It’s been several years since a boat featured in a work of art here. This construction was the first submission ever made by artists of Puerto Rico, an island whose patron saint is St. John the Baptist, as you know. Here’s what I can tell you as gleaned from an article on venezianews: “The exhibition…reunites some of the best interdisciplinary artists of Puerto Rico… Around the monumental sculpture ‘San Juan Bautista,’ potent symbol of the capital, San Juan, actions, works and performances come to life, incorporating the complexity and the resilience of the Puerto Rican spirit, confronting at the same time the persistent heritage of colonialism and urgent questions of urban injustice.”
The Biennale has opened several weeks earlier than usual this year, and the inauguration was Saturday, April 20. What remained usual, however, was the mass of international art(s) journalists and assorted contributors that swarmed the streets of Castello for the three preceding days.
I usually enjoy seeing the exotic plumage of these migrating creatures, not to mention their extraordinary behavior, but this year netted little. A good friend told me he saw a person in the street wearing a toilet on his head and I’m really sorry I missed that. Lino’s father-in-law was a plumbing contractor and was occasionally seen around town carrying a toilet on his shoulder — clearly he didn’t realize the artistic potential in his humdrum little existence and its porcelain trappings. I suspect that supporting four children during a world war might have limited his frivolous side, if he had one.
But such a jape would only have appeared frivolous back then, when life was real and life was earnest. Whoever porta’d that potty the other day was doing it seriously. To what end, I can’t say, but everything at the Biennale is done with a degree of seriousness denser than black granite. Along with the art we get diatribes and philippics and harangues, and also sermons and lectures and platitudes. Lots of words that labor to obscure rather than illuminate. Speaking of art — I mean, words — I’m remembering this self-portrait by Salvator Rosa (1645):
Translation: “Be silent, unless what you have to say is better than silence.” He would never make it at the Biennale.
Back to the bony statue on the boat. It has been moored alongside the fruit and vegetable boat at the bottom of via Garibaldi. It will be there till the Biennale closes in November.
After only two weeks he is beginning to fit right into the neighborhood. I’ve already come to like this little dude. Doesn’t bother anybody, doesn’t need anything.
But if you desire meaning, maybe the following will help:
The exhibition reflects the dissociation and exploitation of a colonial political system that has attempted to unravel the fraught complexities of contemporary Puerto Rican identities. The estrangement that is inherent to the colonial status is an extended act of violence resulting in a psychic malaise because of what Anibal Quijano has so aptly described and defined as “the coloniality of power”.
At the heart of the exhibition stands Celso González’ monumental Yola Sculpture, “San Juan Bautista,” a powerful symbol of Puerto Rico’s enduring spirit. This site-specific installation challenges the constraints of its political status, whil honoring the Island’s rich maritime heritage.
Wishing he could have a puppy.
Remembering the little girl he had a crush on in 4th grade.Trying to come up with a system for knowing which contact lens goes in which eye.It’s like living with a floating room full of masks from Oceania.Come to Venice, they said. You’ll have so much fun, they said.Has just missed the next-to-last vaporetto to Sant’ Erasmo and has to wait an hour for the next one. Good thing he’s not hungry. And doesn’t have to go to the bathroom. And isn’t cold. Wishes he’d brought something to read.St. John on the boat got lots of faces but they only gave her part of one. It’s pretty cool that she’s got those independent eyes, though, like a chameleon.
There have been boats at the Biennale before now. The water is evidently an element that helps some projects seem more interesting. Or important.
The Comoro Islands sent this in 2009. I can’t tell you anything about it, but then again, you know that if you have to ask, you shouldn’t be here.In 2013, a boat overloaded with desperate migrants capsized on its way from Libya to Italy. “Migrants, hundreds dead” is the headline on the borrowed newspaper that reported the tragedy off the coast of Lampedusa in which 360 persons drowned. How audaciously droll to remind people of the catastrophe in such a blithe and child-like way. (uncredited photo)
Vik Muniz’s floating installation Lampedusa was launched during the 56th Venice Biennale in 2015. The article published in the Haifa Museum of Art publication stated that “the 14-meter-long (45 feet) paper boat was coated with a giant reproduction of the Italian newspaper that reported the tragedy. The gargantuan paper boat drifted along the Canal Grande, Venice’s main transportation route, docking near luxury yachts. As art critic Jonathan Jones wrote in The Guardian, “This art project has been overtaken by real-life horror. Perhaps, in theory, it seemed reasonable to make a vaguely thought-provoking, ‘playful’ piece about migration. But now the scale of our cruelty, the true consequences of all the rhetoric that dehumanises migrants, have become so lethally clear. Surely, art on such a theme should be less equivocal, more angry.”
Well said, Mr. Jones. But this is the Biennale, where scruples find little nourishment.
These objects are occasionally left behind, and Muniz’s has been here for nine years now. No idea who is paying mooring fees at the “Vento di Venezia” marina, or why. If its purpose was polemical it has lost whatever value it might have had; migrants keep drowning.One critic explained that “Vik Muniz employs his traditional use of unlikely materials and scale manipulation to generate wonder from predictability. Contextualized in the naval environment of Venice, ‘Lampedusa’ is … built to scale of one of the town’s traditional vaporettos.”
I’m going to go back to floating St. John. Despite not being any closer to resolving urgent questions of urban injustice or the coloniality of power, I’m starting to feel that we understand each other.
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.
This fabulous mass of clouds billowed up the other afternoon behind the Arsenal (just to set the general scene). The Arsenal was considered the most secure place in the city for this event, a decision that wouldn’t have much surprised the Venetians of the long-ago Republic. In Venice’s greatest ship-building days the area was surveilled by boats patrolling the perimeter night and day, aided by men watching from 15 guard towers along the walls. They didn’t put up the current signs — “Military Zone, Access Forbidden, Armed Surveillance” — but it was implied.
The G20 are coming for dinner. And breakfast, and fancy fetes, and big meetings from July 7-11, and for days we’ve been given periodic updates on what this will entail for daily life.
For those who may not feel like knowing more than necessary, here are the basics (thank you, Wikipedia): The G20 is composed of most of the world’s largest economies, including both industrialized and developing nations. The group collectively accounts for around 90 percent of gross world product (GWP),[4] 75-80 percent of international trade,[A 1] two-thirds of the world’s population,[2] and roughly half the world’s land area.
Think: Economic Ministers and governors of central banks. Also think: Organized demonstrations protesting the many defects of the global economy, with protestors coming from far and also wide, at least some of whom are known to prefer violence. Each group will be assigned a specific area from which to express their views. They won’t be near the Arsenal, I think I can promise that.
This year it was Italy’s turn to play host, and considering that by the late 13th century Venice was the richest country in Europe, it seems pleasantly appropriate for the money masters to meet here. I doubt that was the organizers’ motivation, but it does fit. Although the decision was made in Rome, and not here, Venice may well have been seen as a city uniquely adapted to the control of movement by land or by water.
The city began planning all this last January (probably much earlier, actually), by means of at least ten separate committees. The basic idea was to keep the city in as normal a condition as possible with the help of 1500 extra police (Carabinieri, Guardia di Finanza, Polizia di Stato, etc.), including police divers ready for canal duty. The prefect made a big point of saying he could have just shut the city completely down, but wanted to show it as open and even welcoming. I hope that turns out to be true.
Some statistics: The eleven canals nearest the Arsenal were emptied of the boats that normally are moored there. These 450 vessels were temporarily transferred to the marinas at the Certosa island (“Vento di Venezia”) and Sant’ Elena Marina. I believe there is no cost for this to the owners, but there will certainly be some inconvenience in going to either place to get your boat.
This is what I call extreme house-cleaning — the rio de la Tana completely empty of the boats usually moored there. I don’t know who owns the blue barge, but I bet it’s not going to be there two days from now.
The 62 delegations (size of each unknown) will be lodging in eight luxury hotels in the city. The extra police that have been brought in as reinforcements will be bunking on the mainland, if that interests you.
Covid swabs every 48 hours are guaranteed to everyone at the meeting, at points in the Arsenal and in the delegation hotels. Ambulances are on standby.
The yellow area is the “Security Zone,” accessible only to residents and shopowners who show their pass. At “D” you find the taxi station between San Zaccaria and the Arsenal is suspended, and at E and F the fuel station and boatyard by the church of San Pietro di Castello are suspended, seeing that they are within a few feet of the second water entrance to the Arsenal. No yachts will be permitted to tie up along the Riva degli Schiavoni.
This gate and others like it at any entrance to the Yellow Zone will be closed and overseen by someone in uniform who will check your credentials before letting you enter. All the streets leading into the Arsenal area are now seriously gated. (Gazzettino)The organizers are totally not joking about protecting the Arsenal area. The caption refers to the gates “disciplining foot traffic,” a very polite way of basically saying “Keep Out.”The Francescana rowing club is based inside the Arsenal in a large shed accessible by water and by land. The boats are now all inside the shed and the door locked tight, and the land entrance, as you see, will be blocked as of Sunday night by these supplemental hinged bars.
The vaporetto stops closest to the meeting site (Arsenale, Bacini and Celestia) will be suspended. The Fondamente Nove are partially unavailable to traffic; one helpful notice explained to residents of the Lido that if they needed to go to the hospital, they would have to go to Murano, then proceed to the hospital by way of the Fondamente Nove stop.
Baffled by how this would work, I studied the vaporetto options and discovered Line #18 that runs from the Lido to the Murano stops, where you change for the 4.1. As if normal life here weren’t already sufficiently inconvenient, this line operates once an hour from 9:18 AM to 7:50 PM, with a break between 12:18-4:50 PM. I don’t know that I’d undertake the voyage except in case of direst need.
Navigation will be controlled according to this color-coded scheme, and that means everybody, up to and including you and your aging uncle who wants to take the motorboat out to go fishing.
The green areas are for normal usage at any time; they term it “pleasure” use. “Anyone boating outside Venice must use the green areas. The yellow stretch is for pleasure boating only by residents and only in order to reach a green patch. The rest of the Giudecca Canal (red, though they call it orange) is forbidden to pleasure boats, as is all the rest of the orange zone (Grand Canal from the Bacino of San Marco to the Accademia Bridge. and the Bacino of San Marco to the Canale delle Navi at the end of Sant’ Elena). Navigation of every type of boat, including taxis and barges, is forbidden from 8-10 AM and 4-6 PM; the only exceptions are vaporettos and Alilaguna boats. The blue stretch (they call it purple, but never mind) is forbidden to everybody. This is the Arsenal wall facing the lagoon, so it’s unquestionably a potential hot zone. Work out your own alternatives.
Transport of merchandise will be forbidden between 8:00-10:00 AM and 4:00-6:00 PM. (See the red-orange zone on the map.) Restaurant owners have been advised to stock up early, in case there are any glitches.
Don’t imagine that you can somehow manage to cleverly do things your own way; there will be some 60 boats of the Guardia di Finanza out patrolling, as well as four helicopters. I appreciate the prefect’s assurances that normal life will continue, but I’m starting to wonder how many people are just going to decide to take a long weekend and go to the mountains.
The irrepressible wits at Nevodi Pizzalab are offering three new specials in honor of this important event, as always written in Venetian: Mancava, Anca, and El G20. “We were also missing the G20,” the broader translation being “All we needed, on top of everything else, was the G20.”
