walking into an art store here, one in particular that is, is an experience that echoes that of walking into a perfectly old church: the smell of incense that hits the nose upon opening its doors, the sense of exploration calling to discover hidden treasures and tucked-away corners, the glory of surprising colors striking the eye from across the aisle-- this is zecchi. florence's only real art store "come si deve"-- the way it should be.
with an address that says everything-- via dello studio-- art studio street.
the way it should be: you open the glass door and a familiar perfume of faint turpentine wafts over you and takes you instantly back to the oil painting classes and their jars of solvent of undergrad years, and the down-the-hallway studio of the painting professor who loved you into being as an artist (thank you, bruce smith). then, your eyes cross the store to the far wall straight in front of you, landing on the rows and rows of glass jars on shelves which glow with the colors of stained glass windows: instant inspiration. their handwritten labels announce the names of ancient pigments identical to those mixed with egg yolk by medieval artists' hands. names like "yucky green" (verdaccio): the very name of the murky-olivey-camoflaugey hue that emerges out from under the otherwise fleshy faces & hands of the madonnas painted in the 13th and 14th centuries.
this was the pigment that artists in the middle ages used to paint the underlayers of the flesh tones--the cool greens that peek out in shadow areas and give depth and a sense of blue blood running through the veins of the queen of heaven & mother of god-- over the top of which were painted the warm blushes of pinks and peaches which were subsequently rubbed off by centuries of cleaning and over-zealous wiping away of candlesoot or dust (being like egg yolk which has dried on your countertop, egg tempera is never an unbudgable paint even when fully dry), making her look almost like she has been applying a green-tinted facial cream all these years.
making me fall even more in love with her, as it testifies to her ancientness, and the fact that she has been listening to the thoughts, gratitudes, and supplications in tears and joy of so many souls for hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years.
when you go into zecchi, don't try to swing by on your lunch break. they're having theirs, a nice long one that acknowledges the grace of a real home-cooked meal and kicking your feet up for a few hours, yes, hours, midday.
but then swing by, and ask them anything-- they are technical experts who will gladly give you a free mini-lecture on gold leaf technique or how to mix up rabbit skin glue to follow renaissance recipes for making your own gesso grounds for oil painting.
step back in time, into the sacred that art has historically held its finger on the pulse of. the pulse beating through the verdaccio green-pigemented blood of the art made then and now.
thank you, zecchi.
