A lonely boat floats on the reflections in the slow-flowing silvery
Arno. Every morning the man lowers his long-handled shovel into the
water, a proboscis feeding on the sand, then to be disgorged on the
bottom of the boat. Behind him, many of the buildings, facades lost to
the all-too-recent war, reveal their innermost secrets. Upstream a
latticework cast-iron arch, replacing the bridge of Santa Trinita
blown up in 1944, has been thrown from shore to shore, framing the
Ponte Vecchio. Reflections and reality coalesce into a single image.
Erika Bizzarri 