On the eastern side of the Piazza del Popolo, wildly decorated stairs wind up the Pincipian Hill. Under the guidance of dozens of half naked warriors and deities, one leaves the business of the eternal city and enters the realm of the Borghese dynasty.
When I went up those stairs, the hill was set off with red and white tape and instead of following the straight path, I had to walk around the hill to find an entrance. It was clouded and raining. Angels, saints and heroes of ages gone by flanked my path through this enormous park. Neither trees nor lawns seemed too special, but the countless baroque statues and the dark weather gave the gardens a surrealistic and somewhat gothic atmosphere. Showers battered their marble skins as well as my umbrella, while I sought for a way to the renown treasure.
At last, on the other side of the park, I found it, the Galleria Borghese...
Compared to the vastness of the Vatican and the antique ruins of the Forum and the Palatino, it looked small and insignificant, but that was before I had seen what it contained.
For while the emperors and popes may excel in greatness and size, the galleria certainly holds the greatest beauty. There in a colourful baroque hall, surrounded by ancient treasures from the time of Caesar and Traianus, a scene unfolds. A desperate woman looks up to her divine ancestors and cries out for their mercy.
Her name is Daphne and she is pursued by the god of art... Apollo himself is about to touch his nymph as she flees before him, and just as his fingers reach for her waist, her pleadings are answered. Her legs turn into bark, branches grow from her fingers and sprout leaves.
In spite of his beauty and power, the god of all splendid things carved by human hands, deity of the sun and the daylight and patron of the muses shall not have her.
If anyone would ever come close to matching mythical Pygmalion, it's Bernini. Here, in this hall, stone becomes flesh and flesh becomes wood. Leaves so thin they could be real, twigs so tender they would snap in the wind, faces full of emotion. If any artist ever came closer to performing a miracle, he surely deserves his work to be given breath.

A week later, when I was back in the Netherlands, I went to another museum, one which contained a collection of contemporary art. It wasn't my first choice, but I joined the group and tried to appreciate the interesting constructions... Meanwhile though, my mind drifted off to Apollo and Daphne, to Bernini and the Galleria Borghese, and I wondered if there would ever be another sculptor with such talent and skill. Perhaps it would be time for a baroque renaissance?