Art Attack

Before I start in on my rave review of the Uffizi gallery, I'll summarize the rest of yesterday quickly:

-Visited the Medici library (an exhibition on the history of the book was up, there were some beautiful illuminated manuscripts), and the church of San Lorenzo.

-Walked around for a few hours on my own, just wandering the cobbled streets and soaking up the city (along with a few raindrops - I thankfully missed the torrential downpour that occured just before I was about to leave the internet cafe). I found the antique district and walked down by the river.

-Met up with Max and two girls we'd befriended at the Pink Palace, went for a long, leisurely Italian dinner (proscutto & melon, pizza, some surprisingly good cheap white wine) and had some great conversation. Ended the night with promises to hang out in Toronto.

So that's the rest of yesterday. Moving on...

Since we missed out on buying advance tickets, Max and I decided to wake up quite early to line up outside the Uffizi. It might have been the best decision of the trip - less than half an hour after we arrived, the line had more than tripled in length (and this was still more than 20mins before the doors opened). We were in the first group to go in, so the galleries weren't too crowded while we were there.

There were a hundred annunciazones (annunciations), millions of Madonnas with their children, and a trillion Magis adoring Christ, and all of those paintings were beautiful, their colours as rich as if they had been painted yesterday.

But.

The highlights overshadowed every other painting by a long shot. First and foremost, the Botticellis. La Nascita di Venere (the Birth of Venus) and La Primavera were gorgeous, even larger than I remembered them, the kind of paintings you just want to fall into. I sat for a while just drinking in La Primavera, letting countless tour groups pass me by as I sat and gazed at the serene faces, the gossamer fabrics and shiny green leaves. I felt like I could have stayed there for hours, days even.

Other than the Botticellis, I found myself most drawn to the fresco on the ceiling of the gallery running around the rooms. Each segment was unique, filled with grotesques (many of which I drew) and intricate swirling designs, painted in bright colours and containing enough visual delicacies to keep me happy for years.

So the Uffizi was glorious, but now I've just noticed how wet my feet are - time to go back to the hostel and change.