Bells Over Florence

Church bells are ringing from every corner of this ancient city as the sun comes up over the distant purple mountains. Glancing out the window of my apartment, other than modern appliances and plumbing (thank goodness for the plumbing — have you read about Renaissance sanitation?), it’s easy to feel like I could be living at a time when these same bells inspired people to create some of the finest artwork ever known to man.

The funny thing? Back then, they didn’t call it the Renaissance. That term was invented 200 years later by a French historian who looked back and said, “Wow, something amazing happened there.” Which makes you wonder: What are we calling our current moment? The Age of Anxiety? The Era of Endless Scrolling? The Age of AI?

 Medici Money

Here’s what actually sparked the Renaissance, and it’s not what your high school art teacher told you. Sure, there was a “rebirth” of classical learning after monks spent centuries copying Greek and Roman texts by candlelight. But you know what really made it happen?

Money. Lots of it.

The Medici family — basically the venture capitalists of the 1400s — decided that commissioning art was better than buying another villa. They turned patronage into a competitive sport. Cosimo de’ Medici would commission Donatello, then his rival would have to one-up him with Brunelleschi. It was like an arms race, except with marble and frescoes instead of missiles. And here’s the kicker: These artists weren’t creating in some romantic, peaceful, inspired bubble. They were stressed, underpaid (usually), and constantly competing for the next commission. Michelangelo once said he saw the angel in the marble and carved until he set it free. What he didn’t mention was that Pope Julius II was breathing down his neck about deadlines the entire time.

Did They Know?

So did the people of Florence know they were changing the world? Almost certainly not. Vasari — who wrote Lives of the Artists in 1550 and basically invented art history as we know it — had to explain to people that something extraordinary had happened. Imagine that. The greatest artistic movement in Western civilization needed a publicist to tell people it had occurred.

This is the part that keeps me up at night: 

We only know about the Renaissance because someone bothered to write it down. Vasari chronicled who painted what, who slept with whom, and which artist insulted which patron. Without him, half of what we “know” about this era would be lost. Today, we’re documenting our every breakfast burrito on Instagram — but are we actually capturing anything worth remembering?

Renaissance in Hindsight

I think about this because there have been some recent Renaissance activities in the art world — for instance the plein air movement, which over the last 20 years has exploded from nothing to hundreds of events and thousands of painters creating landscape work that rivals anything in history. But here’s the question that haunts me: Will there be a Vasari for this movement? Will someone in 2245 look back and say, “That’s when landscape painting was reborn”? Or will it all get lost in the digital noise?

The Renaissance happened because of constraints, not despite them. No photographs or AI-generated images meant you had to paint reality. No power tools meant moving marble required ingenious engineering. No internet meant if you wanted to see a master’s work, you walked to their studio or to view a collection. Today, we have infinite access and zero constraints. We can see every painting ever made on our phones. We can learn any technique from YouTube or PaintTube. We can connect with artists worldwide instantly and view their latest paintings on Instagram.

So why aren’t we all creating masterpieces?

The Paradox 

Maybe because the Renaissance taught us the wrong lesson. We think it was about genius — Leonardo, Michelangelo, Raphael, Donatello (yes, the Ninja Turtles are named after them, which tells you something about our cultural priorities). But it wasn’t about individual genius. It was about a city-state that created conditions where genius could emerge: competition, patronage, masters teaching apprentices, and most importantly, people showing up.

Leonardo da Vinci said, “The noblest pleasure is the joy of understanding.” Not the joy of scrolling. Not the joy of having an opinion about something you read in a headline. Understanding. Which requires time, curiosity, and actually leaving your house.

I can’t claim to know how to start a movement or a Renaissance, even though I’ve been involved in a couple of them in my own small way. But what I do know is that we can stimulate our own personal Renaissance through exposure to new things, to new ideas.

Through First-Time Eyes

Having spent the last couple of weeks in Europe, seeing and painting parts of Switzerland and Italy, I’ve been able to see it through the eyes of a few of my guests who were experiencing it for the first time. Their eyes were wide, their imaginations were stimulated, and their curiosity was piqued. “How could they possibly have done all of this? How could they possibly have built these cathedrals before heavy equipment?”

And that question — that genuine bewilderment — is where Renaissance begins. Because here’s what most people don’t realize: Medieval builders didn’t know they lacked heavy equipment. They just solved problems with what they had. They used counterweights, pulleys, and thousands of workers who spent their entire lives on a single cathedral they’d never see completed. Imagine dedicating your life to something you’ll never see finished. Now imagine telling that to someone who gets anxious when their Amazon delivery takes three days instead of two.

The Duomo in Florence took 140 years to complete. Brunelleschi’s dome — that impossible feat of engineering — was built without scaffolding, using techniques he invented on the spot and refused to share with anyone because he was paranoid about competition. The whole thing could have collapsed and killed hundreds. It didn’t, and now it’s been standing for 600 years.

Meanwhile, we abandon projects after three weeks because our Instagram engagement isn’t what we hoped.

A Deliberate Journey

I’m reminded of a trip my wife and I created very deliberately to take our then-12-year-old children to Europe, starting in England and then moving to France on a spring break. Our goal was to help them see a world they had not seen before, to help them realize that the world they live in is small and narrow, and that the world out there is broad and different and interesting and worth exploring. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as seeing a first-timer hit Europe, particularly when it’s a child staring at the domes and the castles and the cathedrals, and seeing how life is different for people in these places — watching as people walk everywhere or take trains, things we don’t do in the suburbs we live in.

Curiosity Drives Growth

Personal Renaissance comes through stimulation driven by curiosity, and if we wait for it to happen, it rarely will. We have to step out. We have to take action. We have to get away from the ways we’re used to doing things and try new things. 

Here’s what I’ve learned from studying the Renaissance and trying to create my own: The Renaissance wasn’t about having unlimited resources or perfect conditions. It was about working within impossible constraints and finding creative solutions. Those artists mixed their own paints, built their own scaffolding, and solved problems that had never been solved before — not because they were superhuman, but because they had no other choice. It was all about relentless passion, believing in something so deeply that you do whatever it takes for however long it takes, and never give up.

You want your own Renaissance? Stop waiting for perfect conditions. Stop waiting until you have more time, more money, more security. The Renaissance happened during political turmoil, economic uncertainty, and literal plague. Your excuses are looking pretty thin.

Breaking the Filter

So many of us are seeing the world through the filter of the news media, hearing stories that may not be entirely balanced — something that’s only realized by getting out there yourself. I’m reminded of my trip to China, when probably 30 people told me not to go, that it was dangerous, that my organs would be harvested, that it was a Third World country, that I’d be walking through human excrement, that the food is inedible.

I’ve noticed something fascinating: the people most certain about how dangerous or terrible a place is are usually the people who’ve never been there. They’re experts in a geography of fear, a cartography drawn entirely by cable news and social media algorithms designed to keep them scared and watching.

Those things people warned me about may have been true at one time, probably were, but I didn’t see that. Yet if I had listened to the media, I would’ve continued to believe it. I had to find out for myself.

The Renaissance happened partly because the Black Death killed 30 to 50 percent of Europe’s population, which sounds horrific (and was), but it also meant survivors had social mobility for the first time. Peasants could become merchants. Merchants could become patrons. The old order broke down, and in that chaos, new possibilities emerged.

Today, we’re not facing a plague (well, we recently did, but that’s another story), but we are facing a different kind of death — the slow suffocation of curiosity. And unlike the Black Death, this one is voluntary. We’re choosing the comfort of our echo chambers over the discomfort of discovery.

Regular People Everywhere

I don’t particularly feel extra brave for going to China, but a lot of people thought I was crazy. I can’t wait to go back. I can’t wait to see more. I can’t wait to take groups of people there to let them experience it on their own. It’s hard to believe that a place like that is “the enemy” when you’re dealing with regular people on a day-to-day basis who put their socks on the same way that you and I do. I think that we’re all fed what people want us to believe, for some reason that perplexes me.

The Travel Conversation

It seems like every time I go somewhere interesting, I want to have this discussion. I want to tell people to get out of their armchairs, to get off their social media, and to get out and see the world — to see the results of the Renaissance, to see the beauty of the people in other countries, to see cultures coexisting peacefully in spite of what the media tells us. Yet so many are operating from fear because they’re getting their information from a screen.

Your Personal Renaissance

So if you want to create your own personal Renaissance, here are some thoughts:

One: Have curiosity. Question everything. Ask yourself why. Look into the reasons behind the reasons.

Two: Get out of your box and out of your comfort zone. Comfort is the enemy of progress. Comfort may provide stability, yet stability may cause mental bedsores.

Three: Travel. See the world. Open your eyes to new possibilities.

Four: Put yourself in a position to interact with people you never would otherwise.

Painting With Strangers

Every day during this trip, when I was painting in public places, young kids or teenagers would be curious to see a painter working on a painting outdoors. I would engage them, invite them to paint with me (with parental permission, of course), and most of them would do it. I’d teach them and give them a couple of lessons to get them engaged, and might even have them paint on my painting — not worrying about whether they were going to ruin it. They’d get excited, and that led me into conversations with the people around. The past couple of weeks, I’ve met people from Germany, Yugoslavia, the Netherlands, Russia, and many other countries, and had an opportunity to see the world through their eyes, to get their opinions.

This is pure Renaissance thinking. You know why? Because that’s exactly how the masters worked. Apprentices would paint backgrounds, grind pigments, even paint entire sections of “the master’s” work. Collaboration wasn’t a buzzword; it was how things got done. Raphael had an entire workshop of apprentices painting from his designs. Was it still “his” work? The Renaissance said yes. Our modern obsession with individual authorship would have confused them.

When I let those kids paint on my canvas, I wasn’t risking ruining it. I was enacting a centuries-old tradition. And more importantly, I was doing what those Renaissance masters did: passing it on. Because here’s the secret they knew and we’ve forgotten — art isn’t about the final product. It’s about the transformation that happens in the making.

The Hotel Trap

If I came to these foreign countries on my own, staying in a hotel and using a tour guide, I’d never meet any of these people. But I talk to everybody. I introduce myself to people in restaurants. I talk to anybody and everybody I can. I talk to waiters. I’m curious. I have rabid curiosity, and that’s what informs my own Renaissance. Because if I’m not reinventing myself every couple of years, I’m gonna get stale. And so will you.

The Challenge Awaits

Vasari tells a story about the proto-Renaissance painter Giotto. The Pope sent a messenger asking for samples of his work. Giotto took a canvas, dipped his brush in red paint, and in one perfect motion, drew a circle freehand — so perfect it looked drawn with a compass. He sent only that. The messenger thought he was being mocked. The Pope recognized genius.

The point isn’t that Giotto could draw a perfect circle (though, seriously, try it — you can’t). The point is that mastery looks simple. From the outside, we see effortlessness. We don’t see the thousands of circles drawn before, the failures, the persistence.

So here’s my question: What’s your circle? What’s the thing you’re willing to practice thousands of times, fail at repeatedly, and still show up for tomorrow? Because that’s where your Renaissance begins — not in Florence, not in some magical moment of inspiration, but in the daily showing up, the consistent practice, the willingness to look foolish while you learn.

What will you do to create your Renaissance? Or will you sit comfortably watching the news, hour after hour, or scrolling social media day after day? Yes, you can grow from watching social media, but you can also get a lot of indoctrination. Get out of your box. It’s narrow. There are walls. And life is so much richer when you do.

Questions for You

What if the greatest artistic movement of your lifetime is happening right now, and you’re missing it because you’re watching Netflix? 

What constraints in your life could actually be gifts if you stopped seeing them as obstacles? 

When was the last time you spent 140 hours on anything? 

What if comfort isn’t just the enemy of progress — what if it’s the enemy of being fully alive? 

And here’s the one that scares me most: What if 500 years from now, someone looks back at our era and wonders how we had access to all of human knowledge in our pockets and did absolutely nothing interesting with it?

The bells are still ringing. The sun is still rising over purple mountains. An angel is still trapped in that marble, waiting for you to set her free.

Are you going to pick up the chisel, or just take a selfie with the statue?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Eric Rhoads