Tondo, Tondi

 

Here's an example of why one could spend a lifetime in Florence. Not a day, not a week, perhaps a month or a year, but preferably a lifetime. Didn't start soon enough, me. There is so much art, so much history, that to peel back the layers of just one piazza, one church, one portico is to indulge in such rich learning.

This is the church of Santissima Annunziata in Florence. It is situated on the piazza of the same name. It's a ten minute walk down the Via dei Servi from the Duomo. My goal was to visit the fabled and beautiful Ospedale degli Innocenti. Which I did. But I also visited this church. I won't go into the architecture, the spiritual significance, the Baroque interior.I will spend my time before a fresco painted by Andrea del Sarto.

The painting is of the birth of the Virgin Mary. This being a Marian church, all of the precious frescoes in this atrium outside the church proper are of scenes in the life of the Virgin. 

The birth is taking place in a Renaissance palazzo. You can see the newborn Mary being warmed at the fire, by one of the many women gathered in the birthing room. A Florentine tradition is taking place: after the birth women bring restorative dishes to the bedside on round trays. According to one source, these 'birth trays' were later hung on the wall, as a memento of the event.

From this arose the art tradition of the 'tondo', a small round painting, usually domestic in nature, typically featuring the madonna and child.

Here's the most famous tondo painting, the Doni Tondo (1507), the only finished panel painting by Michelangelo to have survived. The less charitable suggest that it's the only one ever finished. Despite the fact that I'm not a fan of his tortured Mannerist style or his masculine female figures, I made a visit to the painting while at the Uffizi. It is sublime; portraying the holy family, John the Baptist and five male nudes.

Somewhere I read that Michelangelo's women looked like men with breasts. Think of it - the Sybils on the Sistine Chapel ceiling, the sculptures on the Medici tombs. 

Art writer Jill Burke offers a couple of cheeky essays on the topic,  ArtCurious and Jill Burke Part 2.

And here are a couple of tondi that I loved a great deal more, the Madonna of the Magnificat (1481) and the Madonna of the Pomegranate (1487) by Sandro Botticelli.

 

So, isn't this a fine rabbithole down which to find ourselves?

Rome Under Wraps

 I first noticed it when visiting Piazza della Rotunda, the piazza in front of the Pantheon, in October 2024. In addition to the clutter of street construction roundabout there was hoarding surrounding the monumental Fontana della Rotunda. Built in 1517, one of the first Renaissance fountains with its masks, dragons and the later addition of an Egyptian obelisk (Ramses II)  at the behest of Pope Clement XI, it sits in front of the Pantheon, largely ignored is my guess.  It's one of 300 monumental fountains in the city.

To the left, the 2023 unveiled version.

Now as I've mentioned before, a lot of these elaborate fountains don't impress me much, although I appreciate the access to cool fresh water. The sound of its trickling and splashing is welcome above the din.The gathering crowds, not so much. The over the top sculpture, meh. As a person who hates clutter, it's all vaguely disquieting. Still, plenty of other stuff to look at. This is Rome, after all. This video takes you for a walk to many renowned fountains and provides some good history.

Here's where the water of an ancient Roman aqueduct reaches thirsty tourists, the Trevi Fountain (shown in 2023.) There's a tap in a little grotto - you don't dip your water bottle into the fountain, with all those coins. 

I read that many of these fountains are gravity fed from aqueducts; 11 of them supplied ancient Rome. I would love to know the engineering; my travelling companion would have explained everything. The Pantheon fountain is supplied by the Aqua Vergine aqueduct (1570.). Now there's a story. The Vergine is the Renaissance reworking of the ancient Aqua Virgo. The story goes that a young girl led thirsty Roman soldiers to the spring, its source. Here's a link to the Roman engineering story thanks to Wikipedia.

As I walked around Rome I began to notice many familiar fountains and other architectural features surrounded by hoarding. It blended with the massive subway construction interruptions, visually and practically. I don't want to think about how frustrating driving must have been. 

But the fountains. Not a big disappointment for me, as I had seen the most iconic ones the previous year. But overall, the hoarding was a bit visually distracting, until the eye became accustomed to ignoring it and focussing on the important stuff. The good news is that none of the Ancient Roman sites I came to see were wrapped. I suppose everything vaguely ecclesiastical - and as I read, the fountains were commissioned by popes - was getting a brush-up for Jubilee Year.

Here's the approach to Castel Sant'Angelo, the 134 AD Aelian bridge, a Roman bridge now called Ponte Sant'Angelo, the majestic approach to the former Mausoleum of Emperor Hadrian.  Different look in 2024, agree? This CNN article explains the facelift that was going on in Rome. I expect it's all better now. But for the massive crowds. For this year is Jubilee Year, when millions of pilgrims and other tourists are descending on Rome. A good year to avoid visiting, if you're crowd averse. I picked my year well, without even realizing. The city expects 30-35 million visitors in 2025, this papal event that has happened every 25 years since 1300. My airport taxi driver told me he was planning to take the year off. 

2023

 

2024

Thought I'd look at some 'before and after' photos and revisit  some pretty special memories of the past two years in Rome.

Ever positive, here's a nice spin on all the disruption from Rick Steves. Keep on travellin'!

This is Piazza Navona, with after/before photos of two of its famous three fountains. 

On the left, a view of the Neptune Fountain, captured by squishing up close to the grid fence and poking a lens through. No-one yelled at me.

Lots going on: mythological cherubs, Neptune fighting with an octopus. The fountain started out as a simple marble basin.The energetic sculpture grouping by various artists was added only in 1873. 

The above masterpiece with the Egyptian obelisk (copy) rising from the centre is the dynamic Fountain of the Four Rivers by Bernini (1651.) It depicts "four major rivers of the four continents through which papal authority had spread: the Nile representing Africa, the Danube representing Europe, the Ganges representing Asia and the Rio de la Plata representing the Americas." Thanks Wikipedia, that was all a bit much for me.  Here's a Smarthistory article for the files.

As you can see, despite the crowds gathered around it (I always think they're saying to themselves, I'm here, got myself in the photo with this famous thing, now what?) you can see the sculptures. The 2024 view would have been a big disappointment for them.

And all of this has made me miss Rome and the Piazza Navona, so I've added this link so I can revisit the piazza with this very pleasant art historian from the Netherlands, on his Stories of Art YouTube channel. 

I  read somewhere that water was turned off to the iconic (sorry, no better word) Trevi Fountain (left) last year, a trough provided for the tourists to throw their sentimental coins into. Bit of a let-down. I am posting my 2023 photo, as I'd been sufficiently unimpressed to skip a return visit in 2024. (What does it take to impress this woman??) 

The crowds were ridiculous, but I managed to find myself a corner. A local restauranteur (at home here in Canada) told me he'd proposed to his fiancee there, a few years ago. Imagine if he'd picked 2024?

Enjoy this YouTube video of the temporary walkway, the empty fountain, and the expressions on the faces of people adjusting to the new reality. Enter the walkway at 10:30 on the video, enjoy an unprecedented closeup of the marble sculptures at 12:23. Thanks, Amazing Walking Tour. You can see the difference a good scrubbing makes. 

The barfing lion statue in Piazza Populo was cleaned before I arrived in 2024. The Fountain of the Four Lions (1828) is four small separate fountains, each lion on an Egyptian-looking ceremonial plinth, gathered protectively around the Flaminian obeslisk. Augustus had that booty brought from Egypt in 10BCE. How, exactly ?? 

2023

nice clean lion

Here are two fountains I didn't revisit this past fall. They're both so darned cute. I'll just enjoy them here. My habit is to wait until the crowd disperses before taking a photo. That might have been tricky this year. 

The oddly shaped half-sunken boat fountain, the Barcaccia Fountain, designed by a Bernini and built 1627-9, sits at the bottom of the Spanish Steps, up which you can see people trudging in the background. The inspiration, according to legend, was the appearance of a small boat in the Piazza di Spagna after the Tiber flooded in 1598.

It makes me think of a crying fish.

Here's another fountain I love, the Fontana della Tiare, with three shell-shaped basins, three carved pairs of papal keys to St. Peter's and four stacked up papal tiaras. The tiara as it was called, was used to crown popes until Pope Paul VI asked that the wealth be redistributed to the poor in 1964. 

The fountain's a bit overshadowed, literally, by Bernini's colonnades around St. Peter's Square.  Here it is on Streetview, smaller than a gelato stand, ignored unless people are looking to fill a water bottle.

Here's some interesting info on other less well-known famous fountains.

Establishment establishment

Recently I left you standing on the sidewalk as we explored Holland Park, London, admiring the studio-home of Frederick Leighton, about whom I knew nothing until I started booking art-related tours and visits for my stay in London. 

Of London galleries I managed my fair share (in large part thanks to my lovely niece.) I visited the Courtauld and Dulwich galleries with her and walked via the city's green ribbon to the National Gallery  - one of those pinch me moments, and a sweet memory of my first visit with my dear Den in 1981.    

There were a couple of spots I could not fit into my itinerary, like the 'imagined home' of Huguenot silk weavers in the 17th and 18th centuries, the Georgian Dennis Severs' House in Spitalfields , and a Bloomsbury pilgrimage. 

But this one I visited. I enjoyed a lovely lunch overlooking the garden. Bought the book. And have carried the experience with me for 10 months. 

When I talk about the artists' enclave of Holland Park, don't think cold attics for a moment. These are well-to-do artists who achieved recognition and wealth in their lifetimes.

Frederick Leighton was an independently wealthy artist, well-known for his "popular paintings of historical, mythological and religious subjects." Very much the flavour of the era. He was president of the Royal Academy for 18 years. Establishment.

 Leighton was knighted by Queen Victoria in 1878 when he became President of the RA,  was created a baronet in 1886  and became a baron in 1896. A safe appointment: the titles died with him as he was unmarried. Leighton was an unusual man, a handsome bachelor surrounded by friends, a gracious and interesting host of dinner parties, salons and musical events at his home. 

Nevertheless his house is much more interesting to me than his oeuvre. I suppose we can consider his home one of his works.  He said he had it built for his own artistic delight. These photos do not do justice to Leighton House, but they try.

There's a basic virtual tour here provided by the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea.. 

My visitor guide was written by Daniel Robbins, senior curator Museums RBKC, was published in 2023 and was well worth the extra weight in my carry-on.

Frederick Leighton travelled in Algiers in 1857 and a decade later to Turkey and Rhodes.  Then Egypt. Damascus. The ceramic tiles and plates and other glazed ware of the regions captivated him (not difficult) and he became a huge collector, arranging with contacts in the East to have purchases shipped to him. 

The Arab Room was born. It's the most exotic thing, based on a palace in Palermo: tinkling water in a pool in the centre, walls covered with blue and green ceramic tiles, a gold mosaic frieze, niches with artefacts, mosaic floors, a brass gasolier worthy of a mosque, marble columns with carved capitals, Islamic calligraphy panels, wooden window lattice screen and a dramatic golden dome. Here in London! I'll let these few photos speak for me. I'm speechless.

The Narcissus Hall, named for the statue which Leighton installed there, is similarly exotic, and serves as a passage between the Arab Room and the equally mind-altering staircase hall.

The drawing room was more conventional in decor, sparsely furnished, I read, used mainly as a waiting room for clients. Note the Murano glass chandelier.

The dining room displayed Leighton's collections as well (over 50 decorative plates.) Many treasures have been replicated or substituted in the restorations of recent years which brought Leighton House back from the brink.

 

The home was inspired by the architecture and interiors of Venice according to my guidebook, the courtyard of the Palazzo Centani with its exterior staircase and central wellhead a model for the staircase hall.

Exotic. Treasure, treasure everywhere. I was out of breath by that point.

On the second level is Leighton's massive studio, extended twice during addition after addition to the house. It was in the studio that the artist offered his famous musical evenings. The silk room was added in one of the later renovations, designed to hold his vast collection of paintings. 

The exotic and beautiful Mashrabiyah wooden lattice screen in a passageway between the two rooms overlooks the Arab Room below.

Now that you've visited this sumptuous house museum, I will share a fact that saddened me. After Leighton died in 1896 his sisters did their best to maintain the home, always hopeful of creating a museum to honour him. But over time the dream was lost, and his sisters sold the contents of the house to provide funds to fulfil the bequests in his will. Earnest committee and council muddlings yielded no plan and the house fell into decline. Bomb damage during 1940 and '44 hastened the end, demolition was discussed. By 1982  there were no original finishes left but the tiles. Miraculously, a restoration between 2008 and 2010 effected an astonishing turnaround, and the fully restored Leighton House was open to the public by 2022. It's not a complete reboot; many of the interiors are replicas or 'true to the period' treasures and there are new public spaces. But it's a keeper.

A few more facts on the Royal Academy for me to keep track of:

I enjoyed browsing the website Victorian Artists at Home to view photo portraits of the artistic establishment of the 1800s in their studios and drawing rooms.. The stuffy (to us) interiors and the formal artificial poses may belie some interesting lives. This account suggests there was more to the RA than serious beard-stroking.

The Royal Academy of Arts was founded by King George III in December 1768 with a mission "to establish a school or academy of design for the use of students in the arts" with an annual juried exhibition. The painter Joshua Reynolds was first president. There were 34 founder members with a total of 40 allowed, including 2 women? Mind you, it took until 2019 before the RA had its first female president.

This painting by William Powell Frith (1881) entitled A Private View at the Royal Academy shows a well-behaved lot. I love the detail in Frith's paintings.  (downloaded from Wikipedia.)

 I can appreciate the rebellion of artists like the members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood to the mainstream style of "unimaginative and artificial historical painting." 

These days the RA has its share of controversial exhibibitions and scandals. 

No Starving Artists Here

During my short stay in Kensington last spring, I enjoyed the wealth of parks in my neighbourhood: Kensington Gardens,  Hyde Park, St. James Park, Green Park. This intense city is filled with urban nature refuges, a ribbon of green space which I followed for most of my journeys of exploration.

 To the west of my temporary neighbourhood lay the Royal Burrough of Chelsea and Kensington (my poshest address yet.), A short walk along Kensington High Street and I found myself in delightful Holland Park. 

Now the historic Holland House was a disappointment. Turned out I'd arrived a bit late, as magnificent Jacobean Holland House was largely destroyed during German firebombing in 1940. I enjoyed what I found - 55 acres of deep woodland, the remains of the house and formal gardens, the sport and recreation facilities. 

The estate history is long and celebrated, so I'll leave you to have a read. My interest was piqued at learning about the dower house, itself demolished in 1871 - missed that one by a mile. 

But here the story gets interesting. Little Holland House, the dower house on the estate, was rented in 1850 by Sara and Toby Prinsep whose friend and long-time house guest was George Frederick Watts, a famous c19 artist about whom I know nothing. They were interesting people. Prinsep was an Anglo-Indian, director of the East India Company, his wife, the renowned beauty Sara was born in Kolkata, daughter of a  civil servant in Bengal.  So, fascinating background I want to read more about. Sara was an 'influencer', a 'bohemian'; she and her beautiful sisters held the Little Holland House 'salon' on Sunday afternoons. 

Painter George Frederick Watts built the first studio-house in the area which was then opening up. And so I discover, just south of the Holland Park property, a goldmine of art and architecture history, about which I knew nothing!

 Holland Park Circle and Melbury Road became an artists' enclave. This was no East Village. Here's a link and a Streetview peek at the area. A number of establishment artists of the 1800s built 'studio homes' in the area, and many still stand. Others were lost to WWII and development.  Wikipedia, bless 'em, provides a list of the famed (and to me, unknown) artists who made the area great.

Here's a keeper, an article about the Prinsep home, built after their lease expired at the dower house. It too is now lost to us, but give us a hint of the kind of places and people we're talking about.

One thing I did know. As I entered the impressive treed red-brick mansion neighbourhood, I had my sights trained on Leighton House, the second artist's studio house built in the area. 

I was hot and tired, and despairing of finding it, when I came upon a gas meter reader, whom I suspected of having good local knowledge, and I was right. English, not so much. But such a generous heart. At great effort he described how to find the place - and when we came upon each other later in the neighbourhood, he crossed the street to check that I'd found my spot. Awww. Here we are at long last at the gate to Leighton House. 

And here I will leave you with this tempting glimpse inside the studio home of the celebrated Frederick, Lord Leighton (1830-1896).

The Ten Percenters

Today I am recalling a delightful day spent in the company of  my adored niece, on a 13th century property which she had mentioned as a possible outing. Look at this place. No, this is not medieval Italy.

This is English heritage. This is the Middle Littleton Tythe Barn (fiendishly difficult name to get straight) near Evesham in Worcestershire on the edge of  the bucolic Cotswolds.  My lovely guide persevered through numerous subdivisions and a complex downtown to find this ancient gem. 

The National Trust dates the property at 1250, other records cite 1376. The barn is associated with the Benedictine monks of Evesham Abbey, third largest abbey in England. Dendrochronology suggests the 1250 date is more likely.  Wikipedia chimes in with a plausible explanation to the date conflict.

Tithe barns were built to store hay and grain crops prior to threshing, whereupon, in return, the monks collected tithes (or one-tenth of the crop) to support their works. Among these was the maintenance of a hostelry for visitors to the Abbey, and perhaps a cider press? Here's the National Trust history of the tithe barn, which contains a photo of the main door which I neglected to capture.

The Benedictine Abbey, the third largest in England, was founded in Anglo-Saxon times and destroyed in 1540. It is astonishing what Henry VIII's fit of pique resulted in. A few weeks ago I mentioned in this post how we read about these events but don't really grasp the violence and destruction which resulted. In this case, almost the entire abbey was destroyed but for the few cherished bits mentioned in this article. 

As we wandered up, a personable volunteer guide emerged from the an open outbuilding to escort us and share his enthusiasm for the property. We wandered the huge ancient space. My companion gave our host the attention he deserved while I wandered awestruck. 

I defer to the National Trust for an adequate description:

-130 by 42 feet wide

-walls supported by buttresses, 8 on long side, 3 on end

-"raised cruck" style: the large cruck timbers rest on stone walls, not the ground

-holes in the walls are putlogs - held scaffolding during building

-originally porches on east and west sides, only one remains

-constructed of Blue Lias stone and Cotswold stone dressing

-triple purlin roof tiled in stone

-roof slates from 6 to 18 inches long, originally secured with wooden pegs

- decorative finials above gable roofs ward off evil

Our visit ended with a wander in the apple orchard, where dedicated volunteers are working to establish heritage varieties. Here's more on that initiative.

Warm sun glinted off fresh spring leaves and the august tower of lovely St. Nicholas Church.  

Worcester Pearman

   

The afternoon ended with a delightful picnic in the long grass dotted with wild-flowers, in the company of a dear wise woman.