Galleria Borghese

A detail from Bernini's Pluto and Proserpina (Hades and Persephone)

Good Lord, how does one even begin to describe the phenomena of the the Galleria Borghese? Perhaps "Bernini, Bernini, Bernini!"
I am afraid the adequate words to describe the art at the Borghese are not coming forth, so instead just look at these pictures I scanned at the BSR. Especially look at how the marble becomes pliable in Bernini's hands.


Persephone's Head by Bernini






Apollo and Daphne by Bernini

Carlo Nicoli said to me in Carrara that this sculpture of Apollo and Daphne was the first piece of cinema! Maybe he's right. When you walk around it does seem to move; the young Daphne running away from Apollo while simultaneously transforming into a tree so that the forest will hide her. FYI, this photograph is at least 100 years old. I found it in publications dated 1903/1955/1981. It is the image used in the in Rudolf Wittkower's Bernini: The Sculptor of the Roman Baroque. The 1955 edition has plates that look like photogravures, and are higher quality and have greater tonal range that the 1981 edition.





Trying to write in words the experience of being at the Galleria Borghese is almost as ridiculous as the question: "What was the greatest moment of your trip, so far?" As it happens, I can in fact answer that question: Galleria Borghese.
It was late afternoon in the final week of the year 2007, and I decided it was finally time to walk over to the Galleria Borghese and book my timed-entry tickets to visit the museum. I had ventured beyond it many times to see other museums in Rome, but this was the collection I was most excited to see, and I was saving for last. I didn't think getting tickets would be a problem, because my experience was that the museums were rather empty at this time of the year (Musei Vaticano excepted, it is always busy there).
So, late in the afternoon on December 27, I walked from the BSR through Villa Borghese park over to the Galleria Borghese to get tickets for the following day. I became somewhat anxious when I saw a sign at the ticket desk saying that the next available day for tickets was January 2nd (I was scheduled to leave for for Dubai on Jan 1). Like most signs that say things I find to be in bad taste, I ignored it and proceeded to the front of the ticket selling line and tried to get tickets for anytime before January 1st. It was here that I desperately asked if there was ANY WAY to get tickets: via cancellations? via returned tickets, via last minute no-shows? And instead of hearing a reply referring to a magical ticket that was set aside for me specially by the Museum Gods, I was told "No, No, No...how many times do I need to tell you, No!" At this point, my heart was racing and I felt completely gutted. I can't believe that this is happening!, I said to myself. I walked out of the museum feeling dejected and mad at myself for not checking on tickets sooner. But, at the same time, I couldn't pull myself away from the museum. I decided to walk up to the main entrance and plead my case with the two guards standing there. I tried to explain that I was an artist from Canada and had been at the British School for 6 weeks, and that I really needed to get into the museum before I left Rome, and was there any way I could do this? As much as these lovely Italian ladies nodded and smiled, they didn't really understand much of my distress-signal-English. But, they got the general feeling and called over a man who I assumed was the boss man. I repeated much of my life or death situation to him, and before I could finish he put up his hand and said "You have to check your bag, it is not allowed inside". His hand said "I understand your plight, stop your fretting and leave it to me", and his words directed me to the coat check. With my anxious heart racing at a sprinter's pace, I immediately proceeded to the coat check with my crumpler bag where I was asked to show my non-existent ticket. I pointed to the outside saying that someone out there had it, which I thought was a fair assumption and not really a lie. I then ran back outside and up the front steps of the Villa, and stood silently to the side of My Saviour while he dealt with a couple of other foreigners. I tried to be cool and pretended that I wasn't about to get preferential treatment.
Long story short (or is that too late, now?), I was then escorted into the museum and passed from one guard to another via walkie-talkie communication until I was in the basement where I was handed the magic ticket; which turned out to be a rather unassuming photocopy with the date written in by hand. I was in! Soon after, my racing heart began to slow a bit, but not for long, because I was about to be overwhelmed by Bernini's greatest work. The museum was quiet with few visitors because it was nearing the end of 3-5 pm ticket holder's visiting time. This was extremely pleasant until 4:40 pm when there was a announcement asking everyone to exit the museum. "I just got here!" I was thinking, but I also thinking it was a pretty great visit considering the words "No, No, No!" were still ringing in my ears. Next, the guards then came though each room sweeping the few remaining people out the door. When I was asked to leave the Apollo and Daphne room, I figured 'what the hell', and reached into my pocket and held up my magic ticket. It really was a magic ticket, because I was given the wave and allowed to stay. All the guards then disappeared for breaks and I was left all alone in this most incredible gallery. I let out a deep sigh, and took in the all the beauty that was surrounding me in my new home.
The 15 or so minutes I had the place to myself seemed much longer, and when the next group started trickling in at 5:10-ish (that Is Italian for 5:00), I heard in my head the line Frank Sinatra used to say when performing in the big rooms in Vegas: "How did all these people get in my room!".