The Afterlife of a Murano Glass Chandelier

A good friend who visited us in August asked me more than once for suggestions about what one should buy in Venice. He had to ask more than once because I never managed to answer him, though I knew very well what he meant.

He was asking about the distinctive Venetian product--the thing made only, or most famously in Venice. Of course he already knew what those were: glass and lace and masks, but he was thinking I might have some inside information to give him on where deals might be found on these items.

I didn't. I could refer him to a lace shop I knew whose owners were knowledgeable and honest, for example, but there are no deals on well-made lace or well-made glass or well-made anything actually made in Venice. 

So then he got desperate: How about ties? he asked me one day as we passed a shop displaying them in its window. I shook my head. They might be nice ties, but they'd likely be the same ones he'd find in Florence or Rome at a better price. I couldn't help him. I told him there really were no bargains left.

However, a couple of weeks ago I wondered if perhaps I found one: a particular one to be sure, a niche item, and not for everyone, but something.

About mid-way between the churches of San Francesco della Vigna and SS Giovanni e Paolo is a single antique shop with two storefronts on two perpendicular calle. One of its storefronts is near the end of the Calle Barbaria de le Tole; the other is about 10 meters around the corner on Calle delle Cappuccine. A small garden court leads from the backdoor of one to the the backdoor of the other. I'm not in Venice at the moment and remember nothing about the name of the place except the proprietor's first name, Valter. [Note added 13 December 2011: the name of the shop is: Valter Ballarin, Rigattiere in Venezia]

In any case, it was there that I bought the fondo of an old Murano glass chandelier. The fondo is the base of the chandlier, its bottom-most central element from which all its various parts branch up and out as the leaves of an artichoke emanate from its own fondo. There were all kinds of parts from old dismembered chandeliers for sale in the shop: sinuous floral pieces of various pale colors that some creative person could probably put to good use, for example. But the pink hand-blown element I bought, pictured twice above, had found second life as a tea light holder. 

It was not the only piece born again to such a use. But the other tea light holders were slightly smaller in diameter and had previously adorned the base of one or another chandelier's candles. Called coppetta, they also were beautiful: fairly shallow little cups, petaled like flowers, with a little hole at the center. 

Here was hand-blown glass at an affordable price: 15 euro is what mine cost me. 

I don't think it would have worked for my friend, who doesn't seem like a guy who has much time for candles of any sort, but we've really enjoyed our fondo. In a dark room a tea light at the center of this very slightly asymmetrical piece of blown glass transports one back to its creation 80 years ago or more. The glass takes on an almost molten appearance--which it never had when it was part of a chandelier--and it's easy to imagine that it's fresh out of the forno. One can imagine the artist spinning it into a bowl-like shape at the end of his or her long pipe, then pulling and crimping into existence its two rows of angled leaves. The glass is returned to the fire, at least on a small scale, and the viewer is returned to an ancient process carried out on a specific day by an anonymous artisan otherwise long forgotten. 

A coppetta that I later bought: made at least a century ago, the particular yellow of this piece was made with uranium--once a common ingredient in the glass factories of Murano. I was assured it was not radioactive.

'Tis the Season: Acqua Alta

If I remember correctly, some of the worst acqua alta of last year occurred during December, so I know what's waiting for us when we return home from our two week visit to the States. But far away from Venice, one can find oneself missing even acqua alta. The above photo was taken after my son's pre-school's Christmas pageant, last December. As fun as the pageant was, I think he enjoyed splashing home just as much.

Update: Hello, Bridge of Sighs!

Two weeks ago I posted about the removal of the scaffolding from the Palazzo Ducale and noted that, however, the Bridge of Sighs had been newly covered. Well, the Bridge of Sighs has also been completely uncovered, all the scaffolding around it removed, and the view from the Ponte della Paglia is, once again (after three years), the famous one that even people who have never set foot in Venice (or cruised past it in one of those horrendous cruise ships) know so well.

One can get used to even the worst kinds of things, and so I guess I got used to all that scaffolding and the damned clouds and the wretched billboards and now that they are finally gone the bridge looks almost vulnerable, a little delicate. This is not a bad thing. I'd like to stand before it a long time and try to get a handle on how it looks to me now, in its natural state, so to speak, but I write this post from Chicago, Illinois and the photo above was taken Sunday, November 20, the afternoon before we left Venezia for a two-week visit to the States.  So any further consideration of the bridge will have to wait.

More generally, nearly every time I pass over or by the Ponte della Paglia, packed with tourists, I wonder what it is that everyone is seeing when they behold the famous Bridge of Sighs. I wondered this most of all when the bridge was just a bit of architecture visible amid all those clouds and billboards: looking rather like a fingernail clipping nearly lost upon a gaudy bedspread. But I found myself wondering the same thing when all that extra stuff was taken away as well.

Do people find the bridge beautiful in itself? Or is it the pathetic narrative evoked by Byron's designation of it that makes it such a must-see? Every guidebook tells us we should be haunted by thoughts of those pitiful wretches glimpsing freedom for the last time through its constricted windows on their way to their fate. Are we? Do we even pretend to be? Or by this time is the bridge--for most or many of us--simply a celebrated sight: famous for being famous? Can we even really see it anymore?

I wish I could ask all those people crowded on the Ponte della Paglia, snapping away, but it's not the kind of thing most people would want to be bothered with. And even if I did ask, could they really answer, just like that--put on the spot? I don't think I could. I can't even now.

Foggy Morning in Campo SS Giovanni e Paolo, Today

Condottiere in a blanket

Early morning appointment at Ospedale Civile and too much fog for the vaporetti to run, even with their radars. But it wasn't so bad, as Venezia in the fog is a lovely place.

Evening Market on Via Garibaldi, Tonight

A new green grocer recently opened on Via Garibaldi in a spot that had been vacant for a little less than a year and it's quickly become a favorite of ours and many other folks. I've found myself referring to it as "The Five Guys," as that is about the number of men who seem to run the place, but there may actually be one or two more.

I had started to believe (sadly) that soft persimmons (or cachi) were done for the year, as even the grocers at the Rialto had only mushy blotchy ones on offer today, but somehow the Five Guys still had a good stock of them tonight. (I have resisted the urge to devote an entire post to that most sensual of fruit, the persimmon, as I feared I might inadvertently veer into R-rated territory and I'm trying to keep this blog decent.) In any case, this fruit and vegetable market is a great addition to Via Garibaldi, worth checking out if you're in the neighborhood, and, as you can see above, has a pretty good view of Santa Maria della Salute as well.

Boy Wonder on the Grand Canal

Sandro's skills with a 35 mm camera are rapidly improving. Today he managed to take a picture of Jen and me that was well-framed and pretty much in focus--at least as well as I usually manage. But just as we were congratulating him on this--the three of us enjoying the perfect quiet beside the Palazzo Loredan dell'Ambasciatore--along comes the young marvel in the photos above and below (taken by me, not Sandro). And suddenly, much as I appreciated Sandro's developing ability with the camera, I found myself fantasizing about one day just a few years off when he'd be able to row his lucky parents (and no more than a few friends--we wouldn't want to overburden him) around in a gondola!

But it turned out that even gondoliere prodigies have their limitations. When it was time to turn off the Grand Canal into one of the side canals an adult took over. Gondolas really are quite huge--a gondola's oar is really quite huge in itself--and I was impressed the kid could maneuver one down Venice's own Broadway. But narrow side canals are even more of a challenge.

So much for my vision of Sandro rowing us around at the age of nine or ten... I'll have to keep working on my own rowing skills.

What a Racket!: Festa di San Martino, Today