On May 10th my partner John Cullen and I flew to Milan for a three-week visit to Italy, with plans to visit old friends (we lived in Rome for three years in the 90s), and to see wonders. I had a particular wonder in mind. I’m a fan of Piero della Francesca’s painting and have often gone out of my way to see his various surviving works. I had learned that a particular picture of his titled “the Flagellation of Christ” lived and doubtless still breathed its magic in the ducal palace of the medieval town Urbino. This painting has been called “the most interesting little painting in the world,” and I knew that studying the many prints and on-line photos of it could not compare to the experience of standing before the real thing. Why might this painting be worth a special trip? Click here to view a wonderfully informative video on Amor Sciendi that offers several good reasons.
I appreciated the likelihood that no matter how much research I did or how carefully I arranged my visit to Urbino, there was a fair chance that the painting wouldn’t actually be on view. So I thought of our pleasure journey as having a goal, one that I might or might not achieve.
On arrival I decided to write a number of posts as we made our way to Urbino. The overarching quest for the painting had a good many stops and each of these reminded me of another Italian adventure I’d taken many years ago when I wrote a biography of St. Francis of Assisi. San Francesco’s unusual attitude toward money (he refused to touch it), property (he refused to have his friars live in a house), and begging (he founded a mendicant order that became so large it was impossible to control), still linger in the Italian consciousness in ways that make the current historical moment particularly stressful for its citizens. Let’s just say to Americans Italians appear to have a high tolerance for beggars, thieves, and the homeless. As we traveled, news of immigrants drowning in the Mediterranean filtered through the airwaves. We heard much talk of the economic crisis and lots of polite animosity towards our government for bringing its war-hatched chickens home to roost in Europe. These are strange times in a country somewhat inured by history to strange times.
We visited Milan, Rome, Rignano sul Arno, Isola Maggiore in Lago di Trasimeno, Ascoli Piceno, Senigallia, Urbino, and Lucca, traveling by car and by train. On the second day in Milan John’s cell phone was stolen on a crowded subway, hence my title ITALIA SENZA TELEFONO.
Diane Dumestre Thompson says
June 7, 2016 at 12:29 pmI really enjoyed the description of the painting and the possible explanations by the
commentator on Amor Sciendi.
I’d like to know if you were ever able to view the painting. If so, what are your thoughts
and interpretations?
Valerie Martin says
June 15, 2016 at 11:12 amSadly, I’ve been lax in keeping up this blog. I will put up the next installment which takes place in Milan soon. But the short answer to your question is yes, I did get to view the painting. Right up until the last minute I held on to the possibility that it might not be there, either the museum would be closed or it would be undergoing preservation, any number of reasons, really, but at last after walking through several enormous and wonderful rooms, there it was, all by itself with a padded bench in front of it and only two other people, who shortly moved on, in the room. John and I took the seat on the bench and for some time, alone in the quiet room, we just sat there allowing our eyes to be moved about by the scene of the painting. It’s a small painting, the colors are fresh, the figures seem to step out of the frame. It has a marvelous narrative feel, but as you know from the Amor Sciendi site, it’s not clear which story the artist had in mind. I’ll have more to say further on, but it truly was a breathtaking conclusion to my little quest, and well worth every effort to get there.