study abroad – Finding Florence

Letting go of Plan A

What happens when you move to a walkable city for study abroad, then lose your ability to walk?

written by Laurel Swanz

It was supposed to be my fourth day of class.

Instead, I was alone in the back of a taxi, going back to the hospital for the second time in two days.

I sat, my head resting on the window and my right leg up on the seat next to me, pain reverberating in my knee with every bump the cab hit. In Florence, that’s every few seconds.

I watched out the window as students, school bags on, cappuccinos in hand, walked to class. It was, ironically, raining outside, and even more ironically, the radio station seemed to be set to Depression.fm.

“All by Myself” was genuinely playing as the tears started to fall. I let the misery sink in.

All I could think was “why me?” Why does everyone else seem to be having a normal study abroad experience, or at least one closer to what they expected?

When I got to the hospital, I quickly learned I wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. My leg was broken, a tibial plateau fracture. I’d be having surgery to ensure proper healing in three days and stay in the hospital for a week after that.

It was unclear exactly how long recovery would take, but certain I would not walk for at least 2 months without crutches.

It had happened a few days prior on a Saturday night, January 31. My very first night out with friends turned into a nightmare before I even realized I’d fallen down.

My best friend McCall and I were running to catch up with our friends when we came across Santa Maria Novella, which has patches of grass in front of it, surrounded by low wire fences. I saw the little fence and didn’t think twice about jumping over it as I ran — it was less than a foot tall and I was certain I’d clear it.

What I didn’t anticipate was the uneven terrain on the other side. McCall and I went down, one right after the other. The full force of my jump and weight of my body pummeled into my right knee. I tried to stand and felt excruciating pain, buckling to the ground.

I sat and stared in disbelief at the Grand Hotel Minerva in front of me, the beautiful historic church to my right. I heard someone approach McCall to help her up, but my mind was floating off to some place faraway, trying to escape the reality of what had happened.

“That guy just took my phone!” McCall yelled, panicked. That snapped me out of it.

Feigning concern for our well-being, a stranger had pulled McCall off the ground by her forearm, taking her phone with him in one swift motion before disappearing into the night. She raced after him as quickly as she could on a sprained ankle, but he was gone.

We called her parents from my phone, and they helped us calm down and get a taxi home, where what was once a minor inconvenience became my sworn enemy: the 4 flights of stairs to our apartment.

Heroically, like a mother lifting a car off her child with pure adrenaline, McCall cradled me in her arms and marched us up the steps.

All I could do was ask, “What did I do?” again and again the whole way up.

I was devastated. Everything I’d wanted from this experience – independence, discovery, adventure – felt completely out of reach, stolen from me in an instant.

And for about two weeks, I let my devastation consume me. I was a shell of myself, in near-constant pain, envious of my peers to the point of resentment. Hearing them talk about their weekend trips across Europe in class when I had been pushed there in a wheelchair by my mom was beyond frustrating – it was downright isolating.

“Props to you, I would have just gone home,” they’d say, intended as a testament to my strength. I didn’t feel strong.

“Easy for you to say,” I’d think. “I’ll never have a chance like this again, and now it’s ruined.”

I searched for meaning. Did I do something to deserve this? I’d worked so hard to make studying abroad a reality for myself, working multiple jobs and applying for scholarships.

I’d looked forward to it for a whole year, letting the prospect of having the time of my life in Italy bring me comfort during some of the most stressful months of my life, expecting it to change everything.

Well, it did…just not in the way I wanted it to.

If I’ve learned anything from this experience, it’s that life doesn’t usually give you what you want how you want it, especially if what you’re asking for is growth. Because growth isn’t comfortable.

I wanted to come to Italy and get closer to my truest self, and was met with the painful reality that it wouldn’t come easily.

Now, writing this on the train back to Florence from a 5-day solo trip, a week from the end of my program, I’m still pissed that I broke my leg. But I also got exactly what I wanted. I am closer to my truest self, because I learned how to separate feeling like myself from the presence of joy and sit with what just was even when it felt so unfair.

There was no cosmic reason for it to happen. It just did. Sometimes bad things just happen and it’s up to you to make meaning out of it, or as the corny shirt my aunt bought me from the souvenir shop says, “make limoncello” from the lemons.

I had to find gratitude when I felt cursed, happiness when I felt hapless, the strength to get out of bed when I couldn’t stand on both feet, and self-assurance when I couldn’t get anywhere without someone else’s help.

Not to mention an apartment crutching distance from school with an elevator in a city that hasn’t been upgraded since basically the Renaissance…

And I did it all. I still got to see more of the world at 22 than most people do by 50.

With the help of therapy, physical therapy, family who’d cross oceans to help me, friends who’d pick me up from my apartment to push me to class, and really good travel health insurance, everything started looking up.

Exactly two months after my surgery, I was able to put full weight back on my leg. I still had a month and a week left abroad, and I booked a trip for every remaining spare minute. And every trip I’ve gone on, you best believe I’ve appreciated every second more deeply than I ever could have if this hadn’t happened. I will never take my mobility for granted again.

Most importantly, I won’t take the people who love me for granted. Even when I was cranky and crying, when I could barely talk about anything other than how upset I was, they showed up for me. They made me laugh and picked me up off the ground (even literally, shoutout McCall). They helped me remember who I am.

Never again will I view needing help as a weakness. I had a hard time with it at first, especially the wheelchair. I don’t like being pitied or feeling out of control. I really don’t like feeling dependent on others. Now I’ve come to understand that’s what community is for. We’re not supposed to do it all on our own.

Accepting help doesn’t equate to relinquishing independence. In this case, it allowed me to keep it. Because my family and friends were there to help me get around, get groceries, take my trash out and clean my apartment, I didn’t have to go home.

I got to go to Ischia this weekend, climb to the top of a medieval castle (as in, stairs!) and look out at the sun setting over the sea, knowing that I didn’t lie down and die along with my expectations when my leg broke three months ago. So, when life places more metaphorical low-wire fences and uneven ground in my path, I know I’ll be okay even if I trip.

“You know what you do when Plan A doesn’t work out?” my therapist asked me on a Zoom call taken from my hospital bed on the day I was admitted. “You kick the sh*t out of Plan B.”

Anti-Algorithm Discoveries

How a Hidden Thrift Shop Serves as a Reminder to Explore Unplugged

written by Annie Lund & Alex Schraufnagl

This blog feature is an exclusive bonus installment to the Spring 2026 issue of Blending Magazine: Are the Streets still Made for Dreaming?

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

On any given weekday, the doors of San Remigio Catholic church are sealed shut and its stone steps are likely filled with patrons enjoying a sandwich from one of the dozens of panino stores nearby. Heads are lurched down at phones, searching for their next “must-see” Florentine adventure.

People spend their afternoons scrolling the internet for the newest Italian trend, and chasing a version of Florence that has already been curated for them. However, on Saturday and Sunday nights, the church steps draw a different crowd. Not a passerby rushing between reservations, but those curious enough to notice a small room off the sanctuary that warmly glows with an open door.

Immediately upon entry to Mercatino Parrocchiale, you’re met with the smell of old books and a circle of Italian women conversing. Jewelry, artwork, photos, and clothing litter the room with no rhyme, reason or price tags. Trinkets and treasures are priced however the women say, typically under five euros.

All items are donated, the market is only open on weekend nights, and proceeds support the church ministry. As you weave through the aisles of the shop, you find yourself getting lost in the hundreds of dusty items lining the shelves while the comforting buzz of Italian conversation lingers in your ears.

In an era where Florence has become a hotspot for viral meals, shops and photogenic storefronts, Mercatino Parrocchiale is a symbol of discovery without TikTok or Google reviews. It stands for what international students and tourists crave but can’t articulate– the feeling of curiosity that leads to organic finds.

It’s hard not to notice the algorithmic feel of the city given the lines stretch around corners, crowds gathered in familiar clusters, and entire days planned based on what appears on a screen. Even the location of the market showcases the popularity of Florence’s city center with bustling nightlife and viral sandwich shops.

This modern way of travel through social media feels familiar. A TikTok shows you exactly what you’re going to get before you walk through the doors of an establishment, leading to a predictable and pre-tested experience. Individual restaurants and shops in Florence have gone viral for singular meals and products, which become the establishment’s entire identity.

Mercatino Parrocchiale offers an entirely different experience, where the place is defined by the people that come together in it rather than a singular item. The uniquely authentic feeling of the thrift comes from the people who create it, not the products they sell.

San Remigio’s market is a product of people coming together, offering a unique experience that is often hidden beneath an endless reel of digital content. This tiny thrift store represents a quieter, unfamiliar layer of the city that often goes unnoticed in the noise of its digital counterparts.

No one is telling you which items are worth picking up and there is no viral moment attached to a specific corner of the room, leading to an experience that feels authentic and unfamiliar. Visitors to the market must pick through the donated goods and find items that speak to them, offering a new authentic experience where souvenirs are not pre-picked by influencers or the plethora of travelers who post about their experience in Florence.

This online phenomenon of modern travel begs the question- what else are we missing?

If the most interesting and quirky parts of Florence don’t show up in the algorithm that pushes popularity, then maybe they exist just outside of it entirely. Not hidden, but overlooked. Sometimes, the best way to explore a city is the old-fashioned way, with an open mind and no agenda at all.

Moving like this allows you to experience Florence as your own, rather than through the curated aesthetic of someone else’s screen. If you have the privilege of visiting Florence, challenge yourself to follow your own sense of curiosity, even if it leads nowhere in particular.

Step into places that don’t ask to be seen. Linger where there are no lines. Let yourself get it slightly wrong. After all, the feeling of stepping out of a small shop and back into a street full of tourists completely unaware of what they’ve just passed feels like holding onto a quiet secret.

Chasing Inspiration or Chasing Instagram?

written by Reagan McGowan, Kate Cooper, Maggie Baker & Emma Stromberg

This blog feature is an exclusive bonus installment to the Spring 2026 issue of Blending Magazine: Are the Streets still Made for Dreaming?

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

Note: Some interviewees within this article did not provide last names and are identified by first name only.

Florence has long been a city that invites curiosity. Its narrow streets, Renaissance architecture, and centuries of art and history naturally inspire those who walk through it. Traditionally, visitors arrived eager to learn, to wander, and to discover. However today, that sense of exploration often begins long before arrival, through a screen.

This piece began with a simple question: are study abroad students and tourists experiencing Florence for themselves, or are they chasing a version of the city they’ve already seen online? To explore this, conversations were held with locals and visitors across Florence focusing on how social media shapes movement, behavior, and perception within the city.

At a small bar near Piazza Santo Spirito, Marco, a bar owner described a daily routine he has come to expect. Tourists order drinks, often Aperol spritzes, and immediately begin taking tons of pictures of them.

“Every day I see people ordering a spritz and taking five pictures before they even drink it,” he said.

For Marco, the shift is clear. Where visitors once lingered over conversation or asked about local wines, many now seem focused on documenting the moment rather than living in it.

This behavior extends far beyond cafés. Near Ponte Vecchio, Sofia, a jewelry vendor, watches tourists pause in nearly identical spots along the bridge, often for long periods of time.

“Many people come here and say, This is the spot from Instagram,” she explained.

What was once a passageway now becomes a staging ground for recreated photos. Even meals, traditionally a central part of Italian culture, have become part of this visual routine. Giulia, a server at a trattoria near Piazza del Duomo, noted that it is rare for customers to begin eating immediately.

“Before they eat anything, they take pictures,” she said.

She has also noticed that social media influences what people order, with visitors sometimes requesting dishes or drinks they have seen online, rather than asking for local recommendations.

Florence is increasingly navigated not through spontaneous exploration, but through a digital checklist. Visitors move between locations they have already seen online, following paths rather than discovering spots organically. This pattern has physical effects on the city too. Certain locations become densely crowded while others, equally rich in character, remain unseen by many.

Yet, the influence of social media is not entirely negative. For some, it serves as a gateway rather than a limitation. Andrea, who works in a gelato shop near Via dei Neri, explains that many customers discover the shop through Instagram or TikTok.

While some take a quick photo and leave, others stay, ask questions, and engage more deeply.

“It depends on the person… Some come for the photo, but others stay and talk.”

Among study abroad students, there is also an awareness of this dynamic. At Piazzale Michelangelo, Emily, a student from the United States, admits that she had seen the view online before arriving. While she found it just as beautiful in person, she was struck by the crowds.

For locals like Luca, a university student, this shift has subtly changed the atmosphere of the city.

“Sometimes it makes the city feel more like a stage than a real place,” he said, describing how public spaces are increasingly treated as backdrops for photoshoots rather than real places.

And yet, despite these changes, Florence continues to offer moments that resist this pattern. In Piazza della Signoria, street musician Matteo performs for crowds that often begin by filming, but sometimes stay to listen.

“Those moments feel more genuine,” he said. For him, the city’s ability to inspire has not completely disappeared. “Even if people come because of Instagram, once they are here, they still experience the beauty of the city.”

Florence today exists in a space between performance and presence. Social media shapes how people arrive, where they go, and what they prioritize. It creates expectations, and influences behavior. But it does not fully define Florence.

The city still offers something deeper, found not in perfectly framed photos, but in small, unscripted moments: a conversation in broken Italian, a quiet street discovered without intention, a song that makes someone stop and listen.

The question, then, is not simply whether visitors are chasing an Instagram version of Italy. It is whether they allow that version to be the only one they see.

Starting Behind, Finding My Way: My 11-Week Study Abroad Experience

written by Nicole Tonas

Everyone else was strolling around in cute flats and stylish high-neck coats, sipping cappuccinos like they belonged in a Florentine magazine, while I was over here in my beat up Adidas Sambas and my puffer jacket from high school, feeling like the least fashionable tourist in the city.

That pretty much sums up what it felt like arriving in the last group of my study abroad program. I’m here for 11 weeks, which in theory was fine, but actually showing up weeks after everyone else? Completely different story.

My program offers 18, 15, and 11 week sessions. The people I met enrolled in the 18 week session, who arrived 7 weeks prior to me, especially already have their lives together. They completely knew the lay of the land, already having established their favorite cafés and could go grocery shopping without spending an extra 30 minutes translating every single item. Some of them even picked up basic Italian within the first few weeks. Meanwhile, I was dragging my suitcase around, double checking Google Maps every two minutes, and still somehow managing to get lost.

My first week was honestly kind of overwhelming. Everyone else seemed so comfortable, like they had already figured everything out. They were talking about weekend trips they had already gone on and all their traveling experiences, and I was just sitting there confused, like it was a completely different language. I felt like I had missed the beginning of a movie and was trying to piece together the plot without asking too many questions.

Even classes felt like that. People already knew how things worked, what professors expected, and how assignments were structured. I was just trying to keep up, not sound completely clueless every time I had to ask a question, and pretend that three hour classes were nothing new to me. It’s a weird feeling, being new when most people aren’t.

But at the same time, being late in a way forced me to notice everything more. Since nothing felt routine yet, even the smallest things stood out. The way people take their time with coffee instead of rushing out, how the streets are always kind of busy but not chaotic, and how satisfying it feels to finally recognize where you are without checking your phone.

And the small wins? They felt huge. The first time I went to the grocery store and actually knew what I was buying because I had added my favorites to my weekly list. That was a relief. Successfully ordering food without overthinking every word. Remembering how to get to class without maps. Those moments made me feel like I was slowly figuring things out, even if I started behind everyone else.

Socially, it definitely took more effort. I had to be intentional about talking to people before class, asking questions, and putting myself out there because I didn’t want to feel like the newbie still stuck in the homesick phase of study abroad. But people were more open than I expected, and once I stopped overthinking it, conversations started to feel a lot more natural. Now that I’ve been here a few weeks, I don’t feel as out of place anymore. I’m not fully caught up in the same way as the people who have been here since the beginning, but I don’t feel lost either. I have my own routine now, my own favorite spots, I’ve been on my own trips, and I have a better sense of how everything works.

Starting late didn’t ruin my experience, it just made it different. If anything, it made me more aware, more independent, and more willing to put myself out there. I had to figure things out quickly, but in the process, I’ve learned a lot more than I expected to in such a short time.

So yeah, starting a study abroad program later than most of my peers wasn’t the most ideal way to do it. But it’s kind of like being thrown into something halfway through, you’re confused at first, maybe a little out of place, but eventually, you catch on. And once you do, it actually feels pretty rewarding.

English Education in Firenze

written by William Norris

Never in my life would I have expected to be living in Florence, Italy at 20 years old. Let alone, have the opportunity to teach Italian to elementary school students. When arriving in Florence, I didn’t know what I was getting into, and honestly, I was extremely nervous about my decision to live overseas. I was lucky enough to be presented with the volunteer opportunity to teach English to local Italian students.

At first, I was reluctant to apply for the position, and honestly, I waited until the last day of the deadline to even submit the application. I felt this sudden urge to give back to this amazing city. I was offered the position, and I ran with it.

When the first day of class arrived, I was filled with excitement mixed with nerves. It was an interesting feeling. I had to meet the program representative and my teaching partner, both of whom I had never met before, and I was running late due to a mistimed 30-minute walk.

Upon meeting them, we rushed to the tram because we were already running late, and they gave us a rundown of the lesson we had prepared and what to expect throughout the semester. The tram stop was deeper in the city, which I would describe the area as a more casual, local way of life; it was a time away from the touristy chaos that occurs in the city center. Seeing this way of life put me at ease.

When we first arrived at the school, I started to feel nostalgic, remembering my days back in elementary school and how happy I was. The first thing I noticed was that the school had a mini soccer field right out front. Something you’d rarely see in America, or any school I was accustomed to.

As we figured out how to sign in, we quickly realized the front desk worker didn’t speak English, further reinforcing the fact that we were fully integrated into the local community. Once we finally signed in, we walked up to the classroom we were assigned, and the nerves began to fully set in, simply because I had never done this before.

As we got let in, I quickly realized how excited these kids were, and it immediately filled me with joy, eliminating my nerves. I realized that these students were amazed that I was from a country that many of them had never been to. I reminisced about being in elementary school and how cool I would’ve thought it was if someone from another country came to teach me their language.

We began the lesson by introducing ourselves to the students, sharing our names and places of origin, which immediately prompted a discussion. This simple introduction caused them to fire away with questions about our favorite food, songs, and sports, lasting almost the entire class.

I was shocked at how good their English was at such a young age. They were at the same level of English as I was when I was taking Spanish in college.

This got me thinking. America’s school system has a lot of flaws, but one particular aspect is that we should have a language class at a young age. Seeing how many languages European citizens speak seems to be attributed to how young they were when they started learning.

When I walked out of the school, I felt fulfilled. Going into this, I didn’t know if I would enjoy it, but when I was outside of that school, and all the stress and anxiety had finally left my system, I couldn’t wait for next week’s class.

I firmly believe that one of the best ways to start your day is to make someone happy. This volunteer experience has not only taught me so much about Italian culture, but also about myself. Broadening your experiences and helping others out is crucial for a fulfilling life, and this experience in Florence only reinforced this sentiment further.

Hands of Heritage: The Artisans Keeping Oltrarno Alive

This blog feature is an exclusive bonus installment to the Spring 2026 issue of Blending Magazine: Are the Streets still Made for Dreaming?

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 Samantha Mircetic, Jillian Rottman & Jenna Pravecek

For centuries, individuals have shaped Florence’s cultural identity through creativity, craftsmanship, and an enduring respect for tradition. These legacies are not only in history books but they remain alive in workshops, studios, and storefronts throughout the city – especially in the Oltrarno neighborhood, where the spirit of craftsmanship continues to flourish.

There’s one particular street in the Oltrano, Sdrucciolo de’ Pitti, that carries a multitude of craft, history and talent in just one little stretch right down the road from Pitti Palace. Here, you will find a small, quiet road that is tucked away from the swarms of tourists and museum-goers. Along this street lies a stretch of artisan shops, each with their own unique crafts, that make their living and do their part to preserve the traditions and keep the practice of handmade art alive – one little street, yet so many different stories to be told.

La Casa Della Stampa lives quaintly along Sdrucciolo de’ Pitti, and serves as a prime example of genuine craftsmanship fostered by familial pride. Lorenzo Sarubbi, the shop owner, is carrying on the techniques of his mother and father who opened the shop over fifty years ago. He uses a familial technique involving antique papers stamped and pressed with handmade designs. This technique is both a blend of artistic excellence and Florentine heritage. The shop’s designs honor Italian cities, nature, and symbolism, and pay homage to a long history through their use of genuine and vintage materials. The shop exudes an intimate family history and tells a story of a dream that came alive long ago. As one of multiple genuine artisan shops in the neighborhood, La Casa Della Stampa represents generations of Florentine success and expertise still alive today.

As you travel a few doors down from La Casa Della Stampa, you will stumble into Giulia Materia – a shop combining design and handicraft with journals, bags, clothing, and more that are designed by Giulia Materia herself. Materia is aware and passionate about the challenges Florentine artisans face today.

“There’s no way to let young people learn about true artistry anymore,” Materia said. “True artisans are being replaced by cheap souvenir shops, [and] now it’s very hard for small businesses to start.”

The prices have gotten so high and the number of people who care about true artisanry is at a staggering low. The dream for artisans to uphold their shops and family legacy is being threatened by sky high storefront rent prices and overtourism. Giulia is a living example of the very few true handmade artisans who struggle to keep their work alive in a world becoming consumed by mass production.

Continuing along Sdrucciolo de’ Pitti, you will stumble upon Arsdecorating. Here, Gabriella Gaeta displays the creative works of her and her husband, who work together to keep art and tradition alive. In a world where technology was beginning to dominate artistic design, Gaeta was determined to preserve her authentically human designs, and took to painting instead.

“I wanted to create something that was impossible to recreate with computers,” Gaeta said.

Then, Gaeta and her husband started to collect and restore antique pieces. In 2009, the couple combined their skills to open the store Arsdecoradting: a shop filled with beautifully unique pieces that capture the beauty of Florentine artisanship as well as the lost art of making things by hand.

These businesses are actively functioning archives of Florence’s past, which is filled with tradition, skill, and identity. In today’s world, mass production and global chains dominate the market, but these businesses stand as an exception to this rule. One little street, Sdruccio de Pitti, and so many stories to be told.

Even in the smallest corners, away from the heavy foot traffic that Pitti Palace brings, lies countless stories and a heritage that stretches beyond the storefront. These artisans have a dream of continuing the traditional practices that make the Oltrarno neighborhood such a well preserved picture of Florence masterpieces. These shopowners strive to keep the spirit of Florence alive in modern times, and as consumers we can all help keep their dreams alive.

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.