It is a typical Sunday in the Eternal City – the sun is shining, comfortingly warm on my shoulders despite it being the beginning of November. And while normally Rome is bursting with traffic, noise and general chaos, here and today is different.

Away from the bustle of Piazza Navona, the crowds of the Vatican and the lights of camera flashes surrounding the monumental Trevi Fountain, I find myself in a magical place: a place where time seems to have stopped, cloaking its dreamlike landscape in serenity and beauty. I’m in the very heart of Quartiere Coppedè.
Earlier today, strolling down Via Chiana, passing its closed shops and cafés, it felt like I was the only living soul on the planet. I knew what it was that I came here to see, but did not know how to get there. I continued walking, hoping to stumble across something that would point me in the right direction. Finally, I saw my clue – a regular building, a residential ‘palazzo’. At first it seemed unremarkable: it was just as tall as all the others around it; lined with high windows and shallow balconies; painted a muddy brown color. And yet, as I looked closer, I noticed remarkable detail – carved vines growing around its columns, human faces peering out from within its façade, and angry lions roaring down at me. I intuitively made a left, and found myself here – at Coppedè’s Piazza Mincio.
The Quartiere Coppedè is named after the architect who designed it, the Florentine Gino Coppedè. Completed aro
und 1925 this architectural gem marks the end of the Art Nouveau movement in Italy – a style that is found in abundance, for instance, in cities like Vienna, Barcelona and Paris, and is characterized by the use of elements inspired by nature: animals, birds, insects, trees, flowers and roots. As in the work of both Klimt (Austria) and Gaudí (Spain), Coppedè made use of all of these elements, as well as bright colors and tasteful gilding, creating masterpieces that are not only striking and exquisite, but
at the same time also entirely bizarre and dreamlike. The death-mask of a stern-looking king hangs above the depiction of a large golden spider weaving its delicate web (Palazzina del Ragno); gargoyles spit flames; tiled salamanders burn beside swimming sea-horses; a wooden medieval-style Madonna, surrounded by mosaics and frescoes of Renaissance Florentine nobility, adorns the turret of the piazza’s most remarkable building (Villini delle Fate). The late afternoon sunlight, reflecting off the water in the Fontana delle Rane, magically lights up the façade of the Palazzina del Ragno and all of its shimmering detail. Gino Coppedè was the son of an artisan furniture-maker, and was influenced by different time periods and styles that one may easily observe in the piazza: the Medieval Ages, the Baroque, and Liberty. The Florentine used a myriad of different materials to create his wonderland, such as for example marble, ancient Roman brick, glass, wood, glazed ceramic and wrought iron for the elaborate gates.

Looking across to the other side of the piazza is a large, beautifully carved entrance archway that leads out on to Via Tagliamento, and ends at Piazza Buenos Aires that, in turn, has a gem of its own: the stunning Church of Santa Maria Addolorata. Built and consecrated in 1930 this church, whose façade mosaics are equal in beauty to those of the great Basilica San Paolo, is the Argentinian national church in Rome and is dedicated to Our Lady of Sorrows.

As the sun begins to set, I find myself on Viale Regina Margherita. Leaving behind Coppedè’s silent, magical kingdom is a strange and almost surreal sensation … not very much unlike that of stumbling upon it in the first place.
by Ally Novgorodtseva