Musical New Year

La Fenice opera house.

I don’t often watch New Year’s Day concerts on television (or computer), but lots of people veer toward the version from Vienna, perhaps drawn by the irresistible, fatal lure of the “Radetzky March.”

This year, though, we were keen to see the concert from La Fenice, live via streaming, and apart from the music itself, I was entertained by observing all the measures the orchestra and chorus had taken to maintain distancing and otherwise limit contact in the decidedly closed area of the theatre.  I checked them off, mentally, as from some viral bingo card.  Masks, of course, though the inevitably maskless wind and brass players were separated by plexiglas panels.  The chorus wore masks, which didn’t seem to affect the quality of the singing but must have been somewhat challenging where breathing was concerned.  (Not to mention the drippage that masks inevitably call forth.)  The next day it was sharply noted by many that the musicians of the Vienna concert had not worn masks.

Making space for everybody meant that the entire orchestra section of the theater was stripped of its pink velvet armchairs and covered with a platform.  (Some of the armchairs were moved to the stage for the benefit of the singers.)  I’d like some expert to explain how this repositioning might have affected the overall acoustics.  I didn’t notice any particular problem.

Lack of an audience threatened depressing intervals of silence between the numbers, but it turned out that the performers applauded each other — the chorus clapped for the orchestra or soloists; the orchestra stamped their feet and the string players also tapped their music stands with their bows.  The conductor clapped for everybody.  It was perfect.

The armchairs are very comfortable and very luxe.  It’s an ambitious space to cover, though.  This image was taken before a performance two summers ago.

Naturally the program was entirely composed of old warhorses, and we love them all.  This is one moment in the year when rash experiments in music are neither needed nor wanted.

The reason I’m mentioning all this is because someone had the charming idea to complement the “Barcarolle” from The Tales of Hoffman with a ride through the canals aboard a gondola.  Even if you don’t care about music, old or equine, I wanted you to experience this sensation, partly because it has become sadly rare these days, and partly because these few waterborne moments give the most expressive glimpse of the city as she is at the moment that I’ve ever seen.  I suppose it was filmed early on a Sunday, because although the taxis and gondolas have almost disappeared, the barges on workdays are still going full tilt.  But the sense of emptiness, in canals and along many streets, has become all too common.

Among my many hopes for the New Year is one in particular: To see the city full of gondolas again, slipping through the maze of Venetian waterways.  With or without Hoffman.

(Apologies for the quality of these clips; I couldn’t find any better.  But they show the organization of the concert, and the music itself is wonderful, as always.)

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Christmas refrain

This small Nativity scene is just inside the entrance of the church of San Francesco de Paola on via Garibaldi. There’s a bigger scene up near the high altar but I’m sticking  with this one: It’s made almost entirely of recyclable materials, primarily bottle caps. It was created, according to the sign below, at the “Sant’ Alvise” day-care center in the neighborhood for persons with various disabilities. Whatever those disabilities may be, the group created a small masterpiece.

Technically, we are still well within the Twelve Days of Christmas, so Christmas images are more than appropriate — except that everyone has now fixed their beady eyes on the arrival of the New Year, so Santas and creches don’t seem quite so…necessary?

Fine, I will go with the marching calendar, but not without sharing a few more glimpses of Christmas hereabouts.  To call it “low-key” would imply that there even was a key, but however modest the celebrations may have been, we treasured them even more.

Mary’s face is a bit mystifying — how did they make those eyes? Perhaps I will pursue this matter, perhaps not. Just add it to all the other mysteries of the year.
Are those angels made of fluorescent light bulbs?  Outstanding!
The tobacco-toy-lottery ticket shop constructed Christmas in the window entirely from Lego bits. Not for me to say, but anyone who had time to do this must be escaping from something.
Calle Lunga Santa Maria Formosa is the site of a silent battle between green-and-red windows. I have awarded the prize to the one on the left.
I’m just sorry you can’t admire how enchanting the twinkling little lights made the whole arrangement.  These are just crying out to be turned into wedding bouquets.  With the lights.
In the splendid entryway to the hospital (I’m fine) is this phenomenal Nativity scene constructed on a mascareta from the nearby Querini rowing club.
Matting made of rushes from the lagoon marshes. Reliable sources (via Giuseppe Tassini) maintain that the sestiere of Cannaregio took its name from canne (rushes) that once lined its canal banks. The calle de le Canne near San Giobbe is named for a long-ago storeroom of rushes; these had various uses, primarily to apply pitch to waterproof the hulls of wooden ships.
Some resourceful person(s) managed to obtain a not-worm-eaten bricola. Many of these pilings out in the lagoon are in desperate shape, but this is worthy of its exalted role here.
From the day after Christmas until Epiphany hundreds of panettoni will remain in the supermarkets, placed front and center at ever diminishing prices.  The management obviously hopes it won’t be forced to throw them away at season’s end. Or leave them in a warehouse till next Christmas?
Undaunted sunset reaches via Garibaldi from however many miles away. I hope your 2021 will be just as bright.

 

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Redentore up in smoke

Waiting for the fireworks. Last year, this looked like a party. This year, it looks like a public health nightmare.  I hadn’t ever thought about it, but fireworks manufacturers must be hurting this year along with everybody else.

This just in:  The bridge is already under construction, and I’m sure the fireworks are already on the way, but like a launch at Cape Canaveral, mayor Luigi Brugnaro has scrubbed the mission.

This year, there will be no fireworks for the Redentore (July 19).  No fireworks, no party boats, no “notte famosissima.” It’s a blow, but there were already signs that caution was going to rule, beginning with the new regulation that spaces along the fondamente were going to be assigned only by booking.  But in the end, it was obvious that safe social distancing was going to be impossible to plan, much less maintain, on water or on land.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.  “Festa of the Redentore, on the embankments only by reservation.”

Here is the mayor’s announcement (translated by me):

“I do not have good news.  I have been awake all night, but unfortunately I’m forced to tell you that we are annulling the fireworks for the Redentore.  I can’t bring myself to make it work, I have tried everything.  In conscience I just don’t feel like it, for me it’s the most beautiful festa of the year.  We set up an incredible system for booking for the boats, we even invented a series of plans for limiting the flow.  It’s my decision, I take responsibility for it, but I cannot bring the city to risk it.  This is a safe city.”

If you come for the fireworks, you’re almost certainly going to want to eat something somewhere. Not a scene that bears repeating this year.

No news at this moment as to whether the races will be held on Sunday afternoon, or the mass.

However, I think it’s unlikely that the festal mass on Sunday afternoon is going to be permitted to proceed as in days of yore.
Winds of change, as the cliche’ goes. Hang tough, Venice.

 

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It’s even worse for the prisoners

Everybody tends to think their situation is the worst, and I’m not going to start some competition.  But even in the best of times (whenever those were), one tends not to think about prisons and their residents unless there is some special reason.  There’s a reason now — it’s the virus, and I don’t mean only the risk of contagion in crowded quarters, which has already been recognized as a huge danger.

No, it was when I heard that quarantine in the prisons entailed cutting off family visits that I began to pay attention.  Seen from the outside, of course it makes total sense.  But that was pushing the prisoners just too far.  There were violent revolts in prisons around the country, with some victims.  Then a few prisoners started writing.

On Saturday, March 21 the Gazzettino published a long open letter that the inmates of three prisons — in Venice, Padova and Vicenza — sent to the President of the Republic, the Prime Minister, and Pope Francis.

Slightly shortened and translated by me:

“Like everyone in the outside world, we are very worried about this Coronavirus now classified as a pandemic, that involves everybody without distinction and that is inevitably changing everybody’s life…..

As is natural, we who are among the “last” of society are feeling anguish about those outside these walls, just as they are feeling it about us.

The conditions in which we’re living are difficult, in some cases impossible (note: overcrowding is a national scandal).  Someone could say that in the Veneto, all things considered, the situation isn’t the worst (but we can assure you that this would be a war between the poor), just as someone could say that we deserve prison.

For the great majority, that’s true, but we deserve punishment, not torture.  Our liberty has to be removed, but not dignity, the right to health, the right to live.  We respect the restrictions imposed on us, but we don’t accept all of them.  For example, some measures that have been taken in light of the emergency, intended to contain the virus, such as the suspension of family visits, the activities of volunteers and their associations, the “reward” permissions and the activities of the officials (guards).

Prisoners during the Venetian Republic had time on their hands and heavy thoughts on their hearts.  Many of them found some kind of tool that was perfect for gouging graffiti in the stone of their cells — the usual things: names, dates, imprecations, affirmations of innocence, pictures of martyred saints who looked like them (not made up, there’s an amazing Saint Sebastian graffito in the Doge’s Palace prison).  But  this lion deserves special mention, lying as he is on what was the sill of the barred window of somebody’s cell.

We are struggling, Mr. President and Your Holiness, to understand the goodness of these choices.  We’d like for you to understand how dramatic these choices are for us.  A visit, even if only one hour a week, a word of comfort from a volunteer, some activity even if only intermittent, are little things that keep us alive.  Maybe so much distress wouldn’t have been so violently shown if the decisions had been communicated to the prisoners keeping in mind the pain that they would have caused and immediately giving, at the same time, the possibility to telephone every day, and to talk via Skype more often…..

We are making this appeal for all incarcerated people in Italy (and soon this problem will be experienced in other European countries and the world), but we permit ourselves to make it also for the personnel of the prison administration, first of all the agents.  Today we all have to be united to fight the same thing, not between ourselves.  The game of cops and robbers doesn’t matter anymore, here we are playing with each person’s life.

The “merit” that this “damned virus” might have is, on one hand, whether we want to or not, it puts us all on the same level because we all need each other, and of collaboration…The other is that it imposes on us a serious reflection, a real question on the meaning of life, of the life of each one of us, even the most derelict.

This is why it was needed immediately, though it’s never too late, a more human attention to we 61,000 prisoners and our families, and also for the nearly 45,000 persons and their families who are involved in the management of the 189 prisons….

With this letter we want to express our closeness to all the categories that despite everything and with all the difficulties of the case continue to guarantee assistance, medical care, security and control.  We want to thank all the volunteers, their absence has made us understand how precious they are and how badly we treat them sometimes.

St. Theodore (“Todaro”) with his spear, shield and dragon surmount the column in the Piazza San Marco, but what we see there is a reproduction; the original saint and his lizardy victim are here, safe in the courtyard of the Doge’s Palace.  I’m supposed to cheer for the saint, but ever since I saw the dragon up close here, all downcast and disheartened, I changed my mind.  I’m part of Team Dragon now.

We want to thank especially our angels of health: to doctors and nurses goes a symbolic but sincere hug and praise for their professionalism and humanity. We look at their actions with profound emotion.

We also feel the need to be close to all the families who have lost someone dear, we here in prison know too well what it means to lose a loved one (mother, father, wife, sons, brothers…) without being able to be near them and for many of us without even being able to attend their funeral.

In all the prisons in different ways we all are trying to help however we can.  Two examples: From the prison in Venice the inmates held a meeting and wrote a letter to make their voice heard in sign of solidarity, communicating that they have collected 1 euro per prisoner for the Intensive Care Unit of the hospital dell’Angelo in Mestre (70 contributions totaled 110 euros/$119.08).

At the prison “Due Palazzi” of Padova among many activities one in particular has to do with the world of health.  The work group, despite the difficulties, fear and worry, continue to make their small contribution furnishing the CUP service (appointment reservations for the hospital in Padova and Mestre). You can’t imagine what it means to be able to make our contribution in a moment like this — it makes us feel alive!

We’re not looking for praise or thanks, we’re proud of our little contribution that we make with patience and dedication to people who are vulnerable in this moment as never before.

Our families are very worried about us, just as we are worried about them.  The prisons aren’t immune from danger, on the contrary, they’re particularly vulnerable considering the condition they’re in.  In this regard we ask how the contagion is going to be dealt with, considering the overcrowding and the same structures that don’t permit the essential standards of security.

We’re not a little worried about the circular put out by the chief of DAP (Department of Prisons): The personnel of the Penitentiary Police who are working in prisons must continue to work even if they’ve had contact with infected persons, because they are “essential public workers,” and so must “guarantee…the operation of the activities of the penal institutions” and therefore “safeguard the order and security of the public collective.”  It seems to us like a provocation in bad taste!

We have among us people with grave pathologies such as diabetics, people with heart disease, invalids, people with respiratory problems, especially the elderly, and many, many drug addicts, persons with serious depression and psychiatric pathologies — if you’ll permit us to say so, it’s a human dump.

All of us….want to launch a call for help but also an invitation to provide for containing the virus within the prisons and the problem of overcrowding, because the two are connected….

We’d like to remind you, Mr. President of the Republic, that all the institutions have the responsibility and duty to care also for the weakest and defenseless of society.

To “our” Pope Francis, we say thank you, and don’t worry if the powerful don’t listen to you, or listen very little, we love you.

In this very particular moment, in which we are all a little more equal, we are very trusting that our cry for help will not fall on deaf ears.

Signed:  The inmates of the Casa di Reclusione Due Palazzi di Padova, Casa di Reclusione della Giudecca di Venezia, Casa Circondariale di Vicenza

Sign on the facade of the prison in Ravenna, placed by prisoners and guards. (Photo: ravennatoday.it)

(As of today, the President and the Premier have responded via the newspaper, with many thanks and expressions of appreciation, etc.  Actions remain to be seen, but no deaf ears, in any case.)

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