We saw roads made of water and had some of Europe’s most amazing buildings to ourselves late at night. I saw a lot of art – it moved me and I learnt, but mostly it taught me how much I didn’t know. We skipped Florence and Rome and we tailed the great names of the Renaissance, not seeing their great pieces. 

In a time of poor health in the second year, I was scrolling through the Utrecht summer school course list, not entirely grabbed by the politics options. I’d just read Machiavelli’s The Prince and had been studying realism and its increasing domination of the political sphere; I had an interest in the Medici and their realist governance through patronage. I was ill and I wanted some sun in my future; I decided to apply.  

Italy’s Renaissance was an expansion of the narrow Christian values of the Middle Ages. These had hampered progress in science, literature and the arts; the Renaissance triggered one of history’s great times of human progress. The scholarship application got me thinking about times when people change – when they begin to think differently – it strikes me that one is needed now. I was keen to know more about the roots of political realism and the genesis of humanism, a political philosophy which has given rise to some of the world’s good – to human rights and art. I doubted that my musings along these lines would persuade a university panel; I was ecstatic to receive the funding. 

The Nederlands Interuniversitair Kunsthistorich Instituut (NIKI) is a Florentine villa south of the river Arno, bordering the Boboli gardens. It houses their 66,000 book library, lecture rooms, accommodation and the studies of the Institute’s academics. My hefty suitcase ran aground on the gravel driveway and, sticky from travel, I explored the Institute feeling not a little out of place. Slowly, my course mates arrived; from all over the world and with a few Queen’s students; but each similarly awed and perspiring. We chatted and I started to feel at home.  

The first ‘rest’ Saturday entailed a six-hour tour of Florence with guide Klaas Tonkens. His boundless knowledge and enthusiasm had us all rapt as we tagged duckling-like through the Tuscan streets in the thirty-six degree heat. The Americans were censored for ordering coffee to go (un-Italian). He hopped between Old Testament and Dante, Twain and Alberti; Klaas warned us that the experience would be like drinking from a fire hose. Lectures ran for almost two weeks, six days per week from 9am til 1 (always punctuated with an espresso break in the olive grove) then site visits, often til 6. The light evenings were free for Aperol, cooking and eating in the olive trees. Passeggiare, gelato and meeting the Italians, also non-negotiable. The abundant and cheap espresso helped.  

Moments of tranquillity came too, experiencing the art in context. After a prayer, the priest granted us access to the Chapel of the Cardinal of Portugal at San Miniato al Monte, up in the hills above Florence – one of the Renaissance’s most complete works, the holy space emanated calm. We learnt how the Humanist introduction of perspective to art granted personality to the viewer; anatomical study introduced dynamism and the potential for movement into marble sculpture. Resuscitation of classical ideals in architecture sought to create beautiful spaces which served the people and improved their lives. In this developed Christianity, betterment was striven for in life, not just prayed for after death. This revived commerce, dominated by the Medici whose patronage of the arts was propagandised to control.  

The conflicts of church, state and commerce fuelled artistic endeavour, with artists again elevated beyond the status of artisan, and often caught in the power struggle. None more so than Michelangelo Buonarotti, whose one time resistance to the Medici came close to triggering war, and resulted in the theft of his body after his death. His New Sacristy at San Lorenzo and architecture in the Laurentian Library represented unparalleled artistic innovation, and the beauty of these spaces stays with me. 

We took on a seventeen-hour snap study of Rome – Michelangelo’s greatest works, the Pieta at St Peter’s Basilica, and his Moses, are life breathed in marble and their impact was visceral. In the nineteenth century, it took three months to travel from Florence to Rome – one artist reported it was worth the journey if only to see the knee of the Moses. He, in rage, drops the tablets of the Ten Commandments he has received from God – on descending from the mountain and perceiving the worship of false idols. The figure is possessed of a terribilita which had me emerge dizzied into the ruins of the city, colossal and sunbathed. The emotion of the Pietà, as Mary gazes on her lost son, transcends religious orientation in the culmination of Earthly suffering. The sheer scale of its setting and grandiosity of the baroque architecture is awesome in person, in spite of the familiarity of the view from countless TV and news reels. The packed Vatican was hot, the atmosphere heady and almost dystopian. After the museum’s 2km maze of art, to enter into the Sistine Chapel to look at my leisure was an opportunity I’d never thought University would afford me. My neck was cramping by the time we left. 

The students ranged from Art History to IT and Architecture. They came from Sweden, the Netherlands, Spain, Puerto Rico, Russia and America: I learnt as much from them as on the course. Their enthusiasm and the friendship of a shared experience is one I will treasure. We spent a day locked in together, scouring the library for our presentations on the final day – in a completely new subject field for many. Then followed a paper assignment; we each chose a chapel to study, draw and present on. Reaching an academic standard in a completely new field was a challenge, but I found in the Sassetti Chapel a rich interweaving of political influences and philosophical motifs, so that I drew on and enhanced my existing studies.  

My course at the NIKI widened my worldview. Studying the Renaissance and dipping a toe into the Classics tied up many loose ends from my studies; it fascinated and inspired. Mostly, it showed me how much more there is to know.  

We are so very lucky to live in a country where learning is valued and can be funded; I am so glad I took the chance, when I could.