TIP OF THE SPEAR

Perseus, Hercules, and the Goddess of Modern Virtue

If you’ve wondered whether the statue of the black woman staring at her cell phone in the majestic Piazza della Signoria in Florence is fake—an AI creation—meant to annoy, then you’re correct. Its purpose is to annoy you. But I can confirm, it’s real, and it’s sad. But take heart! There’s every reason to be optimistic. Read on.

BY DOC SPEARS

Art history is history. And there’s no better place to appreciate that than Florence, Italy.

History can be divided into three major periods: antiquity, the medieval, and modernity. Florence is the center of the magnificence that was the Renaissance, and the city’s history is that of the birth of the modernity you live in. At the core of this explosion of art and science was the Medici family. They were the world’s bankers, wealthy in a magnitude beyond compare to even today’s mega-billionaires. No, they weren’t proto-Jeffersonian republicans, but along with the bad of their oligarchy came a lot of good for their citizens, and they planted the seeds for the flowering of Western civilization.

The Medici were the patrons to every giant of artistic creation that we marvel at five centuries later, and Florence is a city densely adorned with their works. Michelangelo, DaVinci, Donatello (all the ninja turtles), Botticelli, Brunelleschi, Fra Angelico; everywhere through the narrow streets and expansive plazas you walk, you do so in the shadows of their creations.

Not surprisingly, many of the priceless statues and elaborately chiseled facades decorating the city are reproductions—the originals preserved in museums for posterity—but shockingly, even more are in fact the original, four- and five-hundred year old masterpieces.

Their art was not accidental. It was not whimsical. It was not done merely to celebrate the glory of God’s most divine creation—man. Because when you’re the one who pays the bills, you alone cast the deciding vote on the artist’s subject and most importantly, its message. For the Medici’s, their message was always this:

We are the Medici. Do not fuck with us.

Consider the above montage of photos I took a couple of weeks ago. Three massive subjects, all positioned within a handful of steps from each other.

Let’s begin on the right, with Bandinelli’s Hercules and Cacus, completed in 1534. It was commissioned by the Medici with influence from Pope Clement VII, a Medici himself, raised to the papacy. At this time the Medici were returning to power after a period of exile from Florence (not their first time being expulsed), their mutual fall from both the Vatican and Florence being associated with a little thing we know as the Sack of Rome.

With the Medici firmly back in Florence and their pope returned to Rome, the message of this commissioned work was unquestionably clear. We’re top dog. Once again. Suck it.

On the left, is Cellini’s bronze, Perseus with the Head of Medusa. Commissioned by the first Grand Duke of Tuscany, Cosimo I dé Medici, it was an amazing technical and artistic achievement. It took nine years to complete and stands today where it was unveiled in 1554. The Italian peninsula was a land of city-states, constantly at war with each other and the rest of Europe, and Cosimo I was the first to consolidate all of Tuscany beneath his rule.

Perseus is a metaphor for Cosimo himself, holding the severed head of Medusa, a metaphor for the political instability he defeated.

Of course, both these and every similar master work pay homage to classic mythology, displaying the beauty of the human form, with compositions that really must be seen to fully appreciate. I mean it. They are amazing and to me, glorify God through their evidence that we are made in his image, and in turn are capable ourselves of creating profound beauty.

Now, let’s consider the central piece featured in my montage.

Time Unfolding by British artist Thomas Price was placed in the plaza this year as part of a temporary exhibition. It depicts a black woman gazing at her cell phone, positioned with her back to all the landmark history contained in the plaza.

Per the artist, it’s supposed to, “challenge the traditional male-dominated heroic narratives of the nearby statues, meant to spark conversations about representation and inclusivity in art, and challenge notions of classical beauty and power.”

My take; it’s hot garbage. While the works around it possess myriad layers of transcendent depth available to anyone with even a mild appreciation for human creativity, the message of this piece seems obvious:

“I turn my back on the brilliance around me, because it’s all made by old, dead white men. I revel in my contempt for everything, and appreciate nothing. You can’t force me to not be ignorant. And if you were virtuous, you’d be ignorant, too. Don’t you dare tell me to put my phone down and look at civilization’s greatest works! Walk around me! Consideration for others is a disease of Western culture. Nothing’s more important than what’s on my phone.”

I’ve given consideration to the possibility that the artist agrees with me (because it’s obvious I have the message of this piece correct), and he’s actually the cleverest of hucksters, a double-agent, pandering to the woke and secretly mocking them while collecting their money and adoration.

That would be the funniest thing ever, but it’s highly unlikely.

I’m rarely at a loss for words, especially the kind I mastered as a soldier, but I was genuinely speechless when I witnessed myself that this abomination was actually real and not an AI-generated fake photo, created by some troll and meant to raise my hackles as I scrolled X.

The statue proved quite popular as a background for selfies by the younger crowd (appropriate, I guess). I can’t help but wonder what the throngs of Chinese tourists must’ve been asking themselves what its message was, as I watched them chatter in bewildered amusement at the sight of it. I projected on them that they saw it as proof of the coming downfall of the West, just as the Chinese Communist Party predicates their future on. Perhaps, I nailed it.

But on the whole, what I saw was a very pleasing and nearly universal display of contempt, disbelief, and mocking derision for this insult to art. This is the good news I hinted at in the photo caption. The locals hate it, too. I mean, really hate it. My Tuscan friends assure me everyone is on the absolute outs with the city managers over their choice for the exhibition.

Florence is a truly amazing destination, drawing upwards of 5 million domestic and international visitors a year. It can be very crowded in the summer, but I assure you, it’s worth it. And by the nearly universal negative reactions I’ve read, and witnessed for myself in response to Time Unfolding, the cultural-Marxist agenda of woke hasn’t taken its last gasp yet, but it’s sailing for the same iceberg the Titanic found.

By the time you visit Florence, Time Unfolding won’t be at the bottom of the Atlantic, but will be collecting dust somewhere else.

I am supremely optimistic about our future. I believe our culture is on the cusp of another ascendency—maybe not as epochal as the Renaissance—but one that will produce wonderful and lasting works which we cannot yet fully anticipate. And in preparation for that rise, I believe history is a great place to look for the answers about where we’re going.

I’ll leave you with a bit of history about Florence, and the exact place where this sad depiction of modern society remains displayed, surrounded by the works of artists whose names will be known for eternity.

The Piazza della Signoria, or plaza of the governance, was the seat of Florence’s oligarchy. As I’ve said, the history of the Medici family and their importance is imprinted on every atom of this place. Perhaps the greatest artistic achievement ever set in stone once stood there, Michelangelo’s David, and a reproduction of it remains.

In that very square is where the fanatical monk Savonarola held his Bonfire of the Vanities, extolling the privileged to repent of their immorality, and to throw all their artwork, books, and fine clothing into the bonfire, all to relieve the cause of the divine displeasure at their affluent culture.

Savonarola succeeded in causing that first exile of the Medici which I alluded to earlier. The friar and his monks preached endlessly to the masses, until they were whipped to a frenzy, eager to purge their society of everything they were told was bad. Savonarola ruled. He imposed a virtuous society on Florence, demanding capitulation to the most extreme of ideologies, meant to control the culture and all behavior.

And when the people tired and the Medici returned, Savonarola was tortured, hanged, and burned at the stake.

Near the very spot where the Goddess of Modern Virtue stands looking at her cell phone.