Insults, free speech, and Florence

How are we to distinguish criticism from insult from making fun of someone?  An eternal question.  In Turkey, the issue is deeply connected with paternalistic, patriarchal tradition: you don’t criticize your superiors (= your father), at least not in public.  Insulting Atatürk, the founding father of the Republic, has always been a crime, but these days, not everyone might be shocked if you tried it.  Insulting the current president, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, is another matter altogether.  In recent months we have been watching person after person arrested, including teenagers, a former Miss Turkey, an “eccentric singer” (Atilla Taş) who declared on March 6, "It is an honor to be detained for my opinions, not for stealing or for corruption," and, this past week, two cartoonists whose cover of the Turkish satirical magazine “Penguen” insinuated (or so it was alleged) that Erdoğan is gay. 

You might think anyone who seeks public office should be prepared for criticism.  A thick skin is surely a must.  How does this square with the traditional Turkish view that the person at the top deserves unqualified respect?  Not easily.  But Erdoğan, who rarely restrains himself when commenting on his opponents, not only may have a thin skin, but also (one suspects) must enjoy the combat.

Free speech is a concept viewed with suspicion.  Although Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoğlu marched in Paris on January 11, with Hollande, Merkel, and others (including Netanyahu) in support of free speech, or at least against violent opposition to free speech, early this month the Turkish government blocked the internet site of “Charlie Hebdo,” among many other sites. Blasphemy was the justification.  The action brought “Charlie Hebdo” to our attention once again. 

                                                Near San Marco Square, Florence

One of the ironies of the murder of “Charlie Hebdo” cartoonists and staff on January 7 has been the huge publicity generated for this magazine. In the past, during trips to Paris, I had noted “Charlie Hebdo” at the newsstands, but I never bought a copy. Although it was well-known, its sales were low. Thanks to the attack, sales have soared. I myself promptly bought a book of cartoons by Cabu, one of the cartoonists killed. I had never heard of him, but now he is a household name.   

Peut-on encore rire de tout? [“Can we still laugh about everything?”] was published in 2012; the answer, seen in the cover cartoon, is a vehement “Non” [“No”] – sadly.  The cartoons satirize prominent people and institutions and notable happenings in France during the previous two years. Most targets are French political figures – such as Sarkozy, Hollande, Strauss-Kahn, Le Pen (father and daughter) – but indeed religious authorities and fanatics are caricatured, too: Christians and Jews as well as Muslims. For anyone familiar with the recent French political and social scene, the cartoons are hilarious.

 “Je suis Charlie” was in evidence in Florence, where I went for a short trip in mid-January. 

 Regional council chamber, in the Palazzo Medici-Riccardi

But “Charlie Hebdo” came up only briefly.   I was accompanying Marie-Henriette to a conference on Anatolian and Syrian ceramics of the Late Bronze Age, organized by the University of Florence.  The conference coincided with a major men’s fashion fair, “Pitti Uomo” – but my path crossed fashion only once.

               Fashion shoot, at the main door of Santa Maria Novella

 

Our previous visit was in 1979, when we spent a memorable week with a college classmate, a specialist in Italian Renaissance literature.  I knew little about the city, only the basics. This time, I came armed with knowledge from nearly 25 years of teaching Florentine art and architecture in a first-year undergraduate survey of art and architectural history.  I had a mental check list of things I wanted to see.  Buildings – because they are three-dimensional, their space is hard to comprehend from photographs – and frescoes in their architectural settings were the priorities.  I saw a lot.  Because tourists were relatively few, I could linger in front of masterpieces as long as I wanted.

Of the many wonderful things I saw here are five:

(1) A small chapel in the Palazzo Medici Riccardi with frescoes painted by Benozzo Gozzoli. I felt I was standing inside an exquisitely decorated box.  

                                          John VIII Palaiologos, Byzantine emperor,
                                     in Gozzoli's frescoes, Palazzo Medici-Riccardi

(2) Brunelleschi’s dome for the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore (the Duomo).  I climbed the 463 steps to the top, an aerobic adventure, to emerge onto a narrow ledge around the base of the lantern.  I was surely the oldest person up there.  The view was thrilling, but because it was a bit rainy, I wasn’t tempted to stay long. 

 View from the top of the dome.  To the left: the Campanile

 

PS, since insult is the theme of the day: I’m reading Ross King, Brunelleschi’s Dome. How a Renaissance Genius Reinvented Architecture (2000), and have learned that insults and counter-insults flew fast and furious in 15th century Florence. After the failure of Brunelleschi’s amphibious vehicle, “Il Badalone,” designed to carry huge loads of Carrara marble at a cheap price, Giovanni da Prato, a bitter rival, wrote a sonnet in which he called Brunelleschi “a pit of ignorance” and a “miserable beast and imbecile.” Brunelleschi responded in kind, labelling Giovanni a “ridiculous-looking beast.”  Criticisms, insults, and mockery became so vicious that the Florentine authorities made Brunelleschi and other citizens swear an oath to “forgive injuries, lay down all hatred, entirely free themselves of any faction and bias, and to attend only to the good and the honor and the greatness of the Republic, forgetting all offences received to this day through passions of party or faction or for any other reason.” (Ross 2000: 114-116).   

(3) The former convent of San Marco, now a museum, with frescoes notably by Fra Angelico.   

 Mary, as depicted by Fra Angelico

Upstairs, one sees the cells of the monks, each one decorated with a fresco of religious theme.  In the corridor at the top of the stairs is his “Annunciation,” justly famous.

 

"Annunciation" on the left

(4) Pontormo’s “Deposition from the Cross,” a glorious Mannerist painting, in the small Capponi Chapel in the church of Santa Felicità.  You had to put in a one-euro coin to get three minutes of light. On the adjacent wall is his “Annunciation,” which I didn’t know at all: a revelation.

                           Mary, in Pontormo's "Annunciation"
 

(5) The Pazzi Chapel, designed by Brunelleschi, attached to the large church of Santa Croce. I knew this from photographs, but I couldn’t understand its interest. Inside, the space, 3-armed and domed, swells and rises with amazing power.

                     My photos of the Pazzi Chapel didn't do it justice, so I offer instead 
                     this view of the nave of San Lorenzo, another Brunelleschi design.

As an archaeologist, I must add a sixth: (6) in the Archaeological Museum, the François Vase, a spectacular (and larger than expected) Attic black-figure vase made ca. 570 BC, the Chimera of Arezzo (an Etruscan bronze statue, ca. 400 BC), and the Egyptian collection, about which I knew nothing, room after room of a wonderful range of objects still in an old-fashioned display.  

 The François Vase

 

* A food highlight: a lunch with tagliere (lit. “cutting board”), a round wooden platter loaded with antipasti (= meze, appetizers) of a distinctly Florentine sort (crostini with artichoke, liver, and other patés; cold cuts; and cheese), arranged with artistic flair.

                                                             A Florentine market

** And the Arno River at sunset ...