Just a few days ago, I was enjoying a spring stroll through the cobblestoned streets of the historic center to check in on my artisan friends. I realized it had been six years, almost to the date, since I was singing Azzurro from my open window at home.
I remember it vividly. It was the scheduled “lockdown activity” for the day during those first surreal weeks of the pandemic. With only the sky and the clouds as my audience, I belted out my cooped-up emotions. I felt energized by the sight of blossoming trees, the sound of chirping birds and the warmth of the sun. I was comforted by the knowledge that I was part of a community of souls braving this unprecedented global event together.
Then, suddenly, I saw my neighbor. She was directly ahead of me, pruning an olive tree, frowning at me, obviously deeply unimpressed by my energetic rendition. In that moment, a thought silently crept in, one that stayed with me for weeks: given the same situation, each of us responds with different sentiments, with dissimilar degrees of expectation and hope.
This realization silently sowed a seed of wistful tenacity. I found truth in the idea that a situation is truly what you make of it.
During those months of lockdown, the images of a Florence devoid of human traffic were mesmerizing, a dream for the beauty-seeking spectator, but a terrifying nightmare for the makers behind the many shuttered shops. When we were finally authorized to return to our “normal” lives, I walked through my beloved Florentine backyard and grasped the true extent of the danger: the very real prospect of these doors never reopening. I knew immediately that I had to act. All I could feel was the absence of the city’s heartbeat.
You see, as a Fiorentina by birth, Florence has never been merely a collection of monuments; it is a living organism kept alive and made unique by the rhythmic pulse of its family-run businesses, especially the botteghe, the artisan workshops. It is a human network of small enterprises, the keepers of tradition and the living memory of our cultural heritage. But like any organism, it must be nurtured to flourish. If we tend to it, it will breathe on its own, providing sustenance to those of us who live here, or those who simply pause for a moment to enjoy its beating existence.
So, in an enthusiastic leap of faith, I started my own project, The Sunny Artisan. My hope was to provide master artisans with a new window onto the world, showcasing their work on an ethical, fair platform. I realized I had stopped feeling the city’s heartbeat because the artisan workshops were closed: these are the places where I can feel its pulse, listen to its sounds and touch its skin.
Whenever I need to reconnect with the soul of my city, I take a walk downtown. I stop to visit my artisan friends, allow my senses to be filled with the scents, hums, colors and textures that make their shops breathe and exist. It works every time, without fail. It makes me feel alive again, and I can hear the city’s heartbeat once more.
Take L’Ippogrifo Stampe d’Arte, for example. Just looking through their window has a soothing effect on me. Their artwork—meticulously etched images of animals, countryside views and Florentine scenes—is a spectacle of Renaissance technique. When I set foot inside, all my senses are activated: the scent of wax, the soft sounds of classical music, the sight of Francesca watercoloring, and the warm smiles of Gianni and Duccio as they etch their new drawings and frame their finished items. It is like walking into a beautifully adorned, cozy family home, and being invited to witness a magic show as the pressed copper plate leaves its detailed impression on paper. (On the way out, I always pause to admire their wooden front door. It contains an original buchetta del vino, an authentic survivor in a city where many modern wine door replicas are now created just for show.)
When I seek a similar sense of visual wonder, I love to stop by Maria Giannini’s workshop. I realized recently that I actually hold my breath when I step over her threshold, as if preparing for the excitement of entering a secret world of color and enchantment. Watching her hands dance delicately as she skillfully creates marbled paper is a mesmerizing incantation. Drops of color spin and swirl across the liquid surface, and as she slides the paper across, you become a spectator to an exceptional marvel. Every sheet is unique, just like every journal and book she and her uncle Guido bind by hand so meticulously. It’s my reminder to appreciate the fleeting moment and to take in beauty whenever it presents itself.
Another one of my special stops is Simone Taddei, who remains one of the last masters of the ancient cuoietto fiorentinotechnique. To be in his workshop is to experience a multi-sensorial moment in time. Surrounded by leather scraps and tools, box molds and family pictures, I love conversing with Simone. Our exchanges range from philosophy to mathematics, economy to history, a “head-cracking”, 360-degrees conversation that reminds me of the true “Renaissance man”. His crafts, so seamless and shiny, bring harmony to a nervous day: simply pick one up, smell the leather, search (in vain!) for a stitching line, and the world quickly feels perfect and clean again. Sometimes, good conversation and smooth surfaces are all you need.
When the gloominess of the world sits heavy, I find respite at Moleria Locchi and Farmacia Santissima Annunziata. It never fails. Watching the artisans at the stone wheels as they grind glass and crystal, turning raw material into gleaming, exquisitely engraved hunting scenes, detailed dreamy underwater landscapes or mesmerizing stars, is my recipe for happiness. Their ability to create such glistening beauty without breaking the glass is a personal reminder of soft determination through difficult moments. The Locchi family are so naturally radiant, it only takes a few words with them to turn a bad day around. They remind me that using care and treading lightly on sharp matters is the best way to dull a challenging moment.
Similarly, a visit to Elena at her downtown apothecary is an invigorating prompt on numb days. Her enthusiastic approach to scents and to life, seen through an olfactory perspective, is a refreshing jolt. Walking amidst the Farmacia’s antique ceramic containers, measuring tools, perfumes and creams, is an instant trip back to a past when spice merchant shops, prosperous traders and powerful guilds walked through a culturally rich Florence. Elena and I enjoy sharing city history and anecdotes every time I visit. She always reignites my passion for my city. Above all, her shop reminds me of the importance of taking a moment to stop, close your eyes and breathe in a scent, a special kind of delight, as Proust and his madeleines once taught us.
Finally, when I have the desire to relive happy childhood moments, I make sure to stop by Fratelli Traversari or Sbigoli Terrecotte. Rekindling a friendship with siblings Daniele and Letizia over mosaics felt like fate. Learning about the colorful, secret heart locked in precious and semi-precious stones; listening to Daniele describe the arduous stone-collecting efforts of the very few gatherers still active today; watching cousin Lorenzo precisely hand-slice and cut each rock into pieces that will create puzzle-like masterpieces; and listening to Letizia recount how Murano glass rods can create millimetrically precise micro-mosaic—that is my idea of reconnecting. I wish I were able to generate such beauty, but learning to draw serenity from its contemplation is just as valuable: it teaches one to appreciate with gratitude.
The same thought crosses my mind whenever I step into Chiara and Lorenza’s workshop, followed closely by “if only I could paint so well”, though one day I’ll sign up for a workshop with them! That same childhood happiness washes over me when I step into their pottery bottega. Some of their patterns have graced the homes of every true Florentine for generations, protecting and enhancing my sense of belonging. Seeing the table settings, oil bottles and cachepots of my youth is ever so comforting. But knowing the sisters personally has shown me the depth of running a family business: the delicate balance of preserving heritage, while daring to innovate. Once again, it is a lesson for me to jot down for my own project.
Thinking about all of this today, as I wave goodbye to my team after the last photoshoot, I look back at that silent city heartbeat with awe. It was that very stillness that set a marvelous, hopeful process in motion. Situations are what you make of them. And I just feel like singing Azzurro, once again.