A few readers have written to me from time to time telling me that they are not seeing the photographs in whichever post had just come out.
This is distressing, of course; I spend a lot of time working on the text, but just as much time on the images. I never thought I’d reach the point where I’d even hint that without pictures my writing is meaningless, but here we are.
I thought the problem might be caused by the reader perhaps reading the post as an email, without clicking on the post’s title and being mysteriously transported to the realm of the real blog (on what I refer to as my glamor site). But that may not be the reason at all.
I asked my blog tech wizard, and he wrote a very simple reply: “It could be that the email service provider they are using does not allow large images to be received. Some email service providers have odd restrictions.”
If I were to optimize the photograph, the problem might very well be solved. But this is a process that requires several steps and considering how many images I sometimes include, I honestly can’t see myself optimizing them all to resolve a problem affecting so few people.
So I apologize to anyone who can’t see the pictures. If there’s something you can do at your end to resolve it, I’ll be grateful.
Jacopo Dei’ Barbari published this phenomenal map in 1500 after three years of hard labor. It remains the gold standard for maps of 16th-century Venice; he has managed to include every single building and canal then in existence. The only drawback is the lack of extensive labels, That, and the reluctance, for whatever reason, to include the entire island of Sant’ Elena.
Reader Christopher has written the following Comment: I am perplexed and maybe you can help me. The Chiesa di Sant’Elena was built in as early as 1060 by some accounts. Saint Helen was brought to the lagoon and interred in her eponymous church in 1211. It’s curious that the church is not shown on the earlier maps. Any idea why this might be? ….
If I understand your question to be why isn’t the church dedicated to Sant’ Elena shown on maps prior to the arrival of her remains, I can only reply that I think there could be several reasons.
One reason is that there aren’t many maps of Venice prior to 1211, and those that do exist are not very detailed. Even 17th-century maps don’t show everything. Also, Venice has plenty of churches named for saints whose remains are not in residence. There’s no reason why a mapmaker with limited space would choose to show a church if it didn’t contain its tutelary saint. Which raises the interesting question, which I had never considered till now, as to who decides what to include in a map and what to leave out.
As to the dates you mention, “…the first chapel dedicated to St. Helen was built in 1028 and entrusted to the Augustinian order, which constructed also a convent. In 1211 the Augustinian monk Aicardo brought to Venice from Constantinople the presumed body of the empress. Following which the Augustinians enclosed the chapel within a larger church.” More confusion arises from the statement that there was a “hospital” dedicated to her, built in 1175 — 36 years before the saint arrived — maintained by the Augustinian order, for the care of the poor.
In the 15th century the convent and the church passed to the Benedictine monks, who rebuilt it in 1439. A century later, in 1515, the church was consecrated by the bishop of Aleppo and became an important religious center, with vast property and notable works of art. So evidently three centuries, all told, had to pass before her church (or let’s just say “she”) became sufficiently important to warrant identified inclusion on a map.
These sources don’t identify where the church was located, but I’m going to suppose it was on the island of Sant’ Elena.
Some maps, from the 1400’s onward, show at least part of an island floating off the eastern shore of Castello, just below Olivolo, where the church of San Pietro di Castello stands. So something was there, even if it isn’t identified. Yet if her eponymous original church was there, it does seem strange that so many cartographers didn’t show it, or if they did, why they didn’t always label it.
Benedetto Bordone made this map in 1539. Granted, Dei’ Barbari had carried off the palm in Venetian map-making. You have to admire anybody who’d try to come onstage after him. My point is that this map was less detailed than its predecessor, which kind of goes against the notion of map evolution, However, he gets points for clearly outlining the island of S. Helena, something Dei’ Barbari hadn’t done.
I think it’s evident that no map except Dei’ Barbari’s (1500) could claim to show everything. A good number of maps show only a smattering of churches, even though we know that there were many more. But he gives a only glimpse of the island, going so far as to cover half of it with a cloud-bedecked cherub. And yet the island, not to mention the mother of the Emperor Constantine, were hardly a secret.
If I ever find out why she was snubbed so often, I’ll let you know.
Dei’ Barbari modestly covered what was probably the island of Sant’ Elena with a cherub-bearing cloud. Why would he do that? I wish I could tell you.In 1559, this map shows not only one, but two islands below Olivolo. Map-makers clearly have plenty of leeway in deciding what goes in and what stays out.Dutch cartographer Joan Blaeu prepared this map in 1624. There is the island in the lower right corner, with a church and convent and vegetable patches, unlabeled and unsung just like so many other religious sites in the lagoon. Even San Giorgio Maggiore is without a name.
All that mud has to go somewhere. We certainly don’t want it here.
After my post on dredging (which was far too long ago, I apologize), I’m attempting a return with some answers to the question several readers put to me: What happens to the mud that is dredged from the canals?
Bear in mind that Venice has dredged its canals many times over the centuries and deposited the mud somewhere it could be useful. For example, the island of Sacca Sessola was created from 1860-1870 with the mud dredged from the area of Santa Marta during the deepening of the canals of the maritime zone. And it is far from being the only one.
Sacca Sessola (so named because it was shaped in a way that reminded somebody of the common boat-bailing scoop) first served as a fuel depository facility, then converted in 1914 to house a large hospital dedicated to curing respiratory diseases, particularly tuberculosis. In 2015 the J.W. Marriott company turned the decrepit remains of the abandoned hospital into a five-star luxury hotel/resort, and renamed the island in its publicity as Isola delle Rose (Island of the Roses). Venetians continue to call it Sacca Sessola.Sacca Sessola is easy to identify from afar by its water tower. Like all the hospital islands, it was largely self-sufficient. Apart from the water, it had a stable full of cows, a bakery, laundry, and a lovely church. From the pictures on their website, it appears that the church is now a cocktail bar, or at least a venue for some elegant social event. (Photo: Riccardo Roiter Rigoni)
Small digression: “Sacca” (saca in Venetian) is often used to identify such places, but don’t confuse it with sacco, which means “bag.” A sacca is defined as “an inlet or cove of the sea, lake, river, or more precisely the bottom of an inlet or gulf. In geography, the accumulation of brackish water, very shallow, that is formed in sandy areas that separate the branches of a delta, from the resurgence of seawater from the subsoil.” End of digression.
Ludovico Ughi’s map (1729) showed that Venice had plenty of empty spaces where land was later to be applied. Counterclockwise from top left we see the Sacca di Santa Chiara (just to illustrate what was meant by “sacca”), and the island of Santa Chiara. Then there is the expansion of the Santa Marta area where the red-circled area of water shown here was filled in for a military parade ground in 1838 by the Austrians, shown below. At the far right, water ripples where the island of Sant’ Elena now stands.Santa Marta 1838. The Austrians need a military parade ground, or Campo di Marte, so let’s wedge one in here.In 1869 the train station is visible in all its glory; notice that the island of Santa Chiara is still hanging on right next door.Big doings in 1888. Dredgings are dumped to form the new “Stazione Marittima,” or maritime terminal, clearly visible in the upper left corner and thereby (obliterating? incorporating?) the island of Santa Chiara. In the same year, the Giudecca has been elongated by the addition of Sacca Fisola and Sacca San Biagio. Even though the Austrians departed in 1866, the Campo di Marte on this German map is still labeled “Exerzierzplatz” (exercise place).In 1913 the area at Santa Marta is now labeled “Ex Campo di Marte” and the lower half of the land is occupied by warehouses. The black lines stretching along the bridge and down to the Stazione Marittima and the waterfront on the Canale di Fusina were railway tracks bringing freight trains directly to the ships. At the easternmost edge of the city we now see “Isola di Sant’ Elena,” developed in the 1920’s on land that had been built there as another military parade ground. At least they found a useful second life after the Austrians left.The Stazione Marittima was enlarged in 1958 by an extension cleverly named Tronchetto. It does sort of look like an elephant’s trunk. Less fancifully, it is also known as “Isola Nuova” (new island).
Murano, a natural grouping of lagoon islands, has been amplified with dredgings over the years; if you look at Google Maps (satellite view) you can easily locate Sacca Serenella, a sort of industrial zone to which no tourist would be lured. Murano has also grown on its northern perimeter by the addition of yet another island, mostly barren at the moment, where the Centro Sportivo San Mattia is located.
Murano. Sacca Serenella is the lower island, and the upper barren land has only partially been reclaimed by a sports facility that includes state-of-the-art bocce courts.
The cemetery island of San Michele has undergone quite an expansion over the past few years, thanks to dredgings from the city and environs. Puts a perfect, if slightly queasy, spin on the old “dust to dust” trope. I wonder if you could specify in your will that you want to be buried in the mud dug up from the canal nearest to your home.
The current island was originally two — San Michele and San Cristoforo. Napoleon decreed the establishment of a municipal cemetery. as opposed to the local graveyards near parish churches. More space is constantly needed, so keep those dredgings coming.Two steps, so to speak, from San Michele is a reconstructed barena, painstakingly built up to replace one that the motondoso had completely eroded. Considering how many motorboats roar past every day, and even more in the summer, I’m not betting that it will not eventually meet the same fate. To the right is the larger barena created just a few years ago more or less at the same time as the Vento di Venezia marina. It used to be a lovely stretch of water to row across on the way to the Vignole, but Lord knows we need more barene.
When there is a large quantity of mud to be deposited, it is sprayed from enormous barges through high-powered tubes, specifically to form new barene (marshy islands). This process was quite a spectacle for a while during the construction of the “Vento di Venezia” marina at the island of the Certosa.
Looking across the recreated barena from the moorings at the Vento di Venezia.Not visible here are the barely submerged bags of stones that defend the fragile muddy islets from the lashing of the motorboat waves.The barrier is easier to see in this view. Lino went exploring among the saltwort (Salicornia europaea). We often see birds here, sometimes nesting — egret, beccaccia di mare (Haematopus olstralegus), cavaliere d’Italia (Himantopus himantopus). The random seagull.
Unhappily, sometimes the mud is poison. I’m not picking on Murano, but canals near the glass furnaces are known to contain arsenic and a few other chemicals not conducive to health. The sediments along the lagoon edge by the Industrial Zone are loaded with heavy metals — pick your favorite, it will be there. Sometimes illegal clammers go there at night, sell the clams, they’re sold to restaurants, etc. You can imagine.
Because the provenance of the mud matters, there is a system by which it is analyzed and classified and, if necessary, treated to render it harmless. This is more than usually important if it’s being sold to farmers to enrich their fields. I haven’t researched the system(s), so please don’t ask me. The point is that they exist.
The mud of Venice. You probably wouldn’t call it poetic, but it’s just as important as the water.
The word hasn’t reached this street in Sant’ Elena that it’s a festive day for women.
This day is commonly observed here by means of sprays of mimosa. I’ve written about this before.
I never buy the bunches of mimosa sold by various street vendors, but this little bouquet was bestowed on me by a member of a social club that we walked past this evening. They had a whole table full of them, and it was getting late.
Today, in addition to the mimosa, we had a 24-hour transit strike (busses, trams, trains, and of course vaporettos). This is some sort of inexplicable sub-tradition, because Women’s Day has been disfigured by a transit strike more than once. Some vaporettos will run, but it will be a task to reorganize your day to accommodate the ACTV, the public transport company. If this strike were to accomplish something, I’d be so glad. But it seems a feeble reed to wield in the struggles that women live through every day, up to and including their struggles with the ACTV.
The ACTV has a hundred reasons for calling strikes; we have one every few months. They are mostly politically motivated and are usually directed at lapses in administration. Work problems, not human problems. This year they’ve decided to take every social problem yet identified and load them onto a highly worthy cause and, you know, let the women carry it.
This is the announcement on the vaporetto dock. Note that the date is written, as typical here, with the day first, month second.These are the reasons for the strike: “Against masculine violence against women and violence in general towards LGBTQIPA persons; against every discrimination, molestation and sexual blackmail regarding access to and in the places of work; against the sexual division of work and racism; against job insecurity, exploitation, disparities of salary, involuntary part-time and being fired; against the dismantling and privatization of the social state; for the right to free and accessible public services, to income, to the minimum salary according to law, to the reduction of work hours to be equal to salary, to the house, to work, to scholastic education, to health care and to public transport (wait, what?); for the safeguarding of health and safety in the workplace; for the defense and strengthening of safe houses, of the centers against violence and the anticipation of measures of escape from violence; for the defense of Law 194 (right to abortion) and the right to self-determination, of the national network of public consultori (these correspond to social workers) and without objectors; for the redistribution of wealth, social and environmental justice; for the defense of the right to strike.” It’s impossible to object to these goals, but I still can’t see how not showing up for work is going to accomplish them. I guess there will just have to be another strike.
So the ACTV demonstrates its sensitivity to the problems of women in Venice, the nation, the world, by creating problems for women. Transport strikes absolutely mangle your day in a city with basically two alternatives — feet and taxis. Let’s say you have to accompany your sick neighbor to the hospital for her radiation therapy today. During a strike last year we walked to the only functioning vaporetto stop, much farther than the usual stop, and took the sole working vaporetto two stops to San Zaccaria, where they put everybody ashore. Then we had to walk inland, streets, bridges, streets, bridges, to get to the hospital under our own fading steam. She was so frail by then, but such a trouper.
When the next strike rolled around she could hardly walk to the corner anymore, so we had to take a taxi — that will be 50 euros (rate from her house to the hospital). And 50 euros back, naturally. Her pension was 750 a month. But sure, the ACTV’s union disagreements come first.
So just work your way around the strike however you can, or can’t. Kids going to school? Get them up at 4:00. (Made up, but not by much.) Going to your job, or your second job, today? Call to say you can’t make it and lose the day’s pay. Or walk. Be sure to consult the labyrinthine schedule of the times and routes of the limited service, or just decide to stay home.
So thank you, ACTV, for acknowledging all the problems that ought not to exist in a woman’s world. I don’t see you on the list, though.
It’s a good thing the timetable for the flowering of this mimosa tree behind us is not scheduled by the ACTV. I wonder if they’d make the tree go on strike?
