Of course, Florence, Italy, is a sculptor hunter's dream. Somehow I wasn't prepared for the Piazza della Signoria, the giant piazza with sculptures under a roof, sculptures in a fountain, sculptures standing alone, sculpture come to life. Luckily enough, our B&B was just around the corner, and we hadn't even planned it that way! I loved it best at nights, with lights and fewer gelato licking tourists.
Day after day I wandered with my camera, capturing the most beautiful works I had ever seen. But the highlight of my trip was, tragically, on my last day. I wandered across bridges and up hills and on to the Piazzale Michaelangelo overlooking the city. Gorgeous, but there was something missing to me. A little way up the hill, I found San Miniato Church, surrounded by a cemetery. What a heart-stopper that was! I stayed until they kicked me out, snapping and caressing the tombs with my cameras. I stayed until I ran out of film. Dehydrated and burned to a crisp, I had to return home and got lost. But that's another story. (Photo by Dan Woodleif)
It was then that I realized what I'd been missing in all the beautiful outdoor sculpture throughout the city was the human connection, the individual emotion- the stories. And in this cemetery, the marvelous congregation of memorial art, I found mothers and children and flyers and brothers and artists and brides with their grooms, all with fascinating work that outlasted them. It was opera and it was the last lonely sound of a bell wafting over the dead that finally did me in.
10:13:16 PM 
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