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a tale of two Giovannis (part 1)

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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.”
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