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.”
A closer look at those beautiful buds.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)The final section of the line-up.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.”
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?
He seemed to have settled in here, or as much as he could while sitting on a boat that looks like a bathtub toy. This is before the storm.
I thought I’d update the life, times, travails, and tribulations of San Giovanni Battista (Saint John the Baptist), visiting Venice as a work of art in the guise (or as they say here, in the clothes) of San Juan Bautista, patron saint of the island of Puerto Rico, as you know.
After unpacking his imaginary baggage back in April, he was left to perch pensively atop a little boat in the canal at the bottom of via Garibaldi. That was fine. Then one night a tempestuous rainstorm swept through, and the next morning he had been removed. He might have blown over or been in danger or damaged or something. I felt sorry, because he was supposed to hang out with us down here in the bilge of the Good Ship Castello till the Biennale closes on November 24.
Then suddenly he was back. But he was shorter somehow, a little less majestic — the storm had taken something out of him, but I couldn’t figure out what — yet he was just as contemplative as before. Maybe more so. I sensed that the experience had sobered him.
Duck feet that want to be rafts? They’re perfect for bracing yourself barefoot in a very small space, that’s clear.These were his hands at the beginning. After the storm, these aren’t the hands of the saint that was. No more arpeggios on the piano for him.Clever machinery in his skull must be there to continue forming new thoughts and ideas. More or less like our skulls.
Time passed, but just when it seemed normal to have him hanging around two men showed up, disassembled him, and carted him (it/them/those) away, down via Garibaldi under the blazing sun. The boat remains, but the saint has left the building.
Saint-moving day. Get some friends, offer pizza.This is my brain either on Friday afternoon or Monday morning.
I went by the small exhibition space dedicated to him to discover his fate. The young Greek woman who had been engaged to answer questions on the art and the artists’ cooperative was startled to hear that Saint John was no longer at his post. This was awkward; she had been encouraging visitors to go down the street to see the creation in the flesh (technically, in the driftwood). Nobody had thought to let her know that the work was no longer working. And therefore she knew only what I knew.
I passed by the space some time later, and another young woman explained that the problem is that when it rains the little boat fills with water and becomes unstable as a base on which to position a saint made of driftwood. Solution: Remove the saint and — one hopes — bail the boat. Not sure about that last part, though. It just floats there, all alone, possibly aware that an abandoned boat really is nothing more than driftwood waiting for the next storm.
I can sort of see the point about the statue’s instability on a waterlogged boat, but maybe the instability is part of the whole concept? Like a metaphor?This image is exhibited in the small space on a narrow side street used as the Explanation Point for this piece of art. This wreckage was the trove from which the statue was constructed.The artist made a model of the assemblage in metal before he started looking for driftwood. I admit I’m out of step with art, but this seems like evolving backward.If you’re capable of making this, I struggle to grasp what could be the point of doing it later in driftwood. I think this is way cool enough. It’s still inexplicable, but much cooler.The artists are listed at the bottom of the poster. My search for enlightenment ends here.I look at his expression and can only say “Same, your saintship. Same.”
“BUONGIORNO BELL’ANIMA!!” Good morning, beautiful spirit! This ebullient greeting been up for several years, and it always gives me a boost, although I’ll never know how this relationship developed. The two persons involved know who they are. I do hope they’re happy.
There are 20,000 entries under “Venice” on amazon.com. (I’d have thought there were more, actually.) But that’s only the English-language site. Amazon Japan lists “over 6,000.” In any case, whatever your language, Venice is going to be there somehow. Histories, novels, travel guides, poetry, cookbooks, memoirs and, for all I know, limericks and postcards and old flight boarding cards.
Add to that mighty flood the tributary streams of academic studies and research and theses, the reports from national and international committees, the torrents of daily news and opinion pieces and blogs. Anyone during the past millennium with a brain and a pencil seems to have written something about Venice and there is no end in sight. It would appear that you cannot be a warm-blooded, live-young-bearing creature that is alive who has not written something about Venice.
But within this Humboldt Current of ideas and facts and fantasies there are plenty of other thoughts and feelings that flow through daily life here. Letters to the editor are fine, but it’s much simpler (and cheaper) for the vox populi to make itself heard through signs. These come in all sorts of ways, but they’re everywhere.
There are the personal messages from the heart. The heart above is in wonderful shape, but there are many that aren’t.
“Unhappy with a lamentable smile.” I wonder if the smile is easily identifiable as lamentable, or if it’s a cheerful smile hiding a broken heart (thus qualifying as even more lamentable). Cue the music: “Take a good look at my face, you see my smile is out of place, if you look closer it’s easy to trace the tracks of my tears…” Thank you, Smokey Robinson. It would be hard to get all that on a wall, so we’ll hope this person’s smile has improved.On a much less poetic note comes this rage-graffito that has been on this wall for a few years now. “Drug-addicted lesbian slut infected with nymphomania.” I wonder if it made him feel better. I can only hope so. Wow.
Neighborhoods bubble with exasperated reminders of some basic rules of civility, in varying degrees of sharpness. One eternal theme is dog poop.
The offended party has put this where everybody walking north (or, briefly, east) is sure to see it.“The campiello is not your dogs’ toilet. Be ashamed.” A common complaint, always heartfelt, always futile.Same problem expressed a little more elegantly here.“Do you love your dog? Take his crap home. We didn’t throw our kids’ used diapers on the street but we took them home. Think about it.” It seems odd to equate love for your dog with basic politeness to humans; the dog certainly doesn’t equate love and poop. But the emotion is the point and yes, it’s true, it would be just as bad to dispose of diapers in a similar way. But, unhappily, here public spaces don’t belong to everybody, they belong to nobody, so the good times keep rolling. Note also that this neatly printed message has been inserted into a sort of thick plastic envelope that has been nailed to the wall. Not for this person a few strips of tape — this reprimand is intended to last.The notice-leaver has made an equally eloquent point by creating and installing this wedge of wood. It needs no sign to get its message across: “This surface is no longer flat because if it were it would immediately become a mini-garbage heap.” I can promise you that if it were available, it would be stacked with abandoned Coke bottles, gelato-cups, crumpled napkins, half-empty cans of beer, maybe some squashed juiceboxes, a couple of candy wrappers, and whatever else could be made to fit until it fell over. The guardian of this space isn’t appealing to your better angels here, he/she/they are just getting the job done.It just never ends. “It was beautiful but unfortunately it lasted only a little while,” the notice begins. Evidently the previous appeal had some effect, but not for long. “To the owners of dogs … You are prayed” (literally — it’s like “prithee”) “to continue to collect the turds of your dogs. The streets also of Castello will be more dignified! Doing this will bring respect to your beloved dogs because you care for them even outside your house and you also respect the people who lived along your route. Thank you.” And just when you thought that defecation was the dog’s only transgression, just wait.The ladies who have taken our previous doctor’s space for their studio/workshop are also not amused by canine functions. And their approach leaves the homespun “Be ashamed” far behind as they prepare to throw the book at the guilty: “This is not a toilet for dogs!!! To permit your dog to piss on the walls of buildings could qualify as the crime of soiling (public walls) that is punishable under Article 639 of the Penal Code.” That’s quite a cannonball to fire at a dog-owner. The crime referred to here is the one usually committed by hooligans with spray-cans of paint, so yes, one could conceivably draw a certain parallel. But I have to stick up for the dogs here. Where are they supposed to go? I can understand owners needing to carry away their dog’s poop, but must they race to get their pooch to the nearest tree? The normal resolution of the dirty-wall situation is a bucket of soapy water, reinforced with bleach, if you want. I think the Penal Code has bigger problems to solve. Get a life, ladies. And a bucket, like everybody else.
On to the hazards of maintaining a small earthly garden in the street.
Did you know that plants can also create problems? Or rather, the people around the plants. It has not been a good day at the oasis.“Wreck the plants, tear off the flowers, leave the dog crap on purpose outside this door, I feel sorry for your sad life. (If you’re frustrated, I advise you to see a psychologist.”) Too bad the crap had to remain on the list of infractions, but there’s just no getting away from it, even in a dismembered conservatory.These little doorway groves have, not to put too fine a point on it, broken several ordinances, but “live and let live” has been the operating philosophy here for quite a while. Until one day, it wasn’t. Somebody didn’t want to let live.“For the thief (feminine or masculine forms of the word, just to be comprehensive) that steals the plants and flowers outside my house: The flowers can be replaced, but dignity NO! (You are) persons whose spirits are poor” (as in threadbare). I regret the flowers, but at least this time dogs aren’t involved.
On a happier note, there is a little old man named Valerio who continued to work in his carpentry shop for decades, or perhaps eons, considering how extremely old he looks. But he kept at it until one day…
A telltale blue ribbon appeared on his door, next to his workshop. A baby boy!It simply says “Great-grandfather Valerio Vittorio is born.”
Not many days later, a sign appeared on the workshop door:
“Carpenter Valerio is no longer working. PLEASE (literally, “one prays”) do not disturb. Thank you.” Yes, Vittorio was the signal that it was time to clean out the workshop and put away the tools. And Valerio has been doing just that. Great-grandfathering is a full-time job.
Tourists do not pass unobserved.
Not far from the train station is this remark, followed by two rejoinders. It’s probably a political statement of some kind. I can tell you that no one with a hotel, bar, cafe, restaurant, or shop selling anything would be likely to express this thought, especially after the months of pandemic lockdown. But free speech is thriving.If the tourist doesn’t know not to sit on a bridge to eat, this shop will make it clear. “No Pic Nic Area.”The fundamental problem is that there is are too few places except the 436 bridges on which to sit to munch your slice of cold pizza or assorted carry-out comestibles from the supermarket. It is true that many (not all) campos have at least a few benches, though it is also true that bridges are the ideal perching places. But you’re blocking the traffic, for one thing, and for the other, you look like vagrants, huddled on the steps wrestling with prosciutto slices and bags of potato chips.
So much for signs for tourists. For locals, almost no details are necessary for communication:
A few years ago this was posted at the door of the church of San Francesco de Paula. “Finished (or almost) the repair/restoration work. Monday 12 September the patronato reopens at the usual time.” That’s right: The usual time. If you don’t know when that is I guess you don’t belong there. Note: The patronato is what you might call the parish hall/playground/sports area of the parish. Every church has one, and scores of activities take place there for the children of the congregation. Not to have the patronato available after school is a major problem, so this is good news.
On a similar neighborhoodly note:
“On Sunday 30 morning we’re closed. You’ll find that Antonella is open.” There is no sign outside her tobacco shop that says “Antonella.” You just have to know.
Moving into the realm of city government, or lack thereof, the Venetians in our neighborhood (and others, I can assure you) have plenty to say. The comments tend to run along the following lines (and I’m not referring to clotheslines):
I have seen a man wearing a few of these; I am assuming he also made them. All hung out to dry together, they make quite a screed. Written in Venetian (L to R): “After the barbarians came to Venice the politicians arrived to destroy her.” “Long live motondoso thank you mayor.” “Topo Gigio Brigade.” You may recall the little puppet named Topo Gigio who appeared several times on the Ed Sullivan variety TV show. Gigio is the nickname for Luigi, which also happens to be the name of the current mayor, Luigi Brugnaro. He has no fans in Venice, let me just put it that way.Being compared to either a rat or a children’s toy is not what most mayors aspire to, I’m pretty sure.
Continuing with the runic messages delivered by T-shirt: “Venice is an embroidered bedspread.” This one is complicated and I have no hope of clarifying its evidently metaphorical significance. I do know that there is a song that begins “Il cielo e’ una coperta ricamata” — the sky is an embroidered cover, which is lovely. Is the intention to say that Venice is as beautiful as an embroidered cover? I think there is some irony here, but it eludes me. Maybe I’ll run into this person again (I saw him at the fruit-vendor one afternoon) and I can just ask him. Meanwhile, on we go.
“Venice is a casin thanks politicians.” A casin (kah-ZEEN) is a brothel, where gambling also went on, and sooner or later tumult ensued. And not tumult of any polite, Marquess of Queensberry sort. It’s now the usual word for any situation that entails chaos, perhaps danger, racket and rudeness. It appears to many that Venice is speeding downhill with no brakes (again, motondoso comes to mind) and nobody at the wheel. Some people also refer to the city as “no-man’s land.” Literally everybody is doing whatever they want, and the result is pure casin.
Lastly, “Venezia is dead Thanks politicians and Gigio.”
While we’re talking about citizens’ discontent….
A group calling itself C 16 A (abbreviation of Coordinamento 16 Aprile) was formed to condense the general consensus of thoughts regarding the problems of the city. This was in preparation for a vast gathering planned for 16 April this year on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the Special Law for Venice. The common goal was identifying the myriad ways in which the city has wasted its opportunities since then. “AAA cercasi” is the customary code for when you want to place a notice seeking something or someone at the top of an alphabetical list. These notices are looking for: “A mayor of Venice who lives in Venice.” (Luigi Brugnaro lives in Spinea, on the mainland.) “Businessmen who don’t behave like predators.” “Landlords with their hand on their heart and not only on their wallet.”
And this handwritten cri de coeur summarizing the profound crisis in the public health system. The people of lower Castello are persevering in their apparently hopeless struggle to obtain a reasonable supply of doctors:
Residents in Castello: “9354 and only 4 doctors. Age groups over 65 years old. (Note that there are 215 residents who are 90 or older.) People over 65 years old have chronic pathologies, are not self-sufficient, suffer from social isolation, economic distress, lack of family members, defective social services.” There are not enough “basic doctors.” The basic doctor is assigned to you by the public health service and is paid by it. Many doctors are retiring, so a huge hole is opening up in the near future. Let me say that there is a reasonable number of doctors, but the number of those that want to practice for the public health system is too small. A doctor with 1,500 patients assigned to him/her (it’s the case with our doctor) earns roughly 52,500 euros ($56,000) per year. They also usually have private practices, but still. One can see the lack of incentive. Meanwhile, the aging population needs more care than it’s getting. The city is trying to encourage doctors, I don’t know how, to stay on even after they turn 70 years old.
There are also signs without words that hint at approaching events or persons.
In a word: Carnival. It started early last year by the eager tiny hand of a tiny person.Did you know that Christmas is coming? These men know it, because this morning they began to string the holiday lights in via Garibaldi and environs. Exactly two months in advance seems like a lot of time, but if there are only four men assigned to it, better get going early. (If you don’t make them out, the strings of lights are being drawn down the surface of the stone gatepost in a triangular Christmas-tree pattern.)The strings of lights are another reason for the early start. You thought the tangled mass that lives in your basement or attic is an irritating start to the holiday season? These men have quite the little assignment facing them.
An approaching event I never thought I’d see. The city’s greatest housewares/hardware store having its final sale before closing. They tried to keep going after Covid. They stayed open all day (as opposed to closing in the early afternoon, like every reasonable store used to do). Then they stayed open all week. Unheard-of. It wasn’t enough. I can’t tell you how bad this is. I haven’t gone by recently to see what’s taking its physical place; not much can replace something so great. It used to be that useful stores (butcher shop, fruit and vegetables, etc.) would suddenly begin to sell masks or Murano glass. Now they will be either a restaurant or bar/cafe’. That’s my bet for the once-great Ratti.
“Selling everything! Discounts!” They make it sound like something wonderful. It was more wonderful without the “closing” posters. I have been informed by sharp-eyed readers that Ratti has reopened in not one, but two locations not far from the Rialto Bridge. This is news of a goodness one doesn’t receive every day, so I am really glad to know they have found a way to keep going. And yes, I should make a point of buying something there, otherwise all my glad words aren’tt worth the electrons they’re written with.The bar/cafe’ “Magna e Tasi” in Campo SS. Filippo e Giacomo near San Marco used to draw these lines on the wall with a Sharpie. They decided to make these indications of acqua-alta calamity more legible, and elegant. And waterproof.
The arrival of certain foods are reliable harbingers of seasons or events, though seeing clementines for sale in October is not normal. But this is absolutely the moment for torboin (tor-bo-EEN).
This is Venetian for “The torbolino has arrived white and red.” In Italian it would be “E’ arrivato il torbolino.” This is a sign of the progress of autumn, as demijohns arrive from Sant’ Erasmo loaded with the first drawing-off of the new wine (otherwise known as “must”). One expert explains that “It is usually from white grapes, not completely fermented, turbid, lightly sparkling and amiable.” It is the classic accompaniment to roasted chestnuts. So it’s good news!One of my all-time favorites was this sign in a window of a bread bakery in Campo Santa Margherita. The owner is making this retort in Venetian to his cranky customers who annoy him with complaints that he (like many merchants) had begun to charge a pittance for the once-free plastic shopping bag for carrying their purchase. “Notice to my clients: “The shopping bags are terrible-as-the-plague expensive and don’t hold up worth a dry fig. So if you put in your purse a shopping bag that lasts a lifetime, 10 cents here and 15 cents there at the end of the month you’ve saved (money). THANK YOU.”
In a class by itself is this astoundingly inappropriate offer of a room with perhaps an undesirable view.
“A 50-year-old man will share with a girl or working woman a sunlit apartment near the Santa Marta vaporetto stop, a single bed in a small room. The place is made up of a liveable kitchen” (meaning large enough to eat in), “a little living room and two bedrooms of which one is already occupied. Contact Francesco…”. Cringe! Unless you’re a student and really, really need to be near the University of Architecture, which may be what Francesco is counting on. Someone has added the word “porco” — pig. Went without saying but it’s still good to see. I wonder if he just forgot to mention a bathroom, or if it’s down the hall. Of the building next door.
Above the chorus of voices on the walls there come a few magical notes from mysterious poetic souls.
“I dreamt I could say something with words,” wrote someone who either is from England or was taught by someone speaking the King’s English. The answer is strangely poignant. “Yes.” I love this person as much for having to squeeze in the last-minute “g” as I do for the response. One sometimes wonders why certain places are chosen for these messages. Behind a fountain at the Rialto Market doesn’t immediately suggest poetry, but fish and mushrooms don’t seem to clash.“I love you for all of my life.” Dez and Ruez plighted their troth near the Rialto Bridge and while graffiti aren’t to be encouraged, this is really nice. Far better than the “Bomb the multinationals” sort of thing that students like to spread around.On a wall near the church of San Isepo. Not quite this faint in real life, but pretty near. And to the right of the design you can barely make out an important three-word message.“Gioia per tutti.” Joy for everyone.
So by all means stroll through Venice looking at palaces and canals. Just don’t forget the walls.
