This news is probably only exciting if you're a big dork. Like me!
So first, what is this "Vasari Corridor?"
Well, let's say you're a Medici, a member of the ruling family in Florence during the mid 1500s. You've just moved, from the Palazzo della Signoria (now called the Palazzo Vecchio, or "old palace") across the river to the Palazzo Pitti. But your offices are still in the Uffizi, back next door to where you used to live.
You certainly wouldn't want to actually have to, say, hobnob with the people on your way to and from work every day, would you?
So, you build a big tunnel on the second story of all of the buildings between the Uffizi and the Palazzo Pitti. Here's what a portion of this corridor looks like today, from the window on the third floor of the Uffizi. (The thing with the red tile roof that zigzags across the bridge.)
The full length of the tunnel is almost 2 kilometers, and amazingly only took 5 months for Vasari to complete. (Giorgio Vasari's name may sound familiar to you - he wrote a history of art in the late 1500s that is used even today to help identify lesser-known artists.) The reason it could be completed so quickly is that it was mostly built on top of and through existing buildings - the only part that had to be built from the ground up is the first section, which you see above, between the Uffizi and the Ponte Vecchio.
Normally, it's really difficult and expensive to get into the corridor. So, when we had an opportunity through Husbear's school to have a guided tour, we jumped all over it. (Though it did mean sharing the experience with a bunch of 19 year old FUA kids who spent most of the time yawning and talking about what bars they'd be visiting over the weekend. Imagine, art school kids who aren't interested in art!)
The tour began with a run through some of the more famous of the Uffizi's holdings, but since we'd been multiple times before, I was really hoping to curtail this section. When we finally were led through a small, unmarked door off of a hallway on the third floor of the museum, an additional 10-15 people tried to follow us (Hey! Where are THEY going?) but were rebuffed by the guides.
Immediately on entering, you're faced with several masterpieces that were irreparably ruined by the Mafia car bomb that went off outside the Uffizi in May 1993, killing 5 people. (We were cautioned against taking any pictures, so apologies for the quality of these.) Then, we were led into the tunnel itself.
The first section of the corridor, leading from the Uffizi to the Ponte Vecchio, is lined with 16th and 17th century art, mostly by minor artists. When the Nuovo Uffizi addition is completed in five years or so, some of these paintings might be moved out into the museum.
The natural light in the corridor used to be substantially less, limited to small portholes installed by Vasari. However, when Hitler came to visit Mussolini in 1938, new windows were knocked into the sides of the tunnel. (And later, the Germans blew up all the bridges save the Ponte Vecchio, thus sparing the corridor.)
The views you have from the windows and portholes are really interesting, giving you a new perspective on the bridge below.
When you reach the end of the Ponte Vecchio, there's a dogleg around a medieval tower. When the corridor was being built, the owner of the Torre dei Mannelli refused to let Cosimo I de'Medici plow through the middle of his tower. The citizenry of Florence held their breath, wondering what the punishment would be, but Cosimo just shrugged, said "In his home, every man is a ruler" and cantilevered the tunnel out around the side of the building. This means you get a really nice look at the whole length of the bridge from its end.
The next part of the walkway contains a series of self-portraits, arranged chronologically. When the corridor was completed, Vasari hung 80 self-portraits in this area, and letters were sent out requesting that famous artists of the day paint themselves and send the result over. There are also a few that are fakes, including one of the Gaddi family (turns out that people really didn't do self-portraits in the early 14th century) and one of Leonardo da Vinci.
Now, artists petition the regents of the Uffizi to be allowed to send in their self-portraits. Some of the paintings in there are wonderful, and all are at least good, which is why it was so disappointing to be rushed through extremely quickly. Also, many of the most famous ones, including two self portraits by Albrecht Dürer and one by Marc Chagall (that last really disappointed me) were missing, on loan to various museums throughout the world. At least in traveling exhibits, they'll be seen by more people than they are in this corridor!
We were gratified to be able to pick out Carlo Levi's face, though.
It was neat seeing artists play around with the structure of a self-portrait. This Italian master was apparently known for his ability to paint flowers.
A few minutes later, we were led out of a small door (again totally unmarked) into the late afternoon sunlight. A statue of Apollo stared at us.
We had landed in the Boboli Gardens, behind the Palazzo Pitti. At this point, our guide told us we had two options. She was going to leave the premises. If we wanted to stay and enjoy the gardens, we needed to buy a ticket for 6 euros. But... we could also just take the stairs to the right. She wouldn't keep an eye on if we left or stayed.
We stayed.
Actually, the place where we found ourselves was singularly odd. It was a small building, built by the architect Buontalenti (Court architect to the Medici after Vasari. He also very likely invented gelato, and thus has a tasty bread pudding-like flavor named after him). The building was built to look like a small chapel that had been overtaken by mud and ruin.
(That's the six-balled coat of arms of the Medici family over the doors.)
As we stood there gaping at it, we saw a small sign that said the grotto would be open for visitors at 4. And hey! It was 3:58!
At 4 on the dot, a lady with a clipboard arrived and unlocked the gates, letting in a maximum of 20 people at a time. This was such a strange place - I've never seen anything like it! Apparently, this was the style for a little while during the last quarter of the 16th century - buildings that looked romantically ruined.
The inside is truly weird, but sweet in that overly-romantic Renaissance way. In the middle of the fake mud and drips is a statue of Paris and Helen of Troy created by Vincenzo de'Rossi, wherein they're sitting on an upside-down wild boar and Paris is grabbing at Helen's breast. The corners of the front room originally held Michelangelo's Prigioni, or Prisoners, that now keep David company in the Accademia.
The first room, is the strangest. Loosely formed statues of sheep seem to be whiling away the time, chewing on the vegetation that's grown up on the old chapel.
Shepherds look on, crooks in hand and floppy hats on head. And then there's this lady.
We left the grotto, relinquishing our place to a couple of German tourists, and walked deeper into the gardens. We found a pink granite obelisk, brought in from Luxor. Brings back memories.
And then we walked up a path that turned out to be a heck of a lot steeper than it looks. Here's me, the Palazzo Pitti behind me.
The gardens reminded us fairly strongly of Versailles, so we were half expecting a giant pond at the top of the walk, complete with paddleboat rental. Alas, there was only a small, pretty puddle, which didn't seem to be overly stocked with fish.
Just at this point, a loud disembodied voice assaulted our ears, telling us in Italian that the park would be closing soon. Then English. Then French. Ah, there's the German. And it repeated and repeated and repeated as we walked along a new path, trying to find our way out.
Being driven crazy by the incessant announcements, I lost Husbear for a minute. I found him taking his 12th picture of this little guy.
Together, we found this enormous head, which was duly photographed with the speaker yelling in our ear.
And then, just before leaving the gardens, the voice stopped. And we found this ode to Bacchus, god of drink and debauchery. (I think I remember reading that the figure is based on a Medici court dwarf, which people had back in those days. Of course.)
He looks to me like he's about to expound further on a point he's made in a drunken debate. "Naw, jus'... jus' lissen for a sec, see!"
Walking back over to the Ponte Vecchio, we saw the point where Vasari had to go around the medieval tower. Really interesting, now that we know exactly what it is.
As a special bonus to people who made it through all the boring historical discussion, here's a followup to the fashion post from last week. Ridiculous dress is certainly not limited to Americans here.
And here's the name of a jewlery shop on the Ponte Vecchio. I can't speak for the quality of their wares, but I think this is a very good example of when a double entendre does not work in your advertising favor.
Tomorrow at 7:30 in the morning, we go to Viareggio to check out Carnevale! And Husbear is even now working on an unspecified pie for the blogging meme "Waiter, there's something in my pie." Dinner at 11!
