An inaccessible website (now fixed) made a visit to the Laurentian Library seem like a gamble, but I couldn't resist the lure of Michelangelo's architecture even after some jerk on Trip Advisor described it as the worst five euros he spent in Italy. Au contraire!
The library, located within the Basilica of San Lorenzo complex, sits atop the monastic cells decorated by Fra Angelico. Pope Clement VII, an illegitimate member of the Medici dynasty, commissioned Michelangelo to design it in 1524 as a means of distinguishing the family from Florence's mercantile class by emphasizing its intellectual and ecclesiastical bonafides. Nearly 50 years passed before the library opened, and its vestibule wasn't finished until the beginning of the 20th century.
Michelangelo wanted to install a skylight in the vestibule's ceiling but the practical Pope demurred on the grounds that it would leak.
The library's symmetry instantly seduced me.
Alas, neither Michelangelo nor Fra Angelico painted the Annunciation fresco at the top of the staircase.
In 1534, a decade after construction had begun, Michelangelo left the project in the hands of his assistants, who included Giorgio Vasari, of course. Only the walls of reading room, flooded by sunlight, had been completed.
The Medici coat of arms is embedded in the stained glass windows.
When viewed sequentially, 15 terra cotta floor tiles demonstrate the principles of geometry.
The library's "card catalog" hangs on the side, listing the subject areas covered by the books, piled horizontally on the benches, which also served as lecterns. It's unclear exactly where patrons actually used the books, however. Perhaps downstairs in one of the monastic cells.
The rotunda was added to accommodate the early 19th-century acquisition of a private bibliophile's collection and named the Tribuna D’Elci in his honor. Books remain on its conventional shelves but entering the room requires an appointment.
Had I read the Wikipedia entry before purchasing a ticket to the Palazzo Davanzati, I definitely would have skipped it. The word "ersatz" comes to mind, although its architecture did inspire the . . . YMCA in Toledo, Ohio.
I thought I might be getting a glimpse of a successful Renaissance merchant's lifestyle, but the staff in period dress suggested the experience would be more like going to the kind of U.S. Renaissance fairs that excite Americans who have never been out of the country. Meow.
The central courtyard remains the most impressive aspect of the palace.
The wealthy family who built the palace in the second half of the 14th century belonged to the wood guild which perhaps explains why the furnishings shout out to the founder of the Medici Bank, Cosimo I's father. He owned two wool workshops.
A linen quilt consisting of eight panels depicts scenes from the story of Tristan and Isolde, already two centuries old by the time of its fabrication in Sicily during the late 14th century.
Repainted frescos decorate the walls of several rooms
. . . including the minimalist toilet.
Frames annoy me when photographing works of art, mostly because they often shadow the upper portion of paintings and demand your attention. Less so when they're empty.
Majolica Pharmacy Jar
A wall label insisted on the superior quality of this Pazzi Madonna reproduction. Donatello sculpted the original bas relief from marble for private devotion. Elio Volpi, an antiquarian who, as one of the palazzo's later owners is the most responsible for its current look, bought and hung the reproduction in one of the bedrooms. He opened the palazzo as a "private museum" in 1910 with an ever-changing collection, no doubt based on his inventory. Six years later he unloaded this painted knock-off at an auction in New York City. That provenance sounds vaguely scammy, and the label does not explain how the piece was returned.
I cast a skeptical eye over the rest of the furnishings as a result and decided I should have listened to Rick Steves and visited the Bargello instead.
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