Evening reflections at a hidden art exhibition

It's almost 10pm and I'm sitting in a dimly lit corner of the Accademia delle Arti del Disegno, nursing a glass of prosecco while observing an eclectic mix of art enthusiasts mingle around me. I hadn't planned on being here tonight. My day was supposed to end with a quiet dinner after visiting the Uffizi Gallery, but sometimes the most memorable experiences are the unplanned ones.

This morning started with the 463-step climb up Brunelleschi's dome, which I mentioned in my earlier post. The Uffizi visit in the afternoon was everything I'd hoped for—overwhelming in the best possible way. After three hours of Renaissance masterpieces, I emerged into the early evening with that particular kind of mental fatigue that comes from absorbing too much beauty at once.

I wandered aimlessly through the streets, letting my feet guide me while my mind processed fragments of Botticelli, da Vinci, and Caravaggio. The air was cool but not uncomfortable at 15°C. As I turned down a narrow street, I noticed a small poster for an exhibition closing today—"Slavko Kopač: The Hidden Treasure: Informal Art, Surrealism, Art Brut"—with special extended hours until midnight.

Curiosity piqued, I followed the signs to the Accademia. I arrived at 8:40pm, twenty minutes before the curator's guided tour was scheduled to end. The attendant smiled as I purchased my ticket, mentioning I'd just made it for the final portion of the tour and the closing reception.

I slipped into the back of a small group listening to a passionate curator discuss Kopač's unique position between surrealism and art brut. The Croatian-French artist's work struck me immediately—raw, primordial forms emerging from textured surfaces, hovering between abstraction and figuration. There was something deeply authentic about the pieces that resonated with me.

After the tour ended, the small gathering transitioned to cocktails and conversation. I found myself chatting with an elderly Italian professor who had known Kopač personally in Paris decades ago. His stories about the artist's studio—a chaotic wonderland of found objects, natural materials, and works in progress—painted a vivid picture of a man who lived entirely on his own terms.

"He was never interested in following trends," the professor told me. "He simply made what he needed to make, like breathing."

That sentiment has stayed with me throughout the evening. Here I am, 79 days into my journey with 421 still ahead, wondering about authenticity. Am I traveling the way I truly want to, or am I following some prescribed notion of what a world traveler should do?

My time in Varenna taught me to slow down, to value depth over breadth. Tonight's unexpected art encounter feels like another nudge in that direction—a reminder that sometimes the most meaningful experiences aren't found in the guidebooks or on the must-see lists.

The exhibition space is beginning to thin out now. The fog warning that was issued for tonight is already visible through the windows—wispy tendrils curling through the streetlights. Tomorrow I'll visit the Accademia Gallery to see Michelangelo's David, and perhaps wander through the Boboli Gardens if the weather permits. But I'm also leaving space for whatever Florence might reveal when I'm not looking too hard.

I should head back to my hotel soon. The streets will be getting foggy, and I've heard there's a railway strike coming that might affect some services tomorrow. Nothing that impacts my plans directly, but a reminder that flexibility is always necessary when traveling.

As I finish my prosecco, I can't help but wonder what Kopač would think about my journey. Would he see it as authentic expression or carefully curated performance? Perhaps a bit of both, as most human endeavors tend to be.

Good night from Florence, where even the fog has an artistic quality to it.