- Photo Essays
After a week in Florence, gazing upon so much fabulous Renaissance art and architecture, my eyes were beginning to ache with the beauty of it all. Seriously, they really were.
Even if you fight against it, there is a point where it becomes easy to slide into a sort of nonchalance if your days are literally saturated with something you love this much…
“Oh, it’s another Michelangelo / Botticelli / da Vinci…meh!”
Alright, maybe not quite that nonchalant, but it’s easy to start to crumble a little under this art / culture overload. Yes, travelling is really quite tough, it’s true.
I feel this same way each time I visit Paris. My theory is that if I deliberately limit the trip to around a week I will still get out while the going is good; while still elated by the excitement, but before the novelty begins to fade.
I adore art. I often wish I had studied art history. Not instead of photography but maybe alongside it, so I could have even a glimpse of how this all comes together.
As a photographer I understand that innate need to create something: a representation that says something about you, about the way you view the world and about how you would love others to possibly consider it too.
But art on this kind of scale never fails to knock the wind out of me. It makes me feel like what I do is so insignificant.
Places like the Louvre in Paris or the Ufizzi Gallery in Florence are so overwhelmingly that I want to stop in the middle of the room, close my eyes and try desperately to actually take it all in; to remember.
(There are usually hordes of people in these places and you risk certain death-by-trampling if you actually attempt this. I’m not kidding, don’t say I didn’t warn you! It could make for a pretty remarkable epitaph though…I’m just saying…)
The last time I was in the Louvre I lost my ticket whilst inside the temporary exhibition of the Italian Masters, set apart from the main gallery. Yes, yes – I could think of worse places to be trapped too.
Two of the guards frantically tried to help me find my ticket whereas I was all, “Oh, you know what, no worries. I might just hang out with the Italian Masters a little while longer.”
As you do…
(Can I just say though…for god’s sake, who loses their ticket at the Louvre – before they have even gone inside?!)
So as I strolled through Florence on my last day I noticed that my level of wonderment was not making my heart race quite as much as it did a week ago. There were still palpitations mind you, just not as crippling. (Italian coffee has a lot to answer for!)
It must be time to move on.
And so it all begins again….
PS: Ticket was never found and the aforementioned guards sneaked me into the Louvre proper. It’s a good day when you get escorted ninja-style into one of the most prestigious galleries in the world.
I did slip over and break a rib the following day though…karma? Perhaps 😉