“How beautiful it is to wander through the sacred wood, when the tall poplars are reborn in spring, when the branches of the pines, loved by ancient poets, turn green again in a rustle of wind.” But wind from where? Perhaps from mythical regions, from Arcadia or Eden? No, much closer to Florence, indeed within it: behind Santa Maria Novella in the garden of the Rucellai family is where the wind blew.
Just like its first visitors, we can imagine that we glimpse famous philosophers and statesmen in the garden, as well as those “ancient poets”, who were none other than a group of Renaissance Florentines. Among them was a young man, Pietro Del Riccio, who was so deeply involved in classical culture that he went by the translation of his name, Crinitus. The opening lines are his.
Choosing to gather in a garden within a city is like multiplying the potential beauty in a single environment. Florence and the Gardens sometimes seem like indistinguishable voices, joined together, like the words Orti and Oricellari. Each takes care of the other.