Wednesday, December 21, 2022

Making The Holiday Rounds

The approaching holiday season used to be announced by the appearance of what everyone simply referred to as Le Giostre, the assortment of little fairground rides on the Riva dei Sette Martiri that would remain through Carnevale (for many years after the war it used to be set up on the Riva degli Schiavoni a short distance from Piazza San Marco). The tradition was disrupted by Covid, but I'm assuming (and hoping) that by now it's returned (this image from 20 December 2014).

Saturday, December 17, 2022

Picture Perfect

Even the gondolier felt compelled to capture this sunset: 7 years ago today, 17 December 2015

Monday, November 28, 2022

A Cityscape Transformed by the Unveiling of a Mountainscape

For many days of the year the Dolomites appear so faintly (if at all) in Venice that they're easily mistaken for distant clouds strung insubstantially along the hazy horizon--just an airy illusion of substance where none actually exists. At least that's what I thought I saw when I first visited Venice. So on those days--typically in the morning following a clamorous storm, or in the clear chill of winter--when they appear completely unveiled it's enough to upend your whole sense of where you thought you stood in the world, and to displace all the mediterranean associations clustered around the name of Venice with new, strange, and invigorating alpine ones. (photo taken: 27 November 2013)

Wednesday, November 16, 2022

What's At the Rialto Market These Days

The above image--not "styled" for the camera, but taken just as I found it in our kitchen one evening--shows the array of things to be found in the Rialto market as the holidays approach: persimmons, pomegranates, lemons, tangerines, apples, vine-ripened tomatoes, onions, garlic, fresh ginger... With these possibilities at hand I never found myself missing, or even thinking about the American Thanksgiving, as in themselves they were worthy of their own lower-case thanksgiving. I'm dismayed at the thought that some people might visit Venice and buy their fruits and vegetables from one of the city's chain supermarkets. Don't do it! (picture taken: 5 December 2020)

Sunday, November 13, 2022

Late Night Reflections of Ca'D'Oro

16 November 2020, 12:20 am: Before the arrival of Covid it would have been rare to see the water of the Grand Canal so still at any hour of the day or night.

Thursday, November 10, 2022

Sore Thumb Beside the Rialto Bridge, Designed By Rem Koolhaas's OMA Studio

The Fondaco dei Tedeschi, the second largest historical building in Venice, and most recently the city's central post office, was re-opened on October 1, 2016 as a large duty-free shop oriented toward Asian tourists after a significant re-design by the architect and theorist Rem Koolhaas and his OMA Studio that opened up some interesting perspectives within the old structure (see above). Unfrequented by Venetians, however, and despite its central location right beside the Rialto Bridge, this large building, with its foundations in the 13th century, sticks out (as they say) like a store thumb in what subsists of local life. (photo: 10 November 2016)

Wednesday, November 2, 2022

A Venetian Childhood, South Lagoon

Our son, Sandro, aged 6, piloting our sandolo-sanpierota with an extended tiller (2 November 2014)

Friday, September 30, 2022

Basilica of Santa Maria Assunta, With Swans (Torcello)

29 September 2019

The qualities of the colors in this image (to the extent that they can even be suggested by a photo, which can serve, after all and at best, only as an analogy of the actual scene--as even the finest recording of music offers but a kind of "parallel" and reductive version of actual living music), the chalky or almost pastel look of them as they appear in the autumnal late-afternoon marine light of the lagoon, is one of the things I miss most about Venice. As the old Venetian painters well knew, it's an atmosphere in which color takes precedence, seems more substantial than form, and the interplay of tones is everything. Let the Tuscans worry about drawing, about delineating forms in space and mathematical perspective--in the lagoon it's all a wash.  


Sunday, September 4, 2022

Head Over Heels in the South Lagoon

Vegetation grows thick on the islands of the south lagoon, and there's no telling what might be covered, or nearly covered by it: in this case a trampoline, in this re-discovered image I forgot ever taking (16 April 2017)

Tuesday, August 9, 2022

Giudecca's Eye View

From one of the three "eyes" of Casa dei Tre Oci, the photography gallery on Giudecca (10 August 2018)


Tuesday, August 2, 2022

Summer Storm Clearing Over the Grand Canal

The brightest, hottest days of summer can turn abruptly dark and stormy in Venice. Though the storms tend to clear rather quickly, you don't want to get caught in your boat out in the lagoon with the thunder and lightning breaking just over your head--or you'll find that time seems to pass very slowly indeed. (6 August 2017)


Tuesday, July 12, 2022

Thursday, June 23, 2022

Dark Reflections at Dusk on Riva Dei Sette Martiri

21 June 2015

During each Biennale the line of yachts anchored along the Riva dei Sette Martiri a short distance from the traditional seat of the exhibition in the Giardini tends to represent a rogues gallery of international oligarchs: mobsters from around the world, like Russia's Roman Abramovich, who've made a killing (quite literally: see Russia's "Aluminum Wars" of the 1990s) in the kleptocratic privatization of their home country's assets, or monopolists like Microsoft co-fonder Paul Allen. 

The yacht above belongs to the billionaire Les Wexner, founder of the clothing chain The Limited, whose holdings would eventually expand to include Victoria's Secret, Abercrombie & Fitch, and Bath & Body Works. But Wexner is now most notorious as the man who in the 1980s developed a very close personal relationship with Jeffrey Epstein, becoming the "main client" of the money management firm of the college drop out, and staking him with the means that would allow the latter to forge ties with American presidents, British royals, and other prominent international power brokers in the construction of what was Epstein's real business: sex trafficking.

What Epstein was selling to men rich enough to buy whatever they wanted with impunity, was indeed the idea of life without any limits, a life lived well beyond the reach of national or international law. 

It also seemed to me at the time I took this image to be one of the primary strains of American thought: this fantasy--decidedly infantile in nature--of a world without any kind of constraints, or restraint. You know the words and the associated myth: "liberty," "freedom," so vague as to be meaningless, and often used as justification for all kinds of abuses and violence. At the very least, with a kind of sociopathic selfishness.  

In the summer of 2015 the grotesque embodiment of this infantile, sociopathological strain in American thought was running for president. He was not an anomaly then, he is not one now. Nor are his followers, nor the party which he heads, which is now overtly fascist, with its threats of violence, its openly anti-democratic aspirations, its aim to destroy all sense and reason in public discourse, its substitution of histrionic self-pitying displays of grievance for any actual policy proposals or interest in governance, its aim of destroying the state with its admittedly imperfect checks and balances with a one-party rule of limitless power... 

Limitless corruption, limitless oppression, limitless exploitation: this is the promise of those who are euphemistically called "nationalists" or "populists" (though they are inevitably in the pocket of corporate interests and promoting a ruling party whose rules are essentially written by corporations). 

There's an irony in seeing nations such as England and the US once accused of the crimes of colonialism turning the brutal practices of colonialism upon their own citizens in their home countries: for example, one no longer needs to live in the Niger Delta to be subjected to a poisoned water supply, it's common throughout the US, and one need not live in a Native American reservation to be subjected to sub-par schools, medical access, and infrastructure.

The limitless, unbounded proliferation of cells in the body is known as cancer. In the body politic the fantasy of limitlessness is no less cancerous and no less deadly.