The Florence Cathedral Was Something Else

Table of Contents

• Introduction

• The Florence Cathedral Was Something Else

• Quote of the Day

• Art: Dante Before the City of Florence

• Featured Art (Premium): Primavera by Botticelli

• Featured Architecture (Premium): Church of San Miniato al Monte

• Featured Travel (Premium): Uffizi Gallery in Florence

In Today’s newsletter, World Scholar from X takes us to the story behind one of the most famous architectural wonders of the Renaissance world, Duomo di Firenze. Meanwhile, in the Premium section we will delve into Florentine art and culture.

Today, the Florence Cathedral stands as one of the most famous architectural wonders from the Renaissance period.

But did you know that if you visited the city 200 years ago, you wouldn’t be surprised to find its façade completely bare.

That’s right, what few realize is that for centuries, Florence’s magnificent cathedral stood unfinished…

​In the late 13th century, Florence’s existing cathedral, Santa Reparata, was no longer big enough to accommodate the city's growing prominence. Florence was emerging as a commercial and financial powerhouse and its cathedral needed to reflect that. Rival cities like Siena, Pisa and Milan were constructing impressive cathedrals and were already ahead by 200 or so years. It was Florence’s turn to surpass them.

In 1293, the Florentine Republic initiated plans for a new cathedral. The Opera del Duomo was established to oversee the project, and in 1294, Arnolfo di Cambio was commissioned to design the cathedral. His Gothic design featured three wide aisles and a large central nave.

The original façade was also designed by Cambio. He never got the chance to fully finish it. After his death, construction slowed due to The Black Death, which sweeped across Europe. Florence's population plummeted from an estimated 120,000 in 1338 to 50,000 in 1351. To make matters worse, in the mid-1500s, the House of Medici (who held significant power and influence over the city) ordered the remains of Arnolfo’s façade to be torn down.

(You can find some of the original pieces in the Louvre and Berlin Museum today).

And so for nearly three centuries, Florence’s cathedral stood bare. If you had walked through Piazza del Duomo before the 1880s, this is what you would have probably seen…

The façade that greets us today, so rich in color and ornament, so seemingly ancient in style, was not completed until 1887. A competition was held in 1864 to find the best design and it would take 7 years to find the current one, which is the work of Emilio De Fabris.

De Fabris's design was inspired by what he in Siena and Orvieto and so he decided to integrate a neo-Gothic style.

The cathedral was finally completed, nearly 600 years after its original groundbreaking. You probably can’t tell the difference today between the old and new parts; they seem to complement one another quite well.

The design of the cathedral was very ambitious. While, yes, the façade was and still is incredible, arguably, its most iconic feature is the dome.

The base of the dome was an octagonal hole, 46 meters wide. Taller than a 10-story building. It would come to no surprise to hear that it took 140 years just to decide who and how it would be built. What’s interesting, is that in normal times, huge structures like this required a wooden framework that would support the bricks as they were laid but in this case that would (quite possibly) require more timber than all of Tuscany could supply.

We know that construction started in 1296 but it was Filippo Brunelleschi, who would be responsible for building the dome almost a century later.

Something to note about Brunelleschi is that we often regard him as one of the greatest architects that first come to mind but he was also trained as a goldsmith, clock-maker and sculptor. He studied the architecture of ancient Rome and took inspiration from the Pantheon into his works.

In the year 1418, Brunelleschi proposed something that probably made him seem like a madman — to build the dome without scaffolding.

To make matters worse, there were no buttresses in the core of the cathedral (unlike in most Gothic building) so there was nothing to support such a huge dome. It was impossible to continue any further without going back and building brand new buttresses, right?

Wrong. Instead, Brunelleschi opted for an ingenious method where the materials would support themselves: bricks would be laid in a herringbone (zig-zag) pattern and therefore held in place by their own weight, transferring most of the force onto the vertical stone ribs alongside. It took 16 years of painstaking work to build and there were even wooden cranes with hoists involved — they designed by Brunelleschi himself specifically for the construction of the Duomo.

By the time of its completion in 1436, the dome was the largest of its kind. No one in the world had ever seen anything like it. Even today, it still holds the title of the world’s largest masonry dome.

It soared 114 meters into the sky, over a cathedral that could hold 30,000 people.

No building since ancient Rome had achieved anything like it. Not even Michelangelo’s dome in St. Peter’s would be as bold.

Almost immediately, cracks began to appear.

Surprisingly, in 1934, it was discovered that the cracks were seasonal. During winters, when the dome’s stone and bricks contract the cracks widen. During summers, as the material expands, the cracks in the dome get closed.

Monitoring is still needed and there are talks of how cosmic rays, muons and X-rays could contribute to solving the issue. In the meantime, we can still admire the groundbreaking structure and wonder, how different would it have looked if not for all the mishaps along the way? Would the legendary façade and dome even exist? And would it ever be the masterpiece we call it today?

Share the Culture Explorer newsletter with two friends or family members and unlock one month of Premium access. Want to support us directly? Grab a monthly or yearly membership and help keep the journey going!

Art

What if you had 24/7 access to a mastermind where top creators reveal exactly how they grow, monetize, and scale online — and you could learn it all, on demand? That’s Masterclass 24/7.

On March 15th, I will be leading a Write with Culture Explorer workshop for the Masterclass 24/7 community, so bring your threads and posts and let’s edit them together.

I'm joining Art of Purpose's Create-Publish-Profit program, a 30-day mentorship starting May 1st, built to help creators grow their brand on X with guidance from top voices on the platform.

I've hit a turning point where past strategies aren’t enough—I want to build a brand that bridges cultures and inspires long-term impact. This program, curated by @creation247, is about shifting from reflecting to innovating, creating content that commands attention, and building a powerful online brand.

Furthermore, I will also be teaching a course during this workshop related to online growth and algorithm.

Art

In the late 1470s or early 1480s, Sandro Botticelli painted Primavera, one of the most talked-about and enigmatic artworks of the Italian Renaissance. Though it's now seen as a cornerstone of Western art, the meaning behind it remains debated. The painting presents a lush, mythological scene with gods, goddesses, and symbolic figures — yet no single classical story unites them all. Most scholars agree that the piece is an allegory for spring and fertility, likely rooted in Renaissance Neoplatonism. The painting was first referred to as Primavera by Giorgio Vasari and is often discussed alongside Botticelli’s more famous work, The Birth of Venus. While not a true pair, both are mythological, grand in scale, and break from medieval artistic conventions.

The scene unfolds in a citrus grove — likely a nod to the Medici family — and reads from right to left like a narrative. Zephyrus, the wind god, chases and transforms the nymph Chloris into Flora, who scatters flowers as the personification of spring. Venus, in a pose and setting resembling the Virgin Mary, stands calmly in the center, while Cupid floats above, blindfolded, aiming an arrow at the dancing Three Graces. At the far left, Mercury parts the clouds with his caduceus, perhaps guarding this idyllic garden. Though their interactions are ambiguous, each figure represents a different aspect of love, beauty, or nature. Botticelli’s attention to detail is striking — over 500 plant species and 190 individual flowers are depicted, creating a millefleur tapestry effect.

Despite the visual clarity, the painting’s deeper meaning is layered. Some interpretations see it as a seasonal allegory, moving from the winds of early spring to the full bloom of May. Others see a philosophical message: a progression from physical to intellectual love, with Chastity turning away from Cupid’s arrow and toward Mercury. The entire composition may reflect Neoplatonic ideals, popular in the Medici court, which blurred the lines between pagan mythology and Christian symbolism. Venus may even be a stand-in for the Virgin Mary, reinforcing the idea that divine and earthly love are connected.

The origins of Primavera are tied to the Medici family, though exact details remain unclear. Many believe it was commissioned by or gifted to Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de’ Medici for his 1482 wedding. It was found hanging in his palace in a 1499 inventory, positioned above an ornate bench in a room that also held Pallas and the Centaur — possibly a thematic companion piece. Later, both paintings were seen by Vasari at the Medici’s Villa di Castello and were eventually moved to the Uffizi. Interpretations of the figures have shifted over time, with some claiming Simonetta Vespucci as the model for Venus or Flora, though she had died by 1478.

The sources that inspired Primavera are as rich and varied as the painting itself. Literary references span Ovid, Virgil, Poliziano, and Lucretius, whose verses describe the marriage of spring and flowers in imagery that Botticelli may have adapted. Visual inspiration came from ancient Roman reliefs, gems, and sketches passed through Florentine workshops. Yet Botticelli’s genius lies in how he stitched all these threads into something fresh and personal. Primavera isn’t just a mythological scene — it’s a poetic vision of spring, beauty, and love, rendered with the sophistication and symbolism that made the Florentine Renaissance one of the most intellectually vibrant moments in history.

Architecture

On a hill just outside Florence’s old city walls, the Church of San Miniato al Monte offers one of the best views of the city — and one of the most remarkable examples of Romanesque architecture in all of Italy. Built beginning in 1018, it stands not just as a religious monument but as a symbolic guardian overlooking the birthplace of the Renaissance. The church is named after Saint Minias, a Christian martyr who, according to legend, was beheaded during the Roman persecutions and then carried his own head up the hill where the church now stands. That story alone sets the tone for a place rich in both history and mystery.

The church’s façade is what first captures attention: a stunning geometric pattern of green and white marble, arranged in symmetrical bands that foreshadow Renaissance order but remain rooted in medieval ideals. Completed in the 12th century, the façade is capped with a golden mosaic of Christ flanked by the Virgin Mary and Saint Minias, added in the 13th century. It’s strikingly elegant but restrained — no baroque flourishes, just the quiet power of perfect proportion and devotional clarity. A simple copper eagle perched at the top, symbol of the local guild that funded the church, gives the whole structure a civic as well as spiritual character.

Step inside, and the mood changes. The interior is dimly lit, mysterious, and monumental — a direct contrast to the mathematical clarity of the exterior. The floor features intricate inlaid marble with zodiac signs and symbolic designs, some echoing earlier pagan traditions. The timber truss roof leaves the wooden beams exposed, reminding visitors of the church’s age and monastic humility. The nave is supported by classical columns with Corinthian capitals, a direct nod to ancient Rome, reused and repurposed in a sacred Christian setting. The visual tension between the ancient and the medieval is deliberate — this is architecture as cultural continuity.

The centerpiece inside is the raised choir and crypt, one of the most unusual features of the building. The altar sits atop a staircase, giving it an elevated, almost theatrical presence. Below it is the crypt, where the remains of Saint Minias are believed to be kept. The mosaic behind the altar echoes the one on the façade — Christ again enthroned, linking inside and out, divine and earthly. Behind the altar, the chapel of the Cardinal of Portugal (built in the 15th century) is an unexpected jewel of early Renaissance harmony, with frescoes and classical pilasters that preview the coming age of Brunelleschi and Alberti.

San Miniato al Monte isn’t just a church — it’s a microcosm of Florence’s spiritual and artistic evolution. Roman foundations, Christian martyrdom, medieval devotion, classical revival — all coexist in a single structure. And while tourists flock to the Duomo or the Uffizi below, those who make the uphill walk to San Miniato find a quieter, deeper connection to the city’s roots. As monks still chant vespers here today, surrounded by a thousand years of architecture and art, it feels less like a relic and more like a bridge across centuries.

Travel

Tucked beside Florence’s Piazza della Signoria, the Uffizi Gallery stands as one of the world’s premier museums, known for its unrivaled Renaissance art collection. Originally designed by Giorgio Vasari in 1560 for Cosimo I de’ Medici, the building was meant to house Florence’s administrative offices — hence the name uffizi, or “offices.” But the Medici vision extended beyond bureaucracy. The upper floors were soon transformed into a private display space for Roman sculptures and fine art, accessible only to the elite. It wasn't until 1769 that the gallery officially opened to the public, and by 1865, it had become a full-fledged museum.

From its inception, the Uffizi was more than a building — it was a cultural statement. Vasari’s architectural design created what many consider Europe’s first intentional urban streetscape, with a long internal courtyard stretching toward the Arno River. The decorative facades, with their sculptures of famous artists added in the 19th century, add to its layered significance. The Tribuna degli Uffizi, completed in 1584 by Bernardo Buontalenti under Francesco I, was a jewel-box room showcasing the Medici’s finest treasures and became a must-see stop on the Grand Tour. Over time, additional rooms were converted into galleries, eventually showcasing works from the 13th through 18th centuries.

The museum has adapted with time. A major expansion project, the Nuovi Uffizi, began in 1989 and was active through the 2010s, nearly doubling the gallery’s display space. Key rooms like those housing Botticelli were closed for lengthy renovations but reopened with updated lighting, climate control, and improved security. Even with these disruptions, visitor numbers soared — over two million in 2016 — making it Italy’s most visited art museum. The COVID-19 pandemic temporarily slowed this momentum, but the gallery bounced back with a 2021 reopening that featured 14 new rooms and 129 newly displayed artworks, including greater representation of women and artists of color.

The Uffizi hasn’t been immune to modern turmoil. In 1993, a Mafia car bomb killed five people and damaged parts of the building, including the Niobe Room; some works were lost, but others were saved by protective glass. More recently, climate activists from Ultima Generazione have staged protests by gluing themselves to the protective glass of Botticelli’s Primavera and The Birth of Venus — both paintings were unharmed. These events underscore the gallery’s symbolic weight in Italian culture and its evolving role in contemporary dialogue.

Inside, the collection is staggering. The Uffizi holds masterpieces by Botticelli, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, Titian, Caravaggio, Artemisia Gentileschi, and many others. Some of the most iconic pieces include Botticelli’s Primavera and The Birth of Venus, Michelangelo’s Doni Tondo, and Caravaggio’s Medusa. Early Renaissance works by Giotto, Duccio, and Cimabue sit beside Flemish treasures by van der Weyden and van der Goes. With every room, the Uffizi doesn’t just showcase Italian art — it traces the birth of modern visual culture, offering a timeline of genius shaped by power, politics, and the Medici’s enduring legacy.