Venice Realized

In an earlier post, I wrote about how traveling is important to me as a way to learn about myself and from where I come. As de Botton writes in The Art of Travel, “It is not necessarily at home that we best encounter our true selves. The furniture insists that we cannot change because it does not; the domestic setting keeps us tethered to the person we are in ordinary life, who may not be who we essentially are.” As a place for self-exploration, I found that Venice was incredibly powerful. De Botton also mentions the difficulty of escaping what a traveler leaves behind to truly enjoy the moment and the current location. Something about Venice enables this separation from the rest of the world in a way that I have never experienced, allowing travelers to separate themselves from their past, allowing them to become whoever they are in that moment.

            Venice plays with time and space in an unusual way. In Venice, there is a sense that all that exists is the city with its winding streets and elaborate churches and calm canals. But it also feels as if different time periods are combined into one. As I mentioned in an earlier reflection, Venice is like a functional museum in which people live, a place that allows one to travel through time as well as space. The rejection of modernity has allowed Venice to become a place that connects people to the past unlike any other. The ancient splendor of Venice casts a shadow on the rest of the world, and I found that I rarely worried about my responsibilities at home or about the work waiting for me at Purdue. To a degree that I have never experienced, I immersed myself in the city and forgot about the rest of the world.

            I found certain places in Venice to be most conducive to separation from the outside world. These places were typically ones in which the fewest tourists were located. The Piazza San Marco, for example, was glorious at night. I felt very much rooted in Venice when I would pass through the piazza after sundown. In the day, however, the hoards of people, nearly all of them tourists, made it nearly impossible to forget the outside world.  Despite the beauty of the Basilica San Marco and the incredible history of the Doge’s Palace, I felt less connected to Venice when I was in the Piazza San Marco during the day than if I was in some lesser known location. I find that the intimacy of enjoying a new experience in a foreign place is diluted when shared with too many visitors.

Two experiences come to mind when I most felt the magic of isolation in Venice. The first was on the island Guidecca at midmorning. Everyone was Italian. Middle aged and elderly women were pulling small carts to stop at one of the many fruit stands or butcher shops, and friends were enjoying a drink at one of the various Osterias. The waterfront street was busy, despite the lack of tourists. And among the residential buildings, there was the Redentore, Palladio’s masterpiece. Walking along the water, rough with waves that did not exist in the canals, surrounded by the sounds of Italian, I felt as if I had discovered some secret of Venice.

The second experience was the morning of my last day in Venice. On a walk from Fondamente Nove to the Piazza San Marco to meet friends, I stopped at a pastry shop outside of the Ospedale. I ordered a macchiato and a brioche, and I stood at the counter enjoying my morning snack. The employees of the shop were being playful, flicking water at each other and joking in Italian, occasionally making a comment to me in accented English about how crazy they were. Most of my interactions with Venetians involved their reserved, even if friendly, demeanor towards strangers. In that moment in the pastry shop, standing and sipping on my delicious espresso while the Italians laughed loudly, I felt that I was having a rare experience, and I felt utterly in Venice as a part of a secret moment.

The beauty of Venice, of being completely immersed in a novel environment and surrounded by unknown people, is that a person can reevaluate himself or herself. Able to step away from routine and shed old mindsets and worries, it is interesting to see what aspect of a person linger and what aspects are new or altered. In a place unaffected by expectations, habit, or reminders of typical daily life, one can find a very organic form of the self. In a place rich with history, a person can learn from the stories with which he or she identifies. In a place rich with art, a person might find a connection to some abstract concept such as spirituality, purpose, or passion.

A Few Final Paintings

On Friday, I had the opportunity to visit several famous and revolutionary pieces of art outside of class. I visited Bellini’s painting of the Madonna and child in the Renaissance church San Zaccaria. I later made my way to San Giorgio Maggiore to see one of Tintoretto’s most famous depictions of the Last Supper. Bellini’s painting, completed in 1505, is an example of the skill developed in perspective and Tintoretto’s painting, completed between 1592 and 1594, is an example of the experimentation that came after the mastering of linear perspective.

            Having passed by San Zaccaria daily, I was finally able to enter the church during one of the few open hours that morning. I found that I was glad my visit had been postponed; I was able to appreciate Bellini’s piece so much more than if I had seen it earlier in the week. Bellini’s mastery of perspective as well as chiaroscuro served to create a painting with a powerful impact. The effect was similar to Panofsky’s description of Giotto’s and Duccio’s paintings: “When entering the world of Duccio and Giotto we feel as if we were stepping off a boat and setting foot on firm land. The architectural setting… gives an impression of coherence and stability unmatched in all earlier painting” (Panofsky, 136). Bellini’s much later work creates a hyper realistic depth. If noticed from afar or on the periphery, the altarpiece actually seems to be a recessed room or apse in the church. Viewed straight on, the painting has a nearly hypnotic affect, drawing the viewer into the scene and holding him or her there. The coordination of the painted pillars with the pillars on either side of the canvas serves to enhance the feeling that the painting is an extension of the building, rather than a two dimensional surface.

            Nearly a century later, Tintoretto painted his seventh and final depiction of the last supper. The painting resides in the sanctuary of Palladio’s San Giorgio Maggiore. Although building off of the developments made earlier in the Renaissance time period, Tintoretto plays with various aspects of the painting, making it a daring and dramatic scene. For this reason perhaps, the painting stands out among the numerous Renaissance paintings of the last supper. For me, it is one of the paintings that I will most remember from my time in Venice. Some of the strength of that memory may derive from the experience of finding the painting as much as the painting itself. Going to San Giorgio Maggiore was the first time that I had been to the island Guidecca, and I felt proud of my abilities as I boarded the Valparetto. Leaving our home base of San Zaccaria and San Servolo, without a professor to guide me, was a fresh adventure and the destination of one of Palladio’s most famous churches gave it an exciting purpose.

            Once within San Giorgio Maggiore, I took a moment to enjoy the grandeur of the church before making my way to Tintoretto’s painting. In contrast with the light colors and brightness of the church, the Last Supper is a dark and smoky painting. Only the light of Jesus’ halo and the light that emanates from the lamp illuminate the painting. Along with light, mystical angles unfurl from the overhead lamp, and the effect is one of religious symbolism that is not found in earlier painting such as those of Bellini. Tintoretto plays with a mixture of realistic images and supernatural objects. Additionally, Tintoretto is clearly skilled with his use of perspective, but he chooses to place it off center and diagonal. The line of action leads to a vanishing point from the lower left to the upper right of the painting. The scene is dynamic, showing movement of the figures and incorporating relatable figures such as servants and a cat. Many aspects of early painting are changed in Tintoretto’s final Last Supper and create a powerful and mysterious scene.

Architecture Throughout the City

 

Throughout the week, I have seen piece after piece of beautiful and historical architecture. I have never been around building so old and have been around few that were created by such influential architects. I find architecture to be fascinating as it is a combination of art, functionality, science, and culture. Venice has been a phenomenal place to grow my knowledge of architecture as it has such a highly condensed collection of beautiful buildings. Walking through Venice is like walking through time: side by side there are the Byzantine, Venetian Gothic, Early Renaissance, High Renaissance, and Baroque structures. In traveling a quarter mile, I often feel as if I have travelled through centuries. As a city, Venice is a functional museum, a historical record in which people live.

I had never realized extent to which architecture reflects the culture that built a building. In my mind, I had simplified architecture as a simple artistic expression of aesthetic appeal. Travelling through Venice has completely changed that idea for me. I understand how the Basilica San Marco is an expression of power over other people and a display of wealth. The ornate decorations and exotic marble as well as the loot from Constantinople reflect the conqueror mentality of the early Venetian empire.  I see the Venetian Gothic churches as a way to humble man before God and create massive buildings with common materials such as brick. I understand that Palladio created surreal colors and harmonious, symmetrical buildings as an expression of the wonder of not only God, but man as well. The simplicity of the Renaissance churches feel as if they are not a representation of God, but a canvas or a starting point for man to grow from and then connect with God. Inside a bare church such as San Francesco della Vigna, man must look to himself to find the wonders of God, rather than to the glory of his surroundings. I find architecture fascinating as a reflection of the evolution of human culture.

            As interesting as the buildings themselves is my reaction to them. I often feel a pull to choose a favorite time period or building, and to rank those that cannot be first. I ask myself if I prefer Venetian Gothic to Renaissance, or Palladio to Codussi. I had the urge to reject Baroque, until I found the marvelous Santa Maria della Salute. And when I cannot choose I become frustrated and ask why I must choose at all. But after I decide to accept all of the buildings equally, appreciating each one unbiased, I come across another magnificent building and think it is my favorite, until the next block when I find another favorite, repeating the cycle. I’m not sure why I feel the urge to rank the building and the architects. It may be the linear way that I think and process information, or it may have to do with the desire to learn about myself. There is a sense that in choosing a favorite period of architecture, or rejecting another, I have a better understanding of myself with respect to the values and defining aspects of that time period. I find that as the week passes, however, I am better able to take pieces from every architectural experience that I have and weave them together. Learning about architecture in Venice has been an unexpected and interesting way to learn more about myself.

Dogs and Outward Appearance

In the Campo San Margarita, two elderly women talk to each other, their small terriers tangling and untangling their leashes, completely ignored. Just as the women have coordinated clothing and carefully arranged hair, the dogs are immaculately groomed and have dainty harnesses, rather than collars. Clean and well conditioned, the dogs’ coats glisten in the sunlight. They are silent, but full of movement, and the women continue their conversation, seemingly oblivious to the creatures with them. Among the endless stream of passerby, the dogs are also unacknowledged. Children do not stop to pet the dogs, and teenage girls do not fawn over the lovely creatures. After a moment, the women part ways, exchanging kisses and looking down long enough to gently tug their pets apart before dispersing into nearby streets with their dutiful companions.

            Several streets over, a man strolls through narrow, busy streets, his toy bulldog unleashed and scurrying to keep up while darting from side to side, exploring the abundance of smells. The man stops to greet an acquaintance and the bulldog darts into a corner café. He weaves between the legs of the people enjoying their espresso and even dares to investigate the area behind the food counter. No one pays the dog any attention or minds that he is near the food, perhaps because his pristine black fur is a testament to his cleanliness. His master begins walking again and the dog lingers only a moment before resuming his exploration in the wake of the man. The man gives no indication that the dog ever left his side, or that he is there at all.

            Farther along in the Campo San Polo, two unusually large dogs are playing, a leashed golden retriever and an unleashed Australian Shepherd.  They dwarf the majority of toy breeds and terriers in the city, and the golden retriever is too large to be ignored while he leaps around the Australian Shepherd. His owner is pulled aside as he converses with a friend, but he braces himself against the animal and they do their best to continue talking uninterrupted. Several minutes pass in which the dogs happily jump and wrestle in the open space, as joyful as the children playing soccer on the other side of the campo. After a while, a woman steps in to calm the dogs, leashing the Australian Shepherd. The owners thank each other before going their separate ways. It is as if they have done each other a favor, allowing their pets a moment to be wild and enjoy the space of the campo in the normally tight confines of the city. As the owners walk off, the dogs follow obediently, happy to have played for a short while.

            In Venice, the dogs are treated more as show pieces than as loveable pets. As a general rule, they are perfectly groomed and well behaved, barking only occasionally. For a dog to casually wander a café, it must be expected that the dog is impressively clean and well behaved. Furthermore, the attention paid to the dogs in public is minimal. Where it is common in the United States to pet a stranger’s dog or for owners to periodically succumb to flamboyant displays of affection for their own animals, the dogs in Venice are largely ignored in public. No conclusion can be drawn about the private relationship between canine and master, but the public relationship is one in which the dog is clearly well cared for but affection is highly reserved and aloof. While the majority of the dogs are small breeds, there is no blatantly dominant presence of a popular breed. In the United States, Labrador Retrievers, Golden Retrievers, and German Shepherds overwhelm dog parks. Large and affectionate dogs are the clear favorite, whereas dog owners in Venice seem to pick small but flashy dogs of a wide variety. There is a sense of originality in the selection of dog breed that emphasizes the dogs’ use as a showpiece and even a status symbol, rather than a loving companion. The Venetian attitude towards dogs reflects their attitude towards outward appearance as a whole. The Venetians are always well dressed when the leave their homes, another indication of the importance of presentation. There is a sense that Venetians have a private face and a public face. Their dogs serve to enhance their public face, giving them a unique accessory.