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.”
The nose on this very old-fashioned doorbell has encountered thousands of hands in its life, as we see. But they usually came in friendship.
This just hot off the press.
Yesterday (Tuesday) afternoon the Piazza San Marco was bubbling with tourists. The sun was out, the air was warm, the most beautiful city in the world (so-called) was just lounging around being beautiful, etc. There were thousands (probably) of tourists, and an inexact number of thieves and pickpockets in the mix. So far, so normal.
One of the tourists was a man identified only as being South American. One of the pickpockets was originally from Tunisia, and around 4:00 PM they were destined to meet. The Tunisian was already known for his propensity to steal from shops, but yesterday he tried his hand at stealing from people. The aforementioned hand had already extracted the tourist’s wallet, as I understand it, but the victim felt it, ran after and caught him, and launched his fist at the thief’s nose. Broke it, in fact.
Wallet recovered, pickpocket carried away in an ambulance to await surgery.
The daily newspapers were in full cry. (Left to right): “San Marco tourist breaks thief’s nose.” “Pickpockets a tourist followed and beaten at San Marco.” “Robbed he retaliates and sends the thief to the hospital.”
Lessons learned? Don’t try to steal wallets if you’re only used to ransacking rooms. Rooms don’t hit back.
Somebody stepped on this tomato long before I walked past. I took the photo only because I liked how it looked. Little did I suspect that it would ever be useful.
So I now walk away from the curious fresco crowned by the streetlight, and focus my attention on the streetlights themselves. We take them for granted, but lighting up Venice was an endeavor that went on for centuries and involved no granting at all.
The Bridge of the Streetlights.This is the Ponte dei Ferali, looking east toward the church of San Zulian.Ponte dei Ferali, looking west toward Calle Fiubera. As far back as the 1200’s the feraleri, or makers of streetlights, had set up their shops on nearby streets, as well as on the bridge itself (hence the name).This is a feral; you’ve seen them all over the city in various sizes and shapes. They brought Venice to blazing life (eventually). Oil was the best they could do until 1843, after which gas was the combustible. Between 1915 and 1918 Venice returned to primeval darkness, hiding from Austrian bombardment, although the bombs still fell. There are numerous plaques around the city commemorating the destruction caused by what reached a total of 1,029 bombs. (In a single night — February 26-27, 1918 — 300 bombs, explosive and incendiary, were launched on the city.) Light returned with peace, but in 1927 gas gave way to electricity.Even though streetlighting in many places has now reached intense levels, there are still stretches of street here and there that reveal what darkness used to mean. I’m not referring to the medieval days with their timid little lamps at streetcorners; even as recently as the late Nineties the only light in the darkness of our stretch of fondamenta between Santa Margherita and Santa Marta was the glow from a single shop window. I called it the “lighthouse of the neighborhood.” When the street lights were finally installed, the glare was so extreme that I felt like we were walking home across a football field on game night.Via Garibaldi gleams in the distance, but in this tiny calle you’re on your own.
For centuries the streets had been illuminated to a feeble degree only by the faint flickering from the little lamps (cesendelli) at shrines on various street corners. “Be home by dark” really meant something because by 1128, due to the inordinate number of corpses found lying around the streets in the morning, the government began to take seriously the need to create real illumination.
Enter the ferali, or also farai, of various sizes, providing a great new line of work for their makers, the feraleri (not to mention the oil merchants). The parish priest was responsible for maintaining them, but the expense was covered by the government. By 1214 there were enough feraleri to merit their own scuola, or guild, and their devotional altar was in the nearby church of San Zulian. Fun fact: There is an osteria in Dorsoduro named Ai Do Farai, Venetian for “at the two streetlamps.”
But there were still plenty of dark streets to navigate on your way home from the theatre, or to secretly visit your lady- or boyfriend, or whatever you were up to after sundown. In 1450 the Venetian government had become so exasperated by the nocturnal carnage that it passed a law requiring people to carry a light– candles, lanterns, torches — when they were out at night. (Yes: We order you to protect your life! See: Seatbelts.) Not only was this a good idea in itself, but it was equally good as a job.
Enter the codega (CODE-eh-ga). He was a very poor hired man who waited with a lantern outside theatres, gambling houses, or other festive places, or was available on call, to light your way to wherever you were going next. Sometimes the lantern was suspended from a long pole.
The codega’s candle was better than nothing, but those who carried oil lanterns undoubtedly shed more light. The oil was usually rendered pig fat (Venice is so romantic); it’s generally accepted that the word itself derived from cotica, or pork rind.Once your eyes adjust to the ambient light, these lamps seem adequate. Not Fifth Avenue, true, but better than a candle.Your mind adjusts this scene to say the street is lit. You instinctively ignore the dark intervals because you’re on the way to the next little luminescent island.Now just imagine the scene without the streetlights. And speaking of wartime blackouts, the same curfew applied during the Second World War. Anyone born in the late Thirties only knew the city as dark at night. Lino remembers when the lights were turned on after peace was declared. It was the first time in his life he’d ever seen the streets lit up, and what he remembers wasn’t so much the brightness itself as everyone in the neighborhood waiting outside together for the lights to come on, and how they clapped and rejoiced when it did.
In 1719 a nobleman named Stefano Lippomano is regarded as being the bright spark who convinced the shopkeepers around San Marco to put an oil lamp near their shops between the Mercerie and the Rialto. Did they need much convincing? (“You’ll make more money this way…”.) This worthy idea spread through the city to the joy of everyone except — naturally — the codeghe.
In 1726 a proclamation bearing the seal of the Signori di notte al criminal (the police magistrates) denounced the habit that the humble lantern-carriers had developed of smashing the streetlamps and carrying away their wrought-iron supports. It would be no comfort at all to the embattled men to know that one of the most prestigous international awards for innovation in lighting today is called the Codega Award.
Fun fact: Between San Marco and Rialto is the Hotel Al Codega. Presumably well-lit.
The codega walking you home. This illustration is one of a famous series of illustrations by Gaetano Zompini, who between 1746 and 1754 created a collection of scenes of everyday jobs practiced in the streets of Venice. The new idea of attaching his lantern to a wall and sending HIM home was one of those many human blows that mark the march of progress.
But smashing the lamps was futile — streetlights were the future. Crime was down at last, and between 1721 and 1732 the Signori di notte al criminal created a system of 834 public streetlights — not a lot, but it was a start — paid for by voluntary contributions. There were private lights on palace balconies, but the public lamps were lit by a public lamplighter, paid for by the magistrate.
The old lamplighter. He appears to be carrying lighted oil up the ladder. Seems risky in lots of ways but a better alternative (easier? cheaper?) hadn’t presented itself.
Everything settled now? Not even close. The problems in organizing and maintaining this municipal necessity were endless. By 1740 there were 1,046 public streetlights, but those voluntary contributions weren’t nearly enough to cover expenses and so a tax was levied on every “head of family.” The astonishing inequality of this tax burden (indigent widows paid the same as patrician clans) led to its abolition in 1756.
Flaws and defects in this worthy undertaking abounded. Service was terrible. The lamplighters didn’t always light (or keep alight) the lamps; the oil destined for burning turned out to be of an even lower quality than agreed (and paid for), and also was somehow inexplicably often in short supply, except for that time when the inspector general made a surprise visit to the warehouse and discovered 40,000 more liters of oil than were listed on the register; the lamps themselves weren’t especially sturdy, being made of sheet metal, often tin; the feraleri were not always of a consistently high level of skill or reliability (not charlatans, exactly….); and the fragility of a flame floating in oil facing wind and storms was all too evident. The brightness of everybody’s hopes was faint in comparison to the reality of, well, reality. The Serenissima kept trying to improve the situation by giving out new contracts to suppliers and artisans but graft and corruption reigned. The courts were full of complaints and denunciations, and those were only the most serious cases. But there was no going back.
This is dawn in the winter. Every little bit helps.
Despite all these problems, Venice at night had become something phenomenal. Carlo Goldoni, returning to Venice in 1733 after some time away, was astounded by what he found.
“Independent of the street illumination, there is that of the shops that stay open in all weathers until 10:00 at night and a great part of them don’t close until midnight, and plenty of others don’t close at all.” I pause to let that sink in.
He goes on: “In Venice you find at midnight, just as at midday, food being sold in the open, all the osterie are open, and beautiful dinners prepared in dozens of hotels and neighborhoods; because it isn’t so common in Venice that the diners are of high society dinners, but rather the really cheap little places (ritrovi di lira e soldo) are where you find the groups of the greatest liveliness and liberty.” In other words, the regular folks out there living it all the way up.
He concludes: “In summertime the Piazza San Marco and surrounding areas are busier at night than during the day, with men and women of every sort.”
Goldoni might have been talking about something like this.
By 1775 there were 1,778 public streetlights. Still not enough. On September 7, 1796 the magistrates proposed installing at least “one lamp every hundred paces.” So 1,145 additional lamps were set up, and duly noted in the register (catastico) that hadn’t been updated since 1740.
I’m sure this improvement got compliments from the French when Napoleon arrived less than a year later, and thereafter from the Austrians who moved in. There were more than 2030 lamps around the city by then. For any trivia maniacs, at the beginning of the 1800’s there were 12 on the Giudecca, 27 in the Ghetto, 76 in the Piazza San Marco, and 1915 scattered elsewhere around the city. The Austrian occupiers’ shiny new department responsible for “police, streets, canals and illumination of the city” found itself stuck with the same problems that had bedeviled the late great Republic for centuries. Because, you know, people.
Lights by day mostly blend into the scenery.Though lights by day do have their own fascination, when the non-artificial light is right.Light at early twilight is lovely, though 500 years ago most people might not have begun to light the lamps just yet.It’s definitely time to turn them on.This streetlight is now as common as its more poetic predecessors.Many streetlamps have been placed on pedestals. Highly convenient for dogs, obviously, but the real motive was almost certainly to protect them from corrosion, to which many have fallen victim. Acqua alta has damaged not only marble, but iron.
The lights in Venice, in the houses as well as on the streets, ran on gas produced by burning coal — coke, to be precise. Italy is full of decommissioned “gasometers” like the two left abandoned near San Francesco de la Vigna. (There was also one at Santa Marta, across the canal from where the prison currently sits.) Providing this crucial industrial service right next to a 16th-century church designed by Jacopo Sansovino and Andrea Palladio, and its adjacent Franciscan monastery, seems pretty crazy, but the land was there and space in Venice is valued far above rubies.
In 1969 came the switch from coal gas to methane, and the future of these relics of industrial archaeology has become as Byzantine as everything else here. The neighbors want a sports center for the kids (three high schools within a very tight radius); a German company proposed converting them to luxury hotels but got tired of waiting for the bureaucracy to conclude its Byzantine operations, and now luxury apartments have been mooted. As long as it’s luxury, that’s all that matters. After all, somebody is going to have to pay the cost of cleaning up the century of environmental horror in the soil.
A century ago, more or less, six of these “gasometers” were set up in farthest Castello near San Francesco de la Vigna, where practicality ruled over pesky artistic concerns. The two survivors here date from 1882 and 1926. Controversy continues to swirl around the fate of these structures but I mention them only because of their once-vital role in providing electric current to the city by producing gas from burning coal.
To recapitulate: Lighting Venice evolved over the generations from pig fat to methane. The world is amazed by building a city on water, but I have to confess that illuminating it was not much less impressive. If you were to want to read more — much more, and better — I recommend the lavishly illustrated “The Lights of Venice,” an extraordinary book published online in 2022 by the Fondazione Neri. I’d gladly have read it all myself, but I still haven’t finished War and Peace. But at least “Lights” has a happy ending.
The headline at the newsstand Wednesday: “Huge reviewing stand in Piazza (San Marco) Florian closed in protest.”
Some things deserve to be laughed at — laughter with a frisson of incredulity. Incredulity without the guffaws also works well. And Florian closing in protest is hilarious.
Florian is the jewel in the crown of the Piazza San Marco. Opened on December 29, 1720, it is certainly the oldest cafe extant in Venice, and in all of Italy; some sources claim it’s the oldest in the world, though Florian modestly denies it. It’s also extremely beautiful. History and elegance make such a lovely couple. Sipping your prosecco or Bellini or even a tiny cup containing three drops of espresso, a nibble of salmon, a delectable pastry, all brought to you on a silver salver, you can feel wonderfully, uniquely glamorous. Sitting in Venice! At Florian! Am I dreaming? Is this really me?
It is fabulous, there is no other way to put it.
Then the bill arrives, and you have to start planning that second mortgage on your house. Coffee at the bar: 3 euros ($3.17). Seated: 6.50 ($6.85). A little plate of six (6) cookies? 13 euros ($13.71). Is the atmosphere adorned by the enchanting music rippling from the instruments of the quartet on their platform outside? Your conto will request your payment of 6 euros per person, even if you didn’t actually order it. Yes, for a concert it’s extremely economical.
I could go on, but my point is not how expensive it is; Florian can charge any price it wants and nobody is forcing you to go there.
My point is that they closed for a day to protest the “invasion” of the gargantuan stage set up for massive ceremonies in the Piazza San Marco. (More on the ceremonies later.) Florian strongly objects to all this construction encroaching on their territory, primarily because they were not consulted weeks in advance. The city government disputes the accusation of no consultation.
To set the scene, Florian is the cream-colored awning on the left side of his image.This is the view of the Piazza from the tables at Florian yesterday. The large blue reviewing stand is one thing, but the bleachers will be in front of the tables. Yet where else could you put them? Even though Florian objects to it, the marching always crosses the Piazza lengthwise. Geometry is heartless, as I discovered in 10th grade and Florian discovered this week. The Comune has conceded extra lateral space for the tables to compensate for the distress.
I could understand somebody protesting a situation that would dangerously and cruelly limit, if not eliminate, their income for a few days (April 29 – May 9, to be precise). But I don’t believe this is the case.
They complain that there is too much going on in the Piazza, and huge events such as Wednesday’s graduation ceremony for 800 students of the University of Venice, and the even huger rituals planned for today in honor of the Morosini naval school (details follow), are seriously invading their physical space and even their aura.
The occasion is the 60th anniversary of the school’s re-founding in 1961 (originally established in 1937, but interruptions such as war ensued). And while we’re all together, why not also conduct the requisite swearing-in ceremony by which the first-year class is rendered officially military. This year the second-year group will join in, as there was no oath-taking last year. There will be marching and saluting executed by the 150 cadets, undoubtedly abetted by detachments from other military branches. Did I mention that the president of the republic will also be there? Not to mention many past cadets, going back decades.
To return to the bur under Florian’s saddle, yes, there is an enormous reviewing stand, and yes, there will be big bleachers flanking it. It’s regrettable that these will degrade the scenery of the Piazza, to the detriment of the Florian fascination. But it occurs to me that even though this legendary cafe’, like all businesses that place tables outdoors, pays a tax for the public space they occupy, they don’t actually own that space. Which is to say that the Piazza San Marco doesn’t belong to them. In fact, you could make a good argument that Florian’s appeal does not lie principally in the Piazza, but in its own glorious rooms. If you take the Orient Express, are you really going to spend a lot of time looking out the window at the scenery?
People want glamour, people are willing to pay for glamour, and then they park their baby stroller in the aisle. Power bank recharging something, backpack stashed aboard. The invisible clients on the left could be sitting in the departure gate area of the Dubuque airport. Not saying travelers can’t have their stuff, just saying that the Florian aura is a very frangible thing. If somebody can come to Florian and do this, I seriously doubt that some bleachers outside are going to bother them. If Florian doesn’t mind the stroller parked amidships, I’m not sure why they’re complaining about the atmosphere of their operation outside.
In any case, the Piazza San Marco has been the site of mass confusionary events for centuries. The interminable procession on the feast of Corpus Domini, the week-long market for the feast of the Ascension — stalls everywhere selling everything! — bear-baiting to entertain the Crown Prince of Russia in a Piazza surrounded by yes, bleachers filled with thousands of spectators, and so on. If anything big is going to happen in Venice, it’s almost certainly going to happen in the Piazza San Marco. Did nobody think to tell Florian?
Well, not according to them. They say they got barely 24-hours notice before the scaffolding began to go up, at which I wonder what difference it would have made to have had even 240-hours notice. The scaffolding is going up, and it will be coming down. See: “Ownership of Piazza,” above.
So here is what strikes me as hilarious about all this: What possible difference does it make to anyone except Florian if it closes for a day? I understand the desire to protest, but saying you’re going to close for a day to show how mad you are is kind of like when I was three years old and threatened to hold my breath forever if I didn’t get what I wanted. My mother basically said “Go right ahead,” and I did, and when I regained consciousness on the kitchen floor she was still standing over there, washing dishes or cutting vegetables or whatever she was doing. So much for my protest.
So a day without Florian, even though you can make it sound like something terrible, doesn’t even register on the Apocalypt-o-Meter. I think most of us can say we have other things to worry about.
None of the three other other cafe’s on the Piazza have protested, and they too, as well as the museums, are going to have to close for the ceremonial day.
