commoffice – Finding Florence

Why are students studying abroad not visiting Venice as much as anywhere else?

In order to understand my perspective about Italy, we must start in Florence. I live 40 minutes away from my school, and must take a long, quick paced walk each day to make it to my classes and meetings on time. As the weather has changed, so has Florence with tourists arriving in waves and collecting outside the Duomo and Palazzo Vecchico. This addition of tourists has added 10 more minutes to my hike each day. This factor has made me start to dislike my days in Florence, and get what I am calling “Florence Street Fatigue.” This is not to say I don’t like Florence, I just am starting to get frustrated on my days where I have to work and walk though popular areas just to get where I need to be on time.

One week I decided to take a train up to Venice and have a little escape. My train of course got delayed due to train strikes, and eventually made its way. I wasn’t feeling good due to the lack of sleep I had gotten the night before, but kept on moving nonetheless. This bad feeling didn’t last long because when I stepped off the train, the humid, salty air instantly made me feel revived. The sun was shining (after a month of rain in Florence, this was a relief), and the birds were chirping. I checked into my hostel and had this girl say hello to me. Five minutes later she and I had become friends, and were inseparable until the moment I left. We took the train to the island, and walked out into the sun speechless. Each way you look there was a different architecture style, boats, gondolas, restaurants bustling with business, stores and most importantly pigeons.

Now, I don’t know what the deal is with pigeons in Italy, but they really have no problem being stepped on, and stood right next to, because to them we are food supply. There were several instances where they were not going to get out of my way, and were prepared to stand their ground. I have never in my life, not in New York City or anywhere else have experienced such animals with character. Chasing and trying to step on them became my new favorite game, because why are they trying to eat my parmesan and bread?

Anyways, I walked over the bridge of sighs and went to the Doge’s Palace. The walk inside the museum, I came to learn, is a very unique one. As I walked over, I noticed tons of people taking photos and I couldn’t see what. This experience was so cool, and all the ceilings were lined with gold frames inside the museum. I love museums and it was such a unique and cool experience to see that Venice had its own army at the same time as the Romans, as well as prison cells you could visit. I even visited my first ballroom (that I can recall), and it took my breath away. Nothing in a T.V. show or movie has ever compared to how beautiful the one at the Correr Museum was; it makes the ones in Bridgerton look like a joke.

After purchasing more souvenirs than I needed, I noticed how much less crowded Venice was than Florence. This quickly became my oasis away from studying. I think it was so unique that the main transportation of the island was by boat, and it ended up really being the fastest way around the island! I didn’t experience as many people stopping in front of me or bumping into me.

My favorite activity I signed up for was the island tours of Murano and Burano. I’ve seen glassblowing presentations before, but never one in less than 10 minutes, and of a horse with great detail! It’s amazing to me how their family secrets have stood the test of time, and carried on in today’s society. On the island of Burano I have never seen lace made by hand, but I really have been missing out on that thus far in my life.

If you haven’t been convinced to spend a weekend in Venice, let me tell you how much fun I had wandering. Each road of course has a dead end one way or another leading to the water, but always has tiny little shops and gelato are around every corner. One of my favorite shop wandering experiences I had was in a little artist’s shop called Armonie Venezia. This space was tiny but mighty with little scrolls and handmade masks in every corner. I spent some time chatting with the artist learning about his trade, and how much his shop means to him. As a journalist, I am always looking for stories, but my curiosity gets the better of me frequently. He explained and educated about the history of Carnevale, and how important it is to Venetians, which apparently are very few, these days on the island.

And coming full circle, I am still unsure of why study abroad students are not choosing Venice as a popular choice for their full weekends. Almost all the people I have met at FUA or other schools choose Venice for one day, or not at all. I still feel like I need to go back, and it has plenty of history and excitement to explore. While it’s not Rome, Venice is still amazing and unique in its own way. It was cheap to stay one train ride away, and had many islands to go visit and explore if you wanted to venture out. I loved my experience, and honestly I enjoyed it more than the overnight buses I’ve been taking out of the country for weekends. My short train ride from Florence allowed me the opportunity to make the most out of my weekend and enjoy a full 3 days immersed in the culture.

Does this mean my perspective of Florence has maybe shifted due to how much work I do? Possibly. I think I really do love the ocean, because I grew up in Colorado and have only seen it a handful of times, but Venice really was magical and special. Florence crowds to me are in no way a comparison to the hidden gem of Venice. Each corner had a different story to tell, and the best gelato you’ll ever have.

My first trip after breaking my leg

written by Laurel Swanz

The week before the break between the 3-week intensive and 11-week semesters, I got some of the worst news of my adult life.

My tibia was broken and I needed to ensure proper healing.

Like most study abroad students, I had big plans for my break: Venice for Mardi Gras and, ironically, a skiing and hiking trip to Grindelwald, Switzerland.

Unlike most study abroad students, I became mostly immobilized before even attending more than three classes.

Obviously, I crashed out at first, wondering if my whole experience was ruined, asking why me… but that’s a story for another day. I just got back from the trip of a lifetime!

My friend Laney had planned a trip to visit me long before the tibia malfunction, and we knew we wanted to see some countries outside of Italy.

We weren’t going to let it stop us from achieving this goal, and her trip fell when I had just been granted 50% weight bearing on the broken leg. So, I decided I was finally ready to travel.

After a month of the worst FOMO imaginable, watching my peers explore the world, the trip felt like chugging ice-cold water after waking up parched in the middle of the night or finishing a (painful) marathon.

A study abroad student secret: we used SmartTrip to book a long weekend in Budapest, Vienna, and Salzburg. It was affordable and surprisingly accessible. We loaded up my trusty red wheelchair and crutches and were on our way via charter bus late Thursday, March 19…47 days after my little accident.

One thing you should know about Laney and I is that we have never and will never run out of things to talk about, so the nine-hour bus ride was tolerable. The hard-earned special treatment of being given the whole back row of the bus to ourselves, allowing me to put my leg up for the journey, helped, too.

We watched Laney’s favorite movie, “Before Sunrise,” set in Vienna, and discussed the intricacies of the dialogue, the simplicities and complications of love and the meaning of life…a typical viewing experience for us.

Before we knew it, George Ezra’s “Budapest” was blasting over the bus speakers, marking our arrival. We dropped our things off at the hostel, enjoyed free breakfast and made our way to the walking tour, or as I called it, the rolling tour. Get it? I couldn’t walk.

Laney was a trooper, pushing my wheelchair all over the city. We saw all the sights and learned about “Buda” and “Pest,” who were actually two dudes that started two different cities across the Danube River from each other that eventually combined into one. The two sides of Budapest still have a rivalry, by the way.

While most of our tour group went to the famous thermal baths of Budapest, Laney and I opted for a lesser-known, more adorable attraction — MiniPig Cafe Budapest.

For the purpose of this blog, let’s not think too hard about the ethics of animal cafes. My leg was broken and I was sure some little creatures would make me feel better, and I’m happy to report that I was completely correct.

We sat on the ground of the cafe for half an hour while the fuzzy pigs wriggled and oinked all over the place. Within 2 minutes, the pigs had made every attempt to eat my crutches, which consequently had to be removed from their reach. Within 5, I understood Fern from Charlotte’s Web better than ever before. Two little pigs had curled right up in our laps and fallen peacefully asleep between our legs.

A baby minipig at the MiniPig Cafe Budapest.

Saying goodbye to the pigs was made easier by the fact that we had a prosecco cruise booked that evening. After a delicious meal of Hungarian street food, we rolled over to the dock.

I had to be rolled backwards in the wheelchair down the ramp to get to the boat, which felt like an honest-to-God rollercoaster. I threw my arms up in the air to humor the line of passengers watching.

Yet again, the universe granted me special treatment — our very own designated seats right at the front of the boat, “Titanic-style” as the cruise owner put it.

As we sailed past the Hungarian Parliament Building with a perfect view, I felt a feeling I hadn’t felt before about my whole leg situation. It wasn’t gratitude, not even close, but something close to peace.

Me on the Prosecco cruise looking at the Hungarian Parliament Building.

Yes, something awful happened, no matter how much I wish it didn’t. But that doesn’t mean no good can come from it. Good can come from everything, and as cliché as it sounds, it’s up to us to look for it, even if focusing on the bad parts comes a lot more naturally. In this case, I assure you the negative thoughts won for about a month straight. My Hungarian/Austrian adventure was an overdue turning point.

The morning after our Prosecco-soaked night in Budapest, bright and early, Vienna was waiting for us. I slept the whole bus ride and enjoyed a much-needed (seated) shower before embarking on a wiener-seeking mission.

The words “wiener” and “wien” are everywhere in Vienna, to mine and Laney’s immature delight. We were cracking up left and right, only to discover, of course, that “Wien” is German for Vienna. Hence why we know sausages as “wieners” — it literally means “from Vienna.” So we had to try some authentic sausages, and they did not disappoint.

Instead of joining the group for the guided tour, we went to key spots featured in “Before Sunrise,” allowing Laney to step right onto the set of a movie that means so much to her.

The drive Sunday morning was gorgeous, filled with mountains and adorable Austrian villages. Salzburg was breathtaking. After an action-packed weekend, we chose to relax and soak up the sun in Mirabell Gardens.

Laney and I in Mirabell Gardens.

Here, I met the love of my life. A Shiba Inu. For context, Shibas are my favorite dog breed. I love their pointy ears, curly tails and fuzzy faces. But Shibas don’t tend to love me back. I try to pet them every time I see one, but they are known for their standoffish attitudes and signature side eye, and that’s typically what I get.

This Shiba was a breath of fresh air, a light in this dark world. He jumped all over my wheelchair, licked me and held onto me with his paws. It was magical. Finally, a Shiba matched my energy. After watching countless videos of Shibas online, it felt like meeting a celebrity.

Meeting my new best friend.

Then we went on a nutcracker hunt. Laney collects them, and Salzburg is known for its Christmas markets. By the time we finally found the perfect one, it was time to head back to Florence.

Reflecting on my storied weekend, I have a few key takeaways.

All three cities I visited were significantly more wheelchair friendly than Florence. The roads were mostly flat with a ramp on nearly every sidewalk, compared to Florence’s indescribably bumpy cobblestone streets. Have you ever ridden on a wooden rollercoaster? It’s like that, minus the seatbelt, plus thousands of staring tourists who won’t move out of your way.
European architecture is breathtaking, and pictures do not do it justice.
When traveling in Europe, go in the churches.
And on the bridges!
The nightlife in Hungary and Austria is unmatched. I finally got to party!
I won the friend lottery in 7th grade when I met Laney.
I might need to get a Shiba. (or a pig?)
Everything is going to be okay.

How Moradi il Sedicente Keeps Art Alive in Florence

written by Kaylin Martinez, Elena Beenblossom & Rachel Ward

This blog feature is an exclusive bonus installment to our Fall 2025 issue of Blending Magazine. After you finish reading, be sure to explore the rest of the magazine online—just follow this link to download the full Fall 2025 edition:
https://jschoolfua.com/images/BM/BM_151.pdf

In the heart of Renaissance Florence, history is not just confined to museum walls; instead, it floods the streets, where the art can truly come alive. Florentine street artist, Moradi il Sedicente, creates art through his surrounding resources, intentionally interacting with the environment around him. As an artist, Moradi believes that art “shouldn’t be trapped in galleries — it should grow from the ground, from the city itself.”

Born in Florence in 1980, Moradi creates art organically, made from branches, leaves, axes, and memory. Looking further into his pieces, it is visible that his works have a deeper meaning; his installations are mostly found in places that he knows well, spaces that he can connect with and understand. Originally having a passion for painting, Moradi found inspiration through nature and what it evokes. He began to adopt the theory behind street art, aiming to connect his art with his viewers. Pieces that have been seen around Florence have revolved mainly around animals made out of wood, but the meaning goes beyond that. Seen through his social media, he further explains the depth behind his pieces. For instance, “I’ve always believed that Nature should take back her space” (27 April 2020). That is supporting the sculpture of a deer standing by the River Arno.

When walking through Florence, it is not uncommon to come across one of Moradi’s creations emerging from an unexpected corner of the city. A realistic crocodile covered in bark sits on Lungarno Torrigiani, while a statue of a unicorn stands tall in Anoncella Park, serving as a symbol of rebirth after a destructive storm that destroyed the park in 2015.

Each sculpture seamlessly blends into the surroundings of the city due to the natural materials used to build it. Viewers of the artwork are typically drawn in by the details used in creating these pieces, unsure at first whether they are seeing an artwork or something that has simply taken shape on its own. This quiet merging of art and environment captures the essence of Moradi’s work, inviting viewers to rediscover the connection between nature and urban life.

Moradi’s creations often emerge from what others might overlook, materials such as discarded branches, fragments of wood, and remnants of nature. By reconstructing these materials into expressive, often animalistic forms, he gives new life to the remnants of the natural world. Florence’s environment seems to bring each piece to life with its artistic history, architecture, and heritage. This relationship between Moradi’s work and Florence’s identity is central to his practice. The city of Florence has long been defined by its appreciation for the Renaissance era, and Moradi’s work is an extension of that natural beauty that was once so prevalent. His materials are fragile, temporary, and deeply tied to the cycles of life and death in nature. Instead of striving for timelessness, he allows his works to weather, to rot, to be reclaimed by their environment. Viewers of his work comment, “his pieces don’t stand out at a first glance, and then suddenly it’s there, like the city is breathing.”

After a quick scroll through Moradi il Sedicente’s Instagram page, his devotion to his art becomes very apparent. As he describes, his work is “a profound journey of listening, creation, and connection, where nature, landscape, and community intertwine in a single, vibrant breath” (23 July 2025). This statement reflects his belief that each piece is more than a sculpture, and is a direct act of participation with Florence’s surroundings and those who inhabit it. Moradi’s art is not meant to be admired as a singular work of art but as part of the street art culture of Florence. His “installations that blend with the territory, inviting passers-by to pause, observe, and feel” (8 August 2025) embody the idea that art should emerge from life itself. In this way, his social media presence extends his practice beyond the physicalities, becoming another form of connection, and sharing the evolving relationship between art and nature.

Through his blending of tradition and modern technique, Moradi has the means to reshape the understanding of what it is like to be a contemporary Florentine artist today. His sculptures, crafted from reclaimed materials and natural elements, serve as quiet reminders that beauty in Florence is not only in its past but also in a constant transformation. Moradi’s work invites both tourists and locals to reflect on the placement and purpose of the art, suggesting that creativity in Florence is not confined to its museums or monuments. Instead, it lives and evolves within the everyday landscape, continuing the city’s long tradition of reinvention through artistic expression.

Little Things That Last

Florence’s Love for Physical Memories and Moments

written by Reegan Parker, Sophie Mosolino & Grace Heffernan

In a world where memories live on screens, Italy still treasures those you can hold in your hands. From collecting an abundance of old receipts from local cafes, to postcards in little shops, to stopping at a vintage photo booth to capture a night with your friends, the charm of Italian travel is not stored in photo albums or Instagram posts. These small physical items we’ve collected throughout several months of living here serve as little stepping stones of a life journey we will never forget. These tangible mementos keep the memories abroad alive.

Italian Momentos

Italy is a country that celebrates the art of slowing down a busy life and noticing the small beauties hidden inside little cobblestoned streets, trattorias, and museums. A simple business card of a cafe can take you back to the best croissant you’ve ever had, a postcard from Cinque Terre can bring back the visuals of bright colored buildings and bottles of limoncello. Even an empty wine bottle can shift you back to reminiscing a night filled with laughter and the people you were with. Postcards, a piece of jewelry, or an empty candy wrapper can provide a sense of closeness to the traditions that Florence has to offer. They can even be brought back to America to remember what it felt like to be immersed in this beautiful culture.

Preserved Memories

To further our observations, we asked a few of our roommates also studying abroad in Florence what physical objects they hold close to them. Many of them cherish the Fotoautomatica photo booth strips. They shared that the photo strips remind them of spontaneous nights out with their best friends, preserving a happy moment in time with the flash of a camera. The vintage look of

the photos is unique to any other photo you could take on a cell phone and print out, providing a different and nostalgic sense of emotion that brings back memories every time you look at it. For instance, one of our friends has collected postcards everywhere she has traveled, from Paris to Greece. “I’m keeping these forever,” she says as the postcards are displayed proudly on her bulletin board. These physical mementos will hold a place in most everyone’s heart, and hands, which makes it so special to keep them preserved for a lifetime.

A Cultural Souvenir

Furthermore, the attachment to physical objects is deeply rooted in Italian culture, a culture that proudly preserves its history. From making pasta with your hands, to pouring the perfect glass of

Chianti wine with pride, Italy treasures the physical parts of experiences. In America, we’ve experienced the shift of most things being digitalized for ease and efficiency. This goes hand in hand with the dynamic, capitalistic culture of the United States many have grown up with. This is very different from the cultures we have experienced in Italy, where schedules are slower and structured with intentional rest and reset. People in Florence walk slower, enjoy lengthy meals with friends and family, and life is seen to be enjoyed and not occupationally or financially maximized. The objects and mementos have reflected these mannerisms, to savor and remember each moment spent through something physical. As sojourners visiting Italy for a stretch of time, these simple mementos and joys are something we recognize and cherish, and we will proudly bring back these pieces of Italian culture and community with us when we return to America.

Across the River

written by Jack Eckhart

We wade across the crowded Ponte Vecchio, trying to stay out of tourists’ photographs and dodge street vendors hawking odd toys. Finally crossing, the crowd slowly fades as we venture up a steep hill toward Piazzale Michelangelo. Each step we take provides reprieve from the fast-paced Florence I spend most of my days.

As I continue climbing, nature begins to emerge quietly reasserting its dominance on the land it once controlled. Soggy leaves cover a winding cobblestone road. On each side of the street walls provide homes an additional layer of security from the city. Muffled thumps echo down the road out of my Onitsuka Tigers as I get more lost in the hills. With no end in sight I keep moving forward allowing the road to control my fate.

Eventually the soft hum of cars slowly became less and less faint, as I’m dumped out of my peaceful sanctuary onto a busy road. Following the cars deeper into the hills, I throw my headphones in, drowning out the noise.

Looking out I can see fragments of the city around tree branches and in between homes, never seeing the entire city. Each glimpse reminds me of the overwhelming beauty possessed by the city.

When I finally reach a small overlook with nothing marked, nothing out of the ordinary, I stop. Below me, Florence splinters into terracotta rooftops and thin smoke rises from chimneys, the Arno a silver ribbon threading everything together. It isn’t the grand view tourists climb for, but it feels earned, like a secret the city didn’t mind giving up today.

I stand there longer than I planned, letting the wind tug at my jacket, and the city settle into its tiny compartments below. And as I turn back toward the road, toward the descent I know is coming, I realize this is the part of Florence I’m always searching for: the quiet in-between, the spaces where the city finally lets me breathe.

The Beating Heart Above Florence

A place where sunsets, cameras and people meet to be present

written by Maëlys Brunet

As the city slowly changes from season to season, we are constantly reminded of Piazzale Michelangelo as the beating heart of Florence. Especially during the summer months. The Piazzale remains alive through both tourists and locals, particularly at sunset, as wanderers gather on the steps with a simple glass of wine to listen to a band’s music or take pictures as a souvenir of the moment, as time pauses, just for a moment. This Florence phenomenon stirs curiosity about the aura the city holds in people’s hearts, a current that pulses through and unites communities.

Piazzale Michelangelo seems nowadays as a rite of passage, a go-to place when visiting Florence to admire the city’s iconic skyline. But what about its history? Built in 1869 by Giuseppe Poggi, it was originally meant to just be a terrace, celebrating Michelangelo’s art. A representation of progress, but also modernity and the future, as Florence was the capital of Italy during that time. Nowadays, we see Piazzale Michelangelo as a place to slow down, reconnect to the beauty of the city, with a crowd to accompany us into this poetic journey.

The typical route to Piazzale Michelangelo is just as memorable as the view itself. Beginning from the tower of San Niccolò, take the ascending stairs and path between the large trees. The climb begins as we slowly rise above the city of Florence, in anticipation of the view that awaits, as if leading towards something sacred. Then, the main terrace appears, the crowd gets denser, and the city spreads below. In the golden hour of the evening, music plays in the background and people dance to its infectious beat. Monuments wear orange and yellow as the sun begins to set, offering the perfect moment for multiple photoshoots to spontaneously appear. Phones and digital cameras alike click with the same rhythm as conversation or laughs.

Piazzale Michelangelo is the place where multiple generations meet to capture the essence of Florence. As a guitarist tunes his strings, he shares that although the people there always change, the sunset and view remain a constant. There is poetry when we stare at the landscape, thinking it was approximately the same view as the one our ancestors looked out at centuries ago. People at first come for a simple view, then leave with memories, connections and hearts filled with emotion. Here the sunset isn’t edited, it is put on display, shown in its raw form to its audience.

Looking away from the view and back towards the crowd, students share a bottle of wine, while pizzas are eaten by a family visiting from abroad. All the while, social media enthusiasts are trying to capture the perfect shot. A couple stairs down, people listen to music, dance to the rhythm of guitars and saxophones, and cheers can be heard for a couple that just got engaged. This place holds authentic moments of life and connection that will never be forgotten.

As night approaches, some remain while others venture further, all the way to San Miniato al Monte – a hidden place above Piazzale Michelangelo – to admire the city from a similar perspective. Apart from the overwhelming crowd and movement, you find peace and quietness, almost like coming out of a dream. Two different atmospheres but only a single feeling remains unchanged: reassurance and interaction.

In those small interactions, it is where Piazzale Michelangelo holds its core, being something rare and precious to keep hold of. A moment apart from digital, inviting those that gather to be there mentally, with your own thoughts, to live in the moment rather than posting it. The space gathers both past and present. Life and art coexist around a skyline view, with a community to share the same moment with, just for a couple of minutes… or even a couple of hours.

In an age of constant digital scrolling, Piazzale Michelangelo remains a symbol of the contrary. Not every view needs to be shared or posted on social media, as it must be experienced and lived through the senses and presence of people around us. The difference lies in the fact that the beauty of the square can be shared through both photos and memory, however those emotions we feel when in its presence, cannot be replicated on the digital screen.

When we look at Piazzale Michelangelo, we can see its beauty in the different communities it brings together. Some live in the moment, as a break, an aside, a moment apart from the fast pace of life. We take this moment to slow down, take a step back, and enjoy the present moment with friends, family, or alone. Others may take advantage of the moment by capturing a memory, particularly through digital means, engaging in an online community.

Piazzale Michelangelo explores the possibilities and redefines the opportunity to come together as a community, whether in-person or virtually. This place in Florence demonstrates a new perception of what a community can be, beyond what we are used to seeing, while continuing on the same path of harmony and the search for unforgettable moments.

Jazz Revival Amongst the Youth

With the recent closure of Florence’s Jazz Club, allow this to be read as an ode to a staple in past study abroad students’ daily lives, with hopes of bringing back fond memories. In addition, this blog feature is an exclusive bonus installment to our Fall 2025 issue of Blending Magazine. After you finish reading, be sure to explore the rest of the magazine online—just follow this link to download the full Fall 2025 edition:
https://jschoolfua.com/images/BM/BM_151.pdf

written by Clara Koster, Hailey Kookaby, Tess Letendre & Peri Raczynski

“Going to Jazz Club felt like being at home in New York,” said Colleen, a student at Florence University of the Arts (FUA). For many students, the Jazz Club offers a familiar, intimate vibe — a break from the usual bars and techno nights of Florence. The dimly lit venue, tucked into a side street, draws students in with the promise of soulful music and a warm, relaxed atmosphere.

Despite being an older style of music, jazz is finding new resonance among the city’s youth. A sign of its relevance is when a place appeals to students, who have consistently driven cultural trends. The sound of jazz now drifts through the streets of Florence, played by street performers and live musicians, sparking curiosity and excitement for a nightlife experience that emphasizes listening rather than dancing.

The Jazz Club opened in 1979 and has consistently offered live performances. While jazz is the primary style, rock, R&B, and blues are also commonly heard. The club is small, and lines begin to form about a half hour before doors open, mostly made up of students eager to see what the venue has to offer. Guests are greeted at the desk, pay cover, and receive a membership card — their first drink included, with future visits covered by the card.

Reactions to the club vary. “I thought it was kind of boring,” stated Harleigh, another student. “It’s not like the other bars I usually go to.” Devon, a classmate, described her experience as “amazing,” citing her deep love and appreciation for jazz. Maria, another student, elaborated on how she prefers Thursday nights for blues sets, saying, “It’s slower, moodier and fits the atmosphere better than Wednesday nights, which are more crowded.” Despite the differing opinions, one thing is clear: the Jazz Club leaves a lasting impression on those who seek it out.

For our own visit, the ambiance was immediately striking. The room was filled with resonant bass tones, the wail of the saxophone, and a sense of focus on the music. Students swayed gently to the rhythm, some closing their eyes to fully immerse themselves, while others held quiet conversations without shouting over the music. The atmosphere was comforting and welcoming, creating a space where anyone interested in music could feel at home.

The Jazz Club’s blend of historical charm and contemporary appeal illustrates Florence’s ongoing artistic legacy. Students like Tatum Park appreciate the club as a break from conventional “college” music, feeling connected to the city’s long-standing appreciation for music and art. Similarly, Colleen finds nostalgia and familiarity in the experience, while Devon finds inspiration and awe. The club demonstrates that even older musical forms, when presented thoughtfully, can engage and excite a younger generation.

While most students gravitate toward techno-heavy clubs and crowded bars, the Jazz Club offers something different: a revival of old-fashioned musical reception. It’s a space where students can experience live jazz, blues, and other genres in a way that emphasizes presence and connection. In Florence, a city steeped in artistic and musical heritage, the Jazz Club has become a bridge between past and present, giving students a new way to engage with the timeless power of music.

The Rebirthed Art of “La Vita Lenta”

Journaling: The Personal and Authentic Form of Memory

written by Liana Torres, Heather Collins & Lydia Turner

In an age where our thumbs type faster than our thoughts, the digital world feels impossible to escape. Our devices allow us to easily type reminders, organize assignments, jot down school notes, or record fleeting thoughts within seconds. Walking into a library, classroom, or café in Florence, you will often see people with iPhones in their hands, computers on their laps, and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards as they urgently take notes and revise them in record time. It’s a convenience that may seem luxurious, but people are craving originality due to the loss of creative media. It’s efficient, but detached.

A new wave of creatives, travelers, and locals in Florence is embracing a slower, more tactile ritual: taking pen to paper. Here in Italy, where beauty can be found in imperfection and time is slowed down, journaling has taken on a deeper meaning. Writing by hand anchors you in the moment, making it a physical craft that demands presence and meaningful thought.

Journaling is an extremely personal experience; a leather-bound notebook isn’t just stationery it’s an accessory, an extension of personal style. The marbled paper, the smooth pen, the color of ink chosen, every detail becomes a reflection of self. In a city renowned for its craftsmanship, from leather bags to jewelry, the journal joins the wardrobe of self-expression. To open it is to reveal not curated perfection, but raw honest thought. The choice of the journal’s cover is unique and tailored to the user’s taste, often serving as a fashion accessory. Residents and visitors alike are slowing down, mirroring the ancient streets and buildings around them, translating their experiences through ink rather than a screen.

Florence itself feels designed for reflection. The view from the rose garden at sunset, views of the Duomo, the echo of footsteps on cobblestones, and the scent of paper and ink from small workshops all invite slowness. To sit with a notebook in a Florentine café isn’t merely to write, it’s to participate in a centuries-old dialogue between beauty, and thought. The act of journaling becomes a quiet rebellion against the speed of modern life, reconnection with presence.

Psychological studies have shown that handwriting engages more areas of the brain than typing does. When the hand forms letters on paper, neural pathways responsible for memory, comprehension, and creativity become activated. Writing slows down the mind and creates deeper reflection, forming strong connections between thought, language, and page. One must think before they write, as each sentence becomes more meaningful when it cannot be easily erased. There’s something deeply human about seeing one’s thoughts take shape, imperfect and unfiltered. Typing on a computer removes the permanence, thoughtfulness, and focus that handwriting naturally gives. It is nostalgic, but also a neurological discipline. Our engagement with what we are learning, feeling, and experiencing is deepened.

Journaling is an art form in Florence. In local markets and small boutiques, hand-stitched leather notebooks and marbled papers are commonly found authentic, high-quality stationery. They signify Italy’s value for craftsmanship, and in Florence, the art of leatherwork. These boutiques also draw consumers into the old, analog world by offering products such as wax seals, personalized notecards, and fountain pens. Each item tells a story, not only of Italian craftsmanship, but of the person who chooses it.

Tourists, visitors, and students of Italy often feel compelled to document their experiences here in an honest and authentic way. Instead of simply snapping photos on their phones, many sketch their surroundings or write about their emotions in the moment, carrying their journals as if they were passports.

The Italian way of life, la vita lenta, is a philosophy of taking it easy and living in the moment. It embraces the rhythm of slowness and authenticity, valuing conversation, artistry, and the transformation of life’s seemingly mundane moments into something meaningful: a shot of espresso made by a local barista, a handwritten letter or postcard, or a leather journal carefully crafted by an Italian artisan. People can truly reflect rather than quickly react on their phones.

Journaling allows for the documentation of lived experiences; it’s a way to highlight valuable memories and live through physical paper instead of a screen. Imperfection is welcomed, and the texture of the paper carries the rawness and realness of each written experience. It is more sacred. In Florence, handwriting isn’t about rejecting technology, it’s about reclaiming something real. Paper invites you to be unfiltered, unedited, and utterly yourself.

Florence Was My True Laboratory

written by Kathleen Morris

This blog feature is an exclusive bonus installment to our Spring issue of Blending Magazine, honoring the never-ending legacy of Giancarlo Cauteruccio. After you finish reading, be sure to explore the rest of the magazine online—just follow this link to download the full Spring 2025 edition:
https://jschoolfua.com/images/BM/BM_151.pdf

A video of a massive explosion serves as the opening backdrop for the latest production directed by Giancarlo Cauteruccio, capturing the audience’s attention as vibrant flames engulf a building.

The projector screen transitions to display a montage of troops entering battle, introducing visual motifs that reappear throughout “Il ritorno del soldato,” “The Return of the Soldier.”

The application of technology is a trademark of Cauteruccio’s theatrical style, harkening back to his roots as the founder and artistic director of Teatro Studio Krypton, located in Florence, Italy. The essence of Cauterrucio’s work can be summarized in a single word: innovation.

His show, which debuted this February at Teatro Aurora, located in Scandicci – a suburb of Florence, relies heavily on technical elements to underscore war’s toll on soldiers’ families. In his introductory speech, Cauteruccio warns audiences that it is “not going to be a fun night.” Still, he emphasizes the necessity of telling a story shrouded by darkness.

The tragedy portrayed within the script is echoed by the tragic origins of the playwright himself, Saverio Strati.

Strati, a writer from the Calabria Region, lived a life of poverty and did not receive recognition for the thousands of manuscripts he had written until after his death. To revive his legacy, the show was commissioned to celebrate the centenary of the writer’s birth.

Cauteruccio acknowledged his connection to Strati, explaining, “We found ourselves in the same peripheral city of Florence, a suburb without any identity. Today it has changed, thanks to the work done by artists who experienced it.”

Upon entering Teatro Aurora, Cauteruccio’s impact on the community is evident.

The lobby overflows with fans prepared to support his latest project. Following the show, a line forms once more. This time, patrons swarm Cauteruccio to personally offer praise for “Il ritorno del soldato.”

The love that Cauteruccio holds for the region, as evidenced by his willingness to recover Strati’s lost work, is matched by the enthusiasm of his audience in Scandicci.

For decades, Cauteruccio has demonstrated a fierce commitment to Florence’s art scene. He has distinguished himself as a changemaker, tirelessly pushing boundaries and actively defying artistic precedent to modernize the industry.

“At the end of the ‘70s, I began to understand that technological evolution would lead to a transformation,” he adds.

Since the ‘80s, he has played an influential role in redefining art practices in Florence. The establishment of Teatro Studio Krypton, founded by Cauterruccio and Pina Izzi in 1982, aligned with the awakening of the city’s avant-garde movement.

“We found ourselves amid the phenomenon of postmodernity,” Cauteruccio observes.

In collaboration with other artists, he created a new language built on the notion that the theatre is “a place of synthesis” where all art forms intersect.

“I set up a job there which looked predominantly at contemporaneity,” he shares. “It was a theater of research, experimentation, and innovation… that featured poets, musicians, philosophers and architects.”

As Florence’s underground scene blossomed in the 20th century, Cauteruccio’s embrace of radical creativity fueled a movement that created instrumental progress within and beyond the theatrical realm. Undeterred by the unknown, Cauteruccio launched a revolution driven by postmodernity and new spectacularity.

“I was led to strategic approaches in a contemporary way and an aesthetic that allowed the new generations to come into contact with a language that was previously taken for granted,” he describes.

Cauteruccio refined this approach at Krypton, replacing classical music with electronic sounds and introducing the laser beam to Europe’s theatrical sphere. By rejecting tradition while honoring the elegance of past practices, his work has garnered an “explosion of interest” for half a century.

His career transcends the stage, as he has authored several books and taught at universities across Italy and the United States. In every setting, Cauteruccio considers the influence of his emergence in “The Cradle of Renaissance.”

With a hint of reverence, he declared, “Florence was my true laboratory.”

Cauteruccio concludes with a thought about the synergistic relationship between artists and their audience – one is not complete without the other. Likewise, Florence’s underground art scene would not be complete without him. As a figurehead of progress and ingenuity, Cauteruccio’s efforts will endure and ignite a spark within the next generation of trailblazers.

The Sound of Florence

written by Alena Pietrini, Clare Kearney & Autumn Verna

This blog feature is an exclusive bonus installment to our Spring issue of Blending Magazine. After you finish reading, be sure to explore the rest of the magazine online—just follow this link to download the full Spring 2025 edition:
https://jschoolfua.com/images/BM/BM_151.pdf

Pinocchio Jazz Club, located in the heart of Florence, serves as a hub for local jazz culture, offering an intimate location for both musicians and audiences. Founded by Costanza Nocentini and Daniele Sordi, the club promotes high-quality jazz music in order to create growth of both classic and emerging talent. Each Saturday, a range of performances play at the club and perform their own original compositions and jazz classics. The famous Pinocchio logo is inspired by pop culture stemming from Florence, creating a sense of community at a very intimate club. Beyond its musical contributions, Pinocchio Jazz Club plays a vital role in preserving Florence’s locality despite the increasing tourist surroundings. The club stands as a testament to Florence’s roots by offering a space for cultural exchange and a deeper connection to music. The Pinocchio Jazz Club stands tall as an important institution for both locals and visitors to celebrate Florence’s dedication to the genre.

Pinocchio Jazz Club is a well known organization located in the heart of Florence. Locals and tourists enjoy this important location for the Florence community. Costanza Nocentini and Daniele Sordi oversee the association and ensure it continues to spread jazz to as many people as possible. Nocentini revealed that the organization was founded with the goal of encouraging the growth of the local jazz community and promoting quality music that stands apart from commercial sounds. That goal has clearly been exceeded, as many jazz stars began their careers at Pinocchio Jazz Club.

Each Saturday, the club hosts a new musician who brings their own spin on jazz. Some rework classics while others perform original compositions, all contributing to the evolving nature of jazz. Pinocchio Jazz Club isn’t just a venue where people passively watch a performance, it’s a zestful space that comes alive with the effervescence of the music. The club itself sits tucked into a residential part of Florence. The surrounding area has wide streets, more greenery, and a noticeable lack of tourists. It feels like a place where people actually live, not just visit.

Inside, the setting feels intimate while also being full of enthusiasm. The lighting is vibrant and changes with the vibe of each performance, adding another dimension to them. One of the more iconic details is the famous Pinocchio riding the whale logo, which stands out in the background and reminds you of the novelty and roots of the club. The club is medium-sized, with space for people to sit at tables, making it feel inclusive no matter where you are. The performances range from full-on jam sessions with multiple musicians, to solo acts.

One of the most striking things about the shows is how often the performers will involve the audience. Since the seating is so close to the performers, it’s impossible for the audience not to get swept up in the passion of the performance. The musicians feed off the audience’s reactions, and the crowd responds in turn, creating a dynamic environment that makes each show feel different and alive. There’s a genuine sense of play between the crowd and the musicians that makes the space feel fun, warm, and communal. It’s a casual crowd as people of all ages come through, some dressed up for a night out, others just stopping by.

There’s a bar tucked into the back, and the whole place has an effortless local charm. What’s especially cool is that a lot of the musicians don’t seem to be playing off sheet music or pre-planned sets, but are simply riffing and letting the music take shape in real time. This aspect of the club just adds to its electrifying energy.

The impact of Pinocchio Jazz Club goes beyond music. It plays a critical role in preserving Florence’s local identity. Many of Florence’s visitors come just to check off the big sights and leave without ever experiencing the soul of the city. The historic center is starting to reflect that, with fast food chains and souvenir shops replacing once locally-run stores. In a city that was once defined by the Renaissance, by pushing boundaries and creating something new, it’s almost upsetting to see it slowly turn into a checklist for tourists.

Places like Pinocchio Jazz Club push back against that. They give locals and those looking to connect with the city on a deeper level a chance to do so. Pinocchio Jazz Club reminds us of the roots of Florence. Whether you come for the music, vibe, or a break from the city center, there’s something about the club that stays with attendants. Florence will always have to navigate the balance between the old and new, locals and tourists, but places like Pinocchio Jazz Club make that dynamic feel more manageable.

In the end, what makes Pinocchio Jazz Club so memorable isn’t just the music or the setting, but the sense of being part of something genuine. It’s rare to find places that blend tradition and originality so well, and even rarer to find ones that stay connected to the local community. Whether you’re a long-time jazz fan or just discovering the club, you leave knowing you’ve experienced something special.