Carissimi,
And now I will tell
you about the horrible flooding in Florence. It’s a disaster. The whole world
is sending help, especially for the precious works of art that have been
damaged by water and mud. On television, I saw them carrying out paintings by
Sandro Botticelli, Fra Filippo Lippi, and Domenico Ghirlandaio. It breaks my
heart.
-Nonna, in a letter to my parents, November 1966 (translated
from Italian)
I wasn’t yet born when Nonna wrote my parents about the
horrific events of November 4, 1966 when, due to unusually heavy rainfall, the
Arno River flooded the city of Florence. By the time the waters receded 5,000 people
were left homeless, 6,000 stores were forced out of business, and 600,000 tons
of mud, rubble and sewage damaged and destroyed millions of masterpieces of
art, rare books, maps, historic documents, and manuscripts. The world
responded quickly, and Angeli del Fango (Mud Angels) arrived
from around the world to help with the rescue and eventual restoration of
precious artwork and antique books.
The event took hold in the hearts of many, so much so that
as a little girl I often heard stories about the 1966 flood, mostly from my Nonna who still got emotional describing the amazing (and often heroic) efforts to rescue masterpieces that, ultimately, belong to the world.
I was reminded of her stories this past September when I was
exploring the Santa Croce Basilica in the heart of Florence. While I had
entered the church with the intention of seeing the tombs of Michelangelo,
Dante, Machiavelli, and Galileo, it was
the crucifix by Cimabue which fascinated me the most because that masterpiece
became the symbol of Florence’s post-flood period of recovery.
In 1966, when the
flood waters broke down the church doors and the basilica was filled with water, many
precious works of art were damaged … including this precious crucifix painted
in 1275 by Cimabue for the Franciscan order. When rescuers entered the church, the surface of the crucifix was covered in water, mud, and oil;
the base was damaged; and there were deep gouges in the wood. Additionally, Cimabue
had used distemper to coat the wooden crucifix, and nearly 60% of it was
chipped off.
Amazingly, when a local priest entered the church the next
day in a small rowboat, he noticed flecks of paint floating in the water. Upon
realizing they were from the precious crucifix, he directed volunteers to
collect the floating specks. Subsequently, during the 10-year restoration
project it was these rescued pieces that greatly helped with the restoration
and, in 1979, Cimabue’s restored cross was returned to the Santa Croce
Basilica.
This month marked the 50th anniversary of this
terrible flood, and having just returned from Italy where I saw Cimabue’s
cross, it is sobering that now there is yet another flood making
headlines—this time in Venice. I was just there, and now St. Mark’s Basilica,
where I attended Mass, is flooded; St. Mark’s Square, where we spent our
evenings listening to music, is now closed to the public.
The same peaceful waters that offered us gentle passage for our gondolas on an evening just before sunset, are now turbulent and dangerous.
I recently came across a quote from author Toni Morrison in
which she says all water has perfect memory and is trying to get back to where
it was. Maybe she was referring to the
fact that you can’t hold water; you can contain it, for a while, but it can’t
be held because while we see it as something that is the same, it is never
the same as it was a moment ago.
The waves, the tides, the endless ebb and flow along the
shore will come. Again and again. Sometimes quietly, sometimes ferociously. In Florence. In Venice. Anywhere in the world.
And so, like those paint specks floating on the water, we pick
up the pieces and put them together again.
