Venice: I am not making this up

“Murano Illuminates the World”

February 8, 2026 6 Comments

The walkway beneath the Procuratie Vecchie on the north side of Piazza San Marco is looking kind of edgy. One does not award points for this kind of work but if it were a sport they all deserve the maximum for “execution.” “Style,” on the other hand, remains in the eye of the beholder. As it should.

Last November 22 the passageway under the Procuratie Vecchie at the Piazza San Marco lit up with 12 glowing glass chandeliers. Yes, I’m very late to this subject, but I do not go to the Piazza every day, nor do I subscribe to the “Murano Glass Daily Astonisher” (totally made up).

Late as I may be, the lamps will be shining until March 1, so there is still time to see them if you’re in the neighborhood.

This year is the third edition of an annual invitation-only exhibition, “Murano Illuminates the World,” to showcase the collaboration of international glass masters with Muranese “furnaces” who were given the assignment “chandeliers.”

I admire the technical and creative talent that the artist and glassmaster displayed in this extraordinary collaboration. As for the appeal of any individual piece, opinions will certainly be respected. The mystical meaning of each work is elucidated in the excellent report from “Venezia Today” online (translated by me).

**Inside/Outside**
Ru Xiao Fan, with Effetre and Seguso Gianni. A birdcage complete with birds, in and out. “The work reflects the choice between security and liberty, and evokes the myth of Eden and the ‘invisible cages’ of the present. To leave the illusion of protection requires courage, but only he who risks can discover the true significance of flight.”

**Life’s Meaning**
The Abate Zanetti school, with master Eros Raffael. A group work born of the creativity of the young glassmasters. “The chandeliers’ leaves decorated in various shades of blue filaments symbolize the cycle of life. The leaves recall water, the origin of every form, and by their harmonious movement speak of time, the transformation and the eternal continuity of existence.”

**Musica Angelica (Angelic Music)**
Lucio Bubacco, with Vetreria 3 Artistico Lampadari. “A scenographic composition with an ensemble of angels that play classical instruments. The chandeleier is made of 30 arms and the light they carry becomes the atmosphere that surrounds the angelic figures.”

**Pool of Light**
F. Taylor Colantonio with Signoretto Lampadari in collaboration with Calvadore. “Has drawn inspiration from the designs in the archive of the Study Center of Glass of the Giorgio Cini Foundation on the island of San Giorgio Maggiore, and from the ceiling of the railway station of Santa Lucia. The Pool of Light imagines a ray of sunshine that filters through a swirling current of the lagoon.”

Because it’s impossible to show all the chandeliers in one photo, I divided the walkway into thirds. This is the middle section.

**Primavera d’Oriente (Eastern Spring)**
Simone Crestani, with Berengo Studio. “A chandelier inspired by models from the Twenties, where a flowering branch in borosilicate (silica and boron trioxide) glass, studded with pink buds, crosses and unbalances the linear structure in smooth glass to then recompose in a poetic equilibrium, combining geometry and naturalism.”

**Cuore Infinito (Infinite Heart)**
Joana Vasconcelos, with Berengo Studio, “transforms the chandelier into a pulsating organism… a luminous heart that vibrates with light and color, a monumental symbol of passione, resilience and transformation. The form, suspended between tension and harmony, reinterprets a domestic object into an emotional and universal icon.”

Things appear to be calming down in this stretch. No more pulsating organisms.

**The Observatory**
Irene Cattaneo, with Lavorazioni artistiche of Fabiano Amadi. “With its eight handmade “moonlike” spheres, the chandelier is homage to the glassmaking master of Murano, where the classic technique of the submerged entanglement is expertly fused with the use of metallic powder to create a luminous and profound effect.”

**Trama di Luce** **(Weave of Light)**
Michela Cattai, with Simone Cenedese. “It takes shape from the observation of the rhythms of the tides and the geometry of the islands of the lagoon by Murano, elements that define a fragile equilibrium and in continuous flux.”

This is what the chandelier looks like when it gets up in the morning. “We must not let daylight in upon the magic” is the famous warning about British royalty that comes to mind. You mean that extraordinary lamp looks like any old ordinary lightbulb in during the day? (from VeneziaToday, not credited)

**Calamaro (Squid)**
Massimo Micheluzzi, with Vetreria Anfora. “A chandelier in an organic form that evokes marine tentacles. The glass shapes the fluid movement of the water and the Venetian lagoon, transforming the chandelier into a creature that is poetic and alive, mirroring the material that breathes with the territory.”

**Profilo (Profile)**
Luca Nichetto, with Barovier & Toso, blends craftsmanship and technology in “A work that reinterprets in a contemporary key the silhouette of the classic chandelier, composed of 34 disks in centrifuged glass. Each disk conserves in the glass a delicate spiral motif, a trace of the gesture of the artisan. The light diffused by a central axis unites the forms in a hamonic dialogue between past and future, where centuries-old techniques meet innovative design.”

**Nature Rebirth**
Christian Pellizzari, with Salviati. “A suspended work composed of blown “eggs” and tentacles made with the technique of the ‘compasses’ of the Rezzonico chandeliers. The ancient material dialogues with an innovative system of micro-LED, celebrating the continuous rebirth of nature through light, fragility and strength.”

**Acqua Rings**
Chahan Minassian, with Nicola Moretti Murano, “reinterprets one of his iconic designs: overlapping disks of glass dance in a tonality inspired by the Venetian lagoon, composing a chandelier that is minimalist but vibrant, where the circular movement evokes the fluidity and reflections of water.”

Uncategorized

adding a plum

January 30, 2026 15 Comments

Thanks to everybody who cheered the flowers in my last post. You’ve cheered me up too.

So as a bonus, here is a picture of faith and courage and hope delivered straight from the plum tree near the vaporetto stop at San Pietro di Castello. Emboldened by the sunshine yesterday, the somewhat reasonable temperature and no serious wind, this tree decided to throw caution overboard and just start putting out leaves. Lino says they’re flowers. We’ll say “greenery.” I wouldn’t ever have thought I’d wish I could be a like a plum tree, but today they have put new heart into me.

So I squash any negative “Hope it works out for you” thoughts directed by grinchy spirits at the end of January. And the comment that’s even worse (addressed to the tree): “I guess you know what you’re doing………” (in the classic undertone conveying “You have lost your last shred of sense or survival, don’t come crying to me when it all goes belly-up”).

Excelsior.

Prunus domestica. My hat is off to you. Why don’t you lead the charge, seeing as you’re so confident?

Nature

flowering Venice

January 26, 2026 20 Comments

As I noted in my last post, the poet/philosopher/Viking raider/diamond cutter/prima ballerina assoluta (who knows if it’s a woman?) “Anon” mentioned the three sublime elements that have remained to us from paradise. The second is flowers.

If anyone were to imagine that Venice is made only of stone, brick and water, I’d like to correct that notion. Here is a very limited assortment of flowers I’ve seen in or near Venice over the years and seasons. Does it seem like a lot? I could have done more. They say that when “War and Peace” was on the verge of being published, Tolstoy suddenly cried out “A yacht race! I left out a yacht race!” In this case, I have left out the magnolia and plum and pomegranate and daisies…. I had to stop somewhere, as Tolstoy must also have regretfully realized.

Winter flowers sounds like a contradiction (experts know it’s not) but I was astonished one freezing winter day years ago to find myself walking through a cloud of perfume. That was my introduction to what Lino calls calycanthus — I discovered later that it is “Chinese winter bloom” (Chimonanthus praecox). This is not that particular tree; the one I discovered was almost completely hidden behind a different wall which only made the moment even more magical. If the fragrance wafts past you some frigid night, it verges on celestial. I read that this essential oil is used in some “quality perfumes.” It’s sheer quality all by itself.

It begins to bloom in December. Break off a little low-hanging branch, and in the few brief days before the flowers start dropping off your house will smell divine. No, I’m not exaggerating.

Lino knew a few places where the shrubs were easy to reach, so he would bring me a few twigs.

The violets make their first appearance lurking among the spring shadows.

Then everybody wants to get into the act.

Late February and early March bring mimosa.

Moving toward Easter (which also moves every year, try to keep up), the peach blossoms arrive, often from Sicily, or even from somewhere in the Veneto. It must depend on the weather. I only see them at the Rialto market.

Then the wisteria steps into the spotlight. It seems to be everywhere but I count on seeing it in the little campo behind us.

The Ristorante in Paradiso in the Giardini facing the lagoon never disappoints where its wisteria is concerned. I don’t know about the food.

On April 25, San Marco’s feast day, Venetian men go for the rose — the “bocolo” of a rose — and the longer the stem and redder the petals, the better. Your lady-love has to have one. Or else. One year we decided to take mine for a ride.

An abandoned bocolo does not bode well,either for the couple or for the rose.

Toward the end of April the forsythia takes center stage. This is an approximate date, of course; it comes out when it’s good and ready to come out.

Poppies are everywhere for too brief a time.

Yes, artichokes are flowers. These are a few castraure (cahs-trah-OO-reh) of the renowned Violet Artichoke of Sant’ Erasmo. Each is the very first bud that appears at the apex of the artichoke plant. People await their appearance sometime between April and May as if a special esoteric treasure is about to be bestowed. Because they now have reached a sort of cult status, it’s truly amazing how many castraure somehow show up in the market. After all, just one per plant … There are various recipes for them, of course, but considering that their primary attribute is their tender youth, they are especially delectable raw, sliced extremely fine and enhanced simply by salt, pepper and the best olive oil you can find. The supply only lasts a mere two weeks or so, then the botoi (BOH-toe-ee) move in.

Botoi are the flowers that bloom after the castraura has been removed. They are more flavorful, but they have no PR agent to rhapsodize about them so nobody makes a fuss about botoi the way they do about castraure. Also, there are many more botoi than there are castraure, so they don’t seem quite so exceptional. More than one expert prefers them to castraure, but to each his own mania.

To review: The upper crate contains castraure, the lower crate has botoi. They are both delectable.

Before we move on, let me alert you to the fact that Italy is rife with artichokes. You will find these on sale in Venice: Castraure from Tuscany. At a very reasonable price, too — another hint that you might have left the Sant’ Erasmo sector. (Castraure from that island, at least the first few days, can cost as much as 2 euros each.)

Accompanied by their botoi, noted as coming from Livorno (Tuscany). They actually look just the same to me. But the whole point of this interval is that artichokes are flowers.

Tamarisks love salty soil. Besides being lovely they are also very useful; on Sant’ Erasmo they serve as windbreaks around the asparagus and peas and other spring treats.

At just the right moment, the artichokes, poppies and tamarisks (here they are not pink, as you see) are all out together. Tamarisks also manage a faint perfume, which is charming.

Going to be figs when they grow up. I put this picture in just because I think it’s so cool, but then my rudimentary research reveals that figs have flowers, but are to be found inside the fruit. That seems grotesque but it obviously works so never mind.

This luxuriant sweep of shrubbery at the Giardini is Pittosporum tobira. My source says it is “native to eastern Asia and is widely grown as an ornamental plant in Mediterranean climates. The plant produces small, inconspicuous greenish or whitish flowers that grow in clusters in the leaf axils.” Until late May its only virtue is being green. But then the flowers begin to open up and become conspicuous. My source says the flowers are known for their “intense fragrance,” and that is an understatement.

Aren’t those little buds lovely? And their first aroma, after the long winter, makes you want to open your arms and invite them to your home and bring them cool drinks and expensive snacks and ask them if they’re happy and insist that they tell you if they need or want anything. That’s the first week or so. But like “The Man Who Came to Dinner,” they settle in, become obnoxiously comfortable, and decide they don’t ever want to leave. As the late spring days pass, they lose their early charm and frankly they don’t care.

Time passes, and as the buds mature in the sunshine the fragrance becomes denser, heavier, more aggressive. The perfume that once was so ingratiating begins to evolve into a sort of murmured menace. No longer delightful, the odor verges on nauseating. And that’s not the point at which they fade and die. No, they remain at that stage until they get bored revolting you, and then they stay for a while longer. This extraordinary plant travels the world under various aliases: Australian laurel, Japanese pittosporum, mock orange and Japanese cheesewood. Call it what you will, let it pass by. Turn off the porch light, lower the blinds, pretend you’ve had to leave unexpectedly for Kiribati. Or at least stop using the Giardini vaporetto stop and just walk to wherever you’re going.

Honeysuckle (Lonicera tatarica) at Sant’ Elena.

Oleander (Nerium oleander). I hope they leave it alone, it’s perfect just the way it is.

Limonium narbonense comes out in mid-August. Various relatives are called sea-lavender, statice, caspia, or marsh-rosemary.

Late summer brings out the Erica; I do not know which of the hundreds of species this one may be. These are generally called “heath” or “heather.” That’s all I can tell you, apart from the fact that they are protected and you really should resist taking any home.

This flowering shrub on the Vignole may be fleeceflower, or it may be silver lace vine. I hope some knowledgeable reader will settle this for me. Meanwhile it’s beautiful, and it lasts for weeks. Too bad it’s probably invasive, but we all know people like that. You take the fluffy with the bad.

Venetian-ness

bows of happiness

January 12, 2026 12 Comments

“Three things remain to us from paradise: Stars, flowers, and children.”

This enchanting statement is often attributed to Dante Alighieri; I regret to say that no evidence supports this. So rather than waste time grappling amongst a thousand footnotes for the truth let’s agree that the very talented Anon. wrote it.

It came to mind because of Sophie’s arrival across the canal from us on January 4. I don’t know her; I haven’t seen (and, strange to say, haven’t even heard) her. I only know that she’s a new neighbor and she has brought joy with her.

So in the spirit of Anon.’s poetic observation, here are a few glimpses over the years of these particular remnants of paradise scattered around here. Flowers and stars will follow.

CHILDREN

What a lovely thing to see when one looks out the front door.

I’m always on the lookout for the welcome ribbons. Pink for girls, blue for boys, as you know. They always make me feel a bounce of hope.

More twins! That was certainly a lively Christmas at their house.

I think her name is Roberta, but the big message is strung over the street. “E’ nata!” She’s born!

INTERLUDE: A summer stroll around Pellestrina, August 7, 2022. I was there on a typically sweltering summer Sunday to watch the annual local Venetian rowing races. With at least two hours to spare, I had plenty of time to lollygag. This was not at all my first time to this lagoon outpost of some 3,000 souls, so I wasn’t expecting surprises.

But surprised I was, to discover that the Stork had been working overtime. The number of ribbons I found tied to so many houses seemed almost like some sort of game. I won’t hazard any theories as to why a regiment of births had marched through this modest municipality in early August, though I’d like to know what had happened during the preceding November. Massive power outage — no TV but lots of candles? A village-wide festival of wine or grappa that got out of hand? Did a whole cohort make some crazy bet? Is it a cult? Articles continually come out lamenting Italy’s falling birth rate. Maybe they should come to Pellestrina and test the water?

This certainly cuts off the question “What are you going to name him?” Enea (eh-NAY-uh) is the Italian version of Aeneas, the Trojan warrior for whom *The Aeneid* is titled. A lot to live up to. I couldn’t even live up to this gate.

I notice that white ribbons from a wedding are also attached to the gate. Probably just coincidence.

One single bow seems a little sad somehow, compared to the extravagance of the other families. But wait! Another white bow? Has Pellestrina — or maybe the parish priest — gone mad?

Statistics reveal that typically more boys are born than girls, but Pellestrina appears to be taking the situation far too seriously.

You don’t even have to write a book — the whole story is right out in the open here. It looks like the set of a comic opera when the curtain rises. Those two babies are doomed (by their mothers, obviously) to marry. Either that or one of them escapes destiny by fleeing to the South Seas to become a pirate.

Years ago I read a little report in the Gazzettino. The parish priest of Pellestrina — I’m pretty sure that’s where he was — had just happily celebrated the baptism of a new arrival. And he asked, “Why do we ring the church bells only when someone dies? We ought to ring them too when a baby is born.”

He’s not wrong.

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