The Uffizi Epiphany

The Uffizi Epiphany

By Brent Katz

08/27/2023

In the majestic city of Florence, where the modern world collides with priceless relics of the past, Matthew Cooper faced a dilemma. A thirty-three-year-old guy of simple tastes, he found comfort in life’s modest pleasures, such as spending a Sunday afternoon watching football on the couch or sharing the same old stories with his buddies at the bar. As for his girlfriend, Emily, she was a creature of another sort, a charismatic lady who effortlessly captivated the attention of those around her. Possessing an innate passion for art and history, her intellectual curiosity was only matched by her grace, beauty and charm, rendering her a truly enchanting woman.  Despite their differences, the love they shared had sustained their improbable relationship for the past three years.

On the final day of their week-long excursion through Italy, as the morning sun lazily ascended the Tuscan sky, Emily proposed they visit the nearby Uffizi Gallery before it was time to fly home. Matt, however, had traipsed through enough museums on this trip to last him a lifetime.  How he yearned to lounge around in one of the plush terry cloth robes he found in their five-star hotel’s opulent marble bathroom, watching whatever game was on television. He would order up a tray of pancetta pancakes drizzled with maple syrup, paired with a flute of freshly squeezed orange juice that would be charged to the room.  Since he was a stow away on Emily’s business trip, all the hotel and food expenses were covered by her firm.  But his lovely patron’s determined expression quickly dashed any hope he had of staying behind, so, with a reluctant sigh, he acceded to her suggestion.

The logjam of eager tourists snaked around the full length of the columned courtyard in front of the museum’s entrance.  Emily had purchased premium tickets to bypass the long line, ensuring Matt’s boredom began even sooner. As they meandered through the busy museum, Emily was captivated by all the ornate beauty that surrounded them. For Matt, feigning interest was a challenge. He just couldn't grasp the allure of art.  It was not like television or the movies where there was a story to engage you, he thought.  These were just a bunch of pretty pictures that hung on the wall. What could these people possibly be staring at for so long?  Although, he did experience a pang of excitement when they reached Botticelli’s, “Birth of Venus,” but only because it was one of the few pieces he actually recognized, so it was kind of like spotting a celebrity.  

Upon entering the Michelangelo room, Emily studied each canvas as if the great Renaissance master had concealed a secret message in each painting for her to uncover centuries later.  At this point, Matt no longer pretended to care about any of the artwork. He just wanted to get to the delectable prosciutto “schiatta” that was waiting for him when they were done at All’ Antico Vinaio, the famous sandwich shop he read about nearby.  As he imagined his first salty bite, Matt’s delicious daydream was abruptly interrupted by the blare of Emily’s cell phone going off in the gallery.  

Emily peered down at the screen. “It’s work,” she told Matt as she fished out a pair of Air Pods from the side pocket of her brown, leather handbag. “I’ll meet you back here when I’m done.” Before he could protest, she had already vanished.  What could he have said anyway? The only reason he could afford to go on this incredible vacation, was because of her work.  He would have sounded like an awful ingrate if he complained about the very thing that made his first trip to Italy, or to Europe for that matter, possible.

Left alone amidst the fusty depictions of biblical scenes, expansive landscapes and long-gone nobility, Matt wandered aimlessly.  He knew from experience that Emily’s business calls could last a while, so he invented a game to pass the time.  He scrutinized the characters in the paintings, with their silly outfits and ridiculous hairstyles, and tried to envision what they would have looked like without all that puffery. Once he felt confident of his assessment, he bestowed a name on each individual and compared it to their actual appellation that was printed in elegant typography on a nearby placard affixed to the wall.  As he immersed himself in the game, hidden details in the portraits emerged.  The meticulous eyes and captured expressions by many of history’s greatest artists brought these figures of the distant past back to life. Despite his initial skepticism, Matt was growing to appreciate the museum’s priceless treasures.

But there was an even greater surprise in store for Matt, than just being able to stare into the souls of a bunch of dead aristocrats.  One he never could have imagined.  The gallery was no different from any of the other rooms he had visited in the museum.  The walls boasted rich colors that evoked the opulence of the Renaissance period. Elaborate moldings with classic motifs, added a sense of grandeur, and soft lights illuminated the paintings.  As Matt ambled across the polished, wooden floor, one portrait in particular seized his attention.

The subject stood in a three-quarter pose with his body turned slightly towards the viewer while his head faced forward against a neutral background that focused attention on his regal figure. He wore a sumptuous doublet made of brocade, in a muted tone that exuded sophistication. The cuffs of his shirt, beneath his embroidered garment, were edged with delicate lace, which further emphasized his refinement. Around his neck, he wore a ruffled lapel, which framed his face with an intricate, starched collar that extended upwards. A fine chain with a pendant hung from his neck, hinting at a respectable family lineage. His dignified presence encapsulated the cherished ideals of his era. He exuded elegance, wisdom and a cultured demeanor.  However, none these features are what entranced Matt with the nobleman in the painting. Instead, all he could see was a mirrored reflection of himself staring back at him in the painting.

The man in the painting bore the same untamed hair and lopsided grin. Every brushstroke, tracing the contours of his face were a perfect match. From the shade of emerald green with yellow specks in his eyes to the rounded tip of the man’s nose. But it was more than just these superficial similarities that struck Matt.  His entire essence was indistinguishable from his own.  

A strange déjà vu crept over Matt. Was it a prank? He surveyed the room, half-expecting hidden cameras to leap out from behind him. The image of his painted doppelganger held him fast, his pulse quickening.  Matt picked up his phone and dialed Emily’s contact but to no surprise it went straight to voicemail.  She never answered him when she was on a business call. He couldn’t wait to find out if he was going crazy. He needed to find her right away to assure him he wasn’t losing his mind.

Matt scoured the museum searching for Emily.  Amidst the crush of visitors, his eyes were drawn to fleeting images that momentarily sparked hope – a silhouette that seemed to resemble her figure, a fleeting glimpse of her familiar stride or a flash of a brown, leather handbag. His calls of her name were swallowed by the ambient murmurs of the crowded museum. Every corner turned, every space explored, only added to his frustration. Time seemed to slow as he raced down the grand corridor, where statues stood like silent sentinels, seemingly observing his desperate search. Then it hit him.  If she was still on the phone, he would need to look for her outside where she would not disturb anyone.  

Matt's eyes scanned the bustling piazza as he exited the museum. There, amidst the lively chaos of the square, he picked out Emily engrossed in her call. He ran over to her and gestured with his hand for her to hang up the phone. She tried to shoo him away but Matt was determined to get her attention.

“I’m sorry, Richard, can you hold on for a moment?” Emily unscrewed the pods from her ears and turned to Matt. “What?” she asked with a scowl.

“It’s this painting,” he answered, choking on his excitement. “You have to see it.”

“I’ll be there soon,” she promised, softening her tone.

“You need to come now,” he pleaded.

“Why?”

“Because it’s me.” Off Emily’s perplexed reaction he went on to explain, “I’m in one of the paintings.”

“Can we do this later, Matt? I’m on an important call.”

“I’m not joking.  You have to come see,” he demanded.  

Emily shot Matt a curious look. She didn’t believe him of course but could tell he was serious so she put one of the pods back in her ear and told her client she would call him back.

“I know what I saw,” Matt insisted as he dragged Emily back towards the gallery, like a dog tugging on its leash.

“All the paintings in here are hundreds of years old,” she assured him. 

“Maybe it’s a fake,” he posited.

“You think someone painted a portrait of you, without your knowledge, and sold it to the museum?” she asked with disbelief.

“I don’t know. They could have found a picture of me somewhere on the web,” he answered unconvincingly.  “All I know is the guy hanging up on the wall in this museum is definitely me.”

“How can you be so sure it’s not someone who just looks like you?”

“It’s like when you run into someone you haven’t seen in years and they look totally different but you still recognize them because there’s something about them you can recognize,” he tried to explain. “This painting… it captures my essence.”

Sensing his sincerity, Emily resisted the impulse to roll her eyes.  At least he was excited about a work of art, she thought to herself.  If he had to imagine himself in a painting to appreciate something she loved, then maybe it was worth it to humor him.  After all, this is why she always tried to expose him to her interests, so now was no time to argue.

When they finally arrived at the gallery, Matt guided Emily to the painting.  She examined the portrait in disbelief. 

“It's... astounding," she whispered, her voice tinged with awe.

“You see it?” he asked eagerly.

“The resemblance is uncanny,” she acknowledged, transfixed by the familiar face.

 “The moment I saw it, I had to show you,” Matt beamed.

Despite her boyfriend’s excitement, what caught Emily’s breath as she laid eyes on the painting was not a 16^th century depiction of Matt.  From her vantage point, there was no trace of him to be found on the canvas.  Instead, she was confronted by a majestic woman in a frontal pose, her head held high and her shoulders slightly back, projecting an aura of confidence and authority.  The lady was draped in a sumptuous gown made from rich, velvety fabric that cascaded down her figure. Her hair was carefully arranged, with intricate braids, loops, and twists adorned with decorative pins and jewels. A string of pearls ornamented her neck.  The attention to light and detail was masterful. But all that skill could be found on any of the canvases throughout the museum.  What made this particular painting special was how the artist was able to see into the viewer’s soul. Which is why a wide grin spread across Emily’s face as she stared back at herself trapped in an ageless painting that hung on a wall in the Uffizi Gallery and realized that after all this time, Matt finally got art.