Purple
permeates the city – Florence in Tuscany – in tribute to the football team that
represents it – ACF Fiorentina, aka La
Viola. It is said that the colour has no actual connotation but came about fortuitously
after the original red-and-white halved shirts of Fiorentina were washed,
presumably at too high a temperature, and the colours ran. Most likely
apocryphal, and cannot explain the switch from black to white shorts that
followed. In any case, such a diffusion would have resulted in pink.
Conversely,
the club's badge is informed by the city's heraldry. The roles are transposed,
a fleur-de-lis does for both,
typically in red mounted on a white background, certainly in the case of
Fiorentina and often for the metropolis too. An ordinary state of affairs,
except Florence is a UNESCO designated World Heritage Site – has been since
1982 – remarkable for its Renaissance architecture. Football is an irrelevance
generally for those who visit here and few will make the connection, let alone
be aware of it. But the effect is the same: purple seems to suit the
environment, just as if some design agency had proposed it as an apposite hue
(no doubt for an exorbitant fee).
Stadio
Comunale Artemio Franchi is placed well away from the older material that draws
in the tourists, probably with intent. Why locate something as utilitarian as a
football stadium alongside buildings as venerable as the Cattedrale di Santa
Maria del Fiore, the Palazzo Vecchio? Yet the Artemio Franchi offers more than
mere function and was perhaps as progressive in its day as the Il Duomo di
Firenze was in its.
Pier
Luigi Nervi was tasked with building the ground: a structural engineer and architect renowned for his pioneering
appropriation of reinforced concrete, and a progenitor of Italian Modernism. Work
began in 1930, was completed in 1932, and the stadium has changed little since.
It could be said that Stadio Artemio Franchi kick started Nervi’s career. His portfolio
is impressive: he designed the UNESCO Headquarters in Paris; the Torino
Esposizioni in – you guessed it – Turin; the Palazzetto dello Sport in Rome; the ‘Hall
of the Pontifical Audiences’, which bridges the border between Italy and the Vatican
City; and he also had a hand in engineering the Pirelli Tower in Milan. [Built
some 25 years later, Nervi’s finest contribution to stadium
architecture is actually the Stadio Flaminio in Rome, which the Italian Rugby
Federation is supposedly in the process of bastardising while their rugby team
play out their international fixtures at the capital’s aesthetically flawed
Stadio Olimpico.]
The
slightly out-of-town location of the Artemio Franchi works to its advantage. It
is a very low-rise structure, save for its svelte tower, and would be utterly overwhelmed
among the grandeur of central Florence. Instead, we have residential
tenements to the west, the modest Stadio Luigi Ridolfi to the south (a
municipal athletics facility), and unabridged views towards the mountains north
and east – the Florentine hills of Fiesole and Settignano. Trees dot the
perimeter and a road encircles it. The stadium’s concrete framework can be
viewed from all around.
From
above, the stadium’s footprint traces a rather awkward ‘D’ shape. This is
because the Artemio Franchi once accommodated a 220 metre sprint track – so
long to cater for the completion of marathons. In preparation for the 1990
World Cup, the entire running track was removed to allow for a second, shallower
tier, requiring that the pitch be lowered by 2.4 metres. This in turn
facilitated the extraction of the temporary stands set behind each goal, which
stood in isolation and probably didn’t hold that many spectators anyway, as
well as freeing up the parterre to function once more as a parterre, rather
than the secondary viewing platform it had ineffectually become. Other changes
included the replacement of some pretty awful roof extensions with ones more
sympathetic – although still far from ideal – and the installation of
individual seats in place of the existing wooden benches. The seats of the new
lower tier were initially green, which worked, the rest a tasteful shade of
grey. Now almost all are grey save for those in the tribuna centrale (grandstand) and the lower tier facing it, which
are purple – as is the club’s name spelled out in seats in the tier above; this
also works. Since the 1990 renovations, the concrete has been refinished a
second time and the stairways have been painted yellow.
Despite
the increased capacity, plastic chairs, and the removal of much of the clutter
that afflicted the stadium prior to 1990, it is many of Artemio Franchi’s pre-existing
features that make it interesting: three helicoid staircases that provide
external access to the upper gallery; the tower – streamlined, glass-fronted,
almost art-nouveau; the bare concrete underside of the terracing and its gentle
curve; the outward facade of the tribuna;
the roof. The tower might be considered extraneous, the stairs merely salutary,
the façade functional, but the roof is to be greatly admired. It is cantilevered
– or not, depending how you interpret the stresses placed on the bifurcating
structure supporting it: 24 corbels, the tiers below serving as their
counterweight. It is a shame the two (genuinely cantilevered) roof extensions
weren’t done away with completely, but the original structure doesn’t provide
much coverage.
It’s
all very pleasing, yet Fiorentina has plans to construct a new home. Perhaps
this is why, contrary to the attention lavished on Artemio Franchi’s interior
in recent years, the exterior – the underside of the exposed terraces – is
spalled, shabby, and neglected. The ground of arch-rivals Juventus has been
cited as an inspiration and probable template, a stadium that was built on the
site of the much maligned Stadio delle Alpi, which was too large, had a running
track, lacked intimacy and atmosphere: built anew in 1990, things didn’t work
out and Juventus ended up again sharing the Stadio Olimpico with Torino, before
they knocked the Alpi down and put the Juventus Stadium in its place. Fiorentina
does not share a ground, and theirs is listed, comfortable in its surroundings.
Does it not seem absurd to move away from a unique and perfectly serviceable
structure in Florence only to then mimic a building contrived to address a
predicament that had arisen in Turin? Could Il Duomo di Firenze have once been
torn down and the Mole Antonelliana replicated in its place?
If only Siena was faced with such a dilemma. Despite sharing a name, Siena’s Artemio
Franchi – aka Montepaschi Arena – is shambolic by comparison. But then, Siena
have not met with the same success as their northern cousin, or much
success at all.
Siena
have been playing football since 1908, which is longer than Fiorentina, who
formed in 1926. Siena’s Artemio Franchi is a very low key affair. Little
remains of the structure as it was in 1938 when the ground hosted its first
game: a friendly against another Tuscan neighbour, Empoli. Initially consisting
of just a single grandstand, it wasn’t until 1955 that the stadium grew in size
with the construction of an additional stand directly opposite. These two
stands remain, and stood alone for a long while, quietly overlooking the
athletics’ track, and themselves quietly overlooked by the surrounding
tenements and lines of trees. This wouldn’t do for Serie A, but AC Siena had
never played in Serie A. Then, in 2003 AC Siena were promoted to Serie A, and they would
have to do something about their stadium.
I
can find no definitive information as to whether the Artemio Franchi was expanded in
stages or all at once. What I can tell you is that the ground as it looks now
was pretty much how I came across it when I visited in 2005, so however they went about it, it took
less than two years to complete. In any case, the result is a mess, quite
frankly, but not without its charm, comprised of – count them – twelve distinct
sections with a collective capacity of 15,373.
The
Tribuna Danilo Nannini (the original, covered section of the ground) has aged
remarkably well. The cantilevered roof resembles a smaller, slightly less
daring version of the one seen at the Artemio Franchi in Florence. Its
underside is even the same colour: a sort of pale yellow. To its rear, a
private road providing access and the Fortezza Medicea obscured by trees; to
its side, a small covered section with room enough for 40 wheelchair users. The
Danilo Nannini itself holds 1,500
fans, despite not being be much more than 60 metres in length.
If
you’ve come to Siena as a tourist, by car or by bus, chances are you’ve
approached from its south-western aspect having disembarked along the western
edge of the Fortezza Medicea and wandered through the Giardini Pubblici. There
in front of you is the entrance to the Curva Ospiti (Guest Curve). Now would be
a good time to point out that Siena’s Artemio Franchi is surrounded by higher
ground, which means its barely discernible from any angle. If you tore down the
fences, cut back the shrubs, chopped down the trees and tilted your head
downwards then you’d behold a symmetry of steel: at the curve’s apex, a fairly
low-rise structure; either side, two sets of much larger terraces fan diagonally out;
at each end, smaller sections. The Curva Ospiti takes up the smaller section
closest to the tribuna, two of the
larger sections next along, and the wider, shallower terracing directly behind
the goal. Collectively, these stands can accommodate 3,000 away supporters. The
south-easterly sections constitute the Curva Beneforti (also known as the Curva
San Domenico in tribute to the Basilica of San Domenico that stands behind) and
can house 2,000 fans.
Next, the Gradinata De Luca – capacity: 4,081 – on the ground’s eastern edge facing
the tribuna. The stand that was added
in 1955 has been extended upon, probably about doubling its capacity. This
seems natural, but the façade of the lower tier is now completely hidden. Because
of the buildings that line Viale Curtatone it wasn’t particularly visible in the
first place, and not everyone will consider that a bad thing. Still, the
reinforced concrete supports are one of the few architectural details of
interest here, so it is a bit of a shame.
Which
leaves the Curva Robur and its little brother squeezed into the corner between
the Robur and the Gradinata De Luca. The Curva Robur holds 4,700 and it’s from
where the ultras offer their support. The other stands have followed the shape
of the athletics track. Not the Robur, which has been built parallel to the
goal-line on top of the defunct athletics’ track, almost as if it was never
there. Behind, more trees, a large hotel, and the Regione Toscana Genio Civile,
which I think is something related to civil engineering.
All
these (relatively) recent additions are essentially temporary structures that
have become permanent. They are supported by identical steel trusses and are
equipped with identical green, plastic seats. Behind them all, either trees or
buildings, or both. It is this backdrop, augmented by the fact that the stadium has
been built into the ground to maintain a lower profile, that provides a
cohesion that is structurally lacking. The ground is so beautifully hemmed in,
that those coming to marvel at the Piazza del Campo will probably miss
it.
Curva Robur circa 2005
In 2009/2010,
AC Siena were relegated to Serie B. They bounced straight back only to be relegated
for a second time in 2013. Within a year the club was bankrupt and had to register under a different name – Robur Siena – and begin again in Serie D (although they have since been promoted to Serie C).
Siena
had plans to build a new ground, but these have understandably been shelved.
The concept looked strong but, as with Fiorentina, it involved moving away
from the town centre, sacrificing views and vistas that imbue a sense of
identity and create a unique atmosphere. Neither club should mind if such schemes
never reach fruition.
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