Protect beauty

In just 67 meters, Florence shows us a reality that we can recognize in the Balearic Islands—and in many other places. Barely three minutes separate them on foot. On one side, the Galleria de l'Accademia, with Miquel Àngel's David, is a scene of fame and expectation, with outrageous lines marked out in corridors and controls regulating the massive flow of visitors, a lot of noise. On the other, the convent of San Marco, with its cells painted by Fra Angelico, seems to hide from the world, discreet and silent, as if waiting only for those who know how to look without hurrying. In this literal proximity, we are given an unexpected lesson about how we perceive and treat beauty: what is famous calls, but the discreet can offer a great experience.

At the Accademia, when after going through all the torment outside and dodging hundreds of people inside, you finally arrive before David, you see him from afar, amidst the noise and the crowd. But what's most striking isn't its grandeur, but the emotional distance imposed by overcrowding. People don't look at David: they stand in front of it to look at themselves, to take a selfie, as if Michelangelo's piece were merely a monumental frame for their own ego.

Meanwhile, a few meters away, San Marco remains almost deserted. The entrance is modestly signposted, the atmosphere is one of conventual calm, and Fra Angelico's paintings are presented with the serenity they deserve. You can contemplate the Annunciation almost alone, and realize the depth of each stroke and each color without anyone pushing or interrupting you. Here, contemplating the work is possible; here, art is not an excuse to show off on Instagram.

But this contrast isn't unique to Florence; it's a reflection of what's happening all over the world, including in the spaces most familiar to us: beaches, monuments, local businesses, and balconies from which to watch the sunset. We don't do it well: what becomes famous quickly fills with people, guidebooks, buses, and photos, photos, and more photos. Massification leads us to a superficial perception of beauty, where what matters is not the place or the work, but its capacity to bear witness to our presence. We don't know how to look at or love what's in front of us. And so we come to experience a paradox: to protect beauty, it's often best to keep quiet about its existence. "Don't say where it is," "don't say anything." If places are not known, if they don't become overcrowded icons, we might be able to recover their essence. Perhaps, just perhaps, we'll be able to look again, not photograph ourselves.

Florencia tells us all this with stark clarity: virality is the enemy of art and all that is beautiful. Surely, as a society, we still haven't learned to love what we have without quickly consuming it. And while we continue queuing and taking selfies, David will be majestic—let's add the Caló del Moro with the adjectives that correspond to it—but we will miss what really matters: the possibility of feeling his presence and not our own.