart. Passionate. Local. Only problem, he isn’t mine…

I was ready to pay for information. I really was. I showed up at the Uffizi gallery in Florence,  45 rooms of the most famous Renaissance art in the world, at 8 a.m., to join the already lengthy line up.

After an hour of watching a screen with big red lights that predicts the wait time, I got in.

The scale of the place is overwhelming, and though I usually don’t spring for an audioguide, I justified this as an investment in my education.

I stand in line to rent one and the polite woman asks me for a driver’s license or passport.

I give her my temporary license, the only valid I.D. I have on me.

She turns it over and tells me it’s expired.

I try to explain my valid license was mailed after I left for Europe, but she’s heard it all before, and turns into a curt, machine-like employee.

“Non posso fare niente (I can’t do anything)” she says, as the image of my audio-guided self smugly learning about renaissance art deflates and is replaced by me staring dumbly at room after room of meaningless paintings…

God works in mysterious ways. I find the Italian man within minutes of walking into the overwhelming hallway, lined with marble statues and frescoes of creepy cupids. He tells the American couple the gallery is so huge, he’ll just show them the gems.

Screw the canned British ladies voice telling me to press 5 for more info on Italian depictions of Madonna and Bambino. I’m with this guy…

The crowds of people made it easy to “knowledge-drop” (get it? Like shop-lifting, but with…nevermind). I put my headphones in, just to be stealth, and follow them into the next room.

We stop next at a painting by a Flemish painter depicting the Adoration of Christ. There’s people huddled around, and I’m able to blend in flawlessly. The 15^th century piece is divided into three panels (only two here due to lack of space), and the middle shows the three shepards kneeling before Jesus. It’s a very realistic portrayl, compared to the 13^th century depictions.

Our guide explains how having the background of a hill on the left and right panels (the left shows the Three Magi on the road to Bethleham) introduced a new perspective Italian painters tried to emulate.

In the next room, we come to Bottecelli’s “Birth of Venus”, where the crowd is so big you’d expect George Clooney was standing in front. This is good for blending in, and I stand so close to my unsuspecting guide we brush shoulders.

He explains how the name of the painting is a misnomer, because it depicts Venus coming back to life, rather than her birth. He draws our attention to the Greek god of wind on the left, blowing the her towards the goddess of seasons on the right that hands her a cloak.

“Do you like the painting?” he asks the couple.

“I think her expressions a bit weird,” says the American guy.

“At the time, this wasn’t considered a great painting, and Venus wasn’t considered very beautiful,” he says. Our guide explains her long neck, and the way her left shoulder slopes didn’t comply with the style of strict classical realism of Leonardo da Vinci or Raphael. It was only later Botticelli’s artistic license became appreciated.

He takes us through the next couple of rooms, asking about our responses and passionately explaining the narratives (The god on the left in this painting is turned away because he’s married.)

After the Leonardo DaVinci room, and two hours later, my group decides they’re going to take a break before going through the second half. To avoid sitting beside them in the hall, I linger in the last room, thinking over what I’ve learnt.

I linger too long, and by the time I come back out, they’re nowhere to be found.

I do what any good Italian would, and have an espresso on the rooftop café of the gallery. I enjoy the view of the old bridge, and figure I’ll catch up with “the group” inside.

No cigar. They are nowhere to be found. After getting over the insensitivity of this, I latch onto another guided group. The gallery official, short with grey hair, is explaining Titian’s 16^th century masterpiece, Venus di Urbino. She says to a group of six the portrait was commissioned by the Duke of Urbino (who was around 50 at the time), as an instructive model for his 14-year old bride. It was considered very scandalous, and Mark Twain dismissed it as “the foulest, the vilest, the obscenest picture the world possesses.”

His wife should be seductive, illustrated by the goddess’ pose and inviting stare, as well as faithful, illustrated by the dog in the corner.

Interesting information, but this woman lacks the character of my Italian art aficionado, so I ditch for some alone time with the masterpieces.

I’ve experienced my own renaissance: This guy has taught me how to look at religious art by looking for the stories, and understanding how the style of the painting shows the artists’ interpretation of the bible or myth.

When I come to the end of the gallery, after another two hours of rooms filled with art up until the 18^th century, I decide to revisit some paintings not considered “gems” by my tour guide.

I smile to myself past the flat depiction of Madonna and child that means so much more than it did four hours ago. My attention is drawn to a group huddled around a big 13^th century depiction of Christ’s crucifixion. My interest is perked. We didn’t go over that one. I shimmy over to hear what all the fuss is about.

The guide is from the museum, and has short, chin-length black hair. She describes things with a straight face, and moves her group quickly from painting to painting. I miss the description, but follow them into the next room. I put in my headphones on, and cast my eyes downwards.

She plants her group of obedient tourists in front of a painting and tells them to move in close. There are less people at this hour, and barely a crowd to blend into. I take a step forward to better hear, but the guide shoots me a glance; a guard dog showing it’s teeth.

She’s onto me. The honeymoon is over.

I find my way to the gift shop and feel inspired to make a contribution. I pick up a book called “Understanding Religious Art” that explains that stories of the most famous art in museums around the world.  It’s heavy, and overpriced, but easier to pack than an Italian tourguide. That’s what I call an investment in my education…