As ever, The Seffalice Shoddy Camera Phone does the opposite of justice to its victims in the photos following.
Florence's Piazza della Signoria was the stage for the monk Savonarola's Bonfire of the Vanities in 1497 (and his own death at the stake a year later). Savonarola briefly took charge of Florence amidst an austerity backlash against the culture of the Renaissance and the Medicis following the death of Lorenzo the Magnificent and the consequent (temporary) fall of the main Medici reign (the Medici family later regained power in Florence and limped on until the 18th Century but Florence had lost its position as Renaissance hub to Rome and Venice with Lorenzo's death).
The fascinating thing about this is that Savonarola's back-to-Medieval-basics campaign had the active support of the artists and patrons whose work and lives he preached against; Michelangelo and Botticelli were said to be amongst those who threw their 'blasphemous' works onto Savonarola's fire. Were those who patrons who bought and sold art to gain influence, and those artists available to be bought and sold, so flexible that they just bent with the prevailing wind?
The Piazza today hosts a large number of awesome statues, including a copy of Michaelangelo's David, and a couple of supposed duds (supposed because I'd have assumed they were good if I'd not been told otherwise). Michelangelo is supposed to have said of Ammannati's Neptune fountain (in prominent place in the piazza): "Ammannati, what beautiful marble you have ruined." Presumably a major put-down in 15th Century Florence, and apparently even Ammannati thought it sucked.
A major cause of the problem with it was that the original slab of marble was too narrow for the height (and hence intended width) of the statue, so Neptune isn't as broad-chested as a god should have been and also has to take an odd stance with his arm tucked-in to his torso.
Imagine taking however long to carve a major commission from an expensive slab of marble then realising halfway through that you've started it off too big. I often do similar when trying to fit some writing onto one line then having to write smaller and smaller as I head towards the edge of the page.
The second 'disappointment' (fenced off for restoration at the moment) is Bandinelli's Hercules and Cacus; disparaged by the snooty Florentines and described by rival sculptor Cellini as looking like "a sack of melons".
At the head of the piazza is the Loggia dei Lanzi (named after Cosimo de Medici's bodyguards, The Lancers); originally built as a raised, covered area so the Charlie Big Potatoes could be sheltered while the hoi polloi milled around in the Tuscan sun and rain, Cosimo later installed his bodyguard there to intimidate the masses.
Amongst the numerous statues installed in the Loggia today are two worth coming to Florence for on their own: the first is Cellini's Perseus, holding the head of Medusa;
the second, Giambologna's attempt to outdo Cellini, The Rape of the Sabine Women.
Pisa had its own sculptural marvels, of a different type. While the two statues pictured above astound as single pieces because of the combination of their scale and twisting lines that give life to their scene from every angle, the two works that stood out in Pisa were series of scenes carved into the essential framework of the building.
Nicola and Giovanni Pisano (father and son) produced the two pulpits in the baptistery and cathedral respectively. Both tell biblical stories scene by scene in incredible, intricate detail. Below is the pulpit from the cathedral. I didn't have a dinosaur to hand to demonstrate scale but, if you can imagine it, it would come roughly halfway up the thigh of a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Best of all were the three enormous doors to Pisa cathedral, the work of Giambologna (he of The Rape of the Sabine Women, above) and his workshop. I was too sheepish to try and capture them in a photo – this site has some.
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