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Published: November 21st 2005
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entrances
because of the way Venice was built upon the ebb and flow of tides and the resulting soil deposits, and because its topography has changed many times over centuries, adding bridges later, some streets lead into dead ends, and some lead straight into the water.
an exit, and entrance. My shoes echo in the alleys, clicks of my heels follow me home.
The mornings are often heavy with a thick fog, a huge, dense fog that has fallen upon the city, rolled in by the etched deities that blow the directional winds on the ancient maps.
There are no bird songs, but caws and screeches by seagulls and other water birds, even at times during the night.
Once in a while, with the girls, I grab a spritz, the classic aperitivo mixed drink…typical that at about 7pm, the bars are filled with the locals sipping orange colored drinks with toothpick-speared green olives, and crunchy snacks.
Out door markets, vegetables and sometimes even sea food (all whole, fresh and often alive-YOU do the cutting, deboning, descaling, etc) some even exist on boats that float down a side canal, stop and vend to the customers on the side walks.
My art history class has given me the language to define my city in terms of architecture and its history dating back to the early 1st century AD. It is an incredible gift to be a given a key to the city, if I can use that analogy. I
recognize types of arches and can give you a century. Stilted arch is Byzantine and will date to before the 13th century. Classic arches come later with the late 15th century and early 16th century Renaissance architects…whereas classic arches influenced by Venice’s connection to Rome link the early 15th century palazzi and churches to Venetian architects in touch with Gianbattista Alberti in Florence as well…
I know Cima da Conigliano, Titian, Antonio Vivarini and Bellini almost better than I know Michelangelo’s work. Knowledge of city builds respect for it. Although this city seems like a showcase of its spoils, trying heartily and mightily to forever give a bella figura more than I’ve ever seen a city do so! And succeed they do, because it is done so sincerily…Venice’s San Marco is like a hall of stolen goods, the palazzi decorated only the part seen from the canal, the most public, the most dignified, the huge windows and terraces of buildings along the grand canal that make Venice so hospitable looking are also to flaunt the residents-one must see out and one must see in! color everywhere. In stones, marble, glass, light. And food! They have pistachio-green bisquits with almonds that
are delicious!
Every night I take the 45 minute boat ride home. I glide in and sit by the window, used to the continuous dance of the boat on water. The way home I often stare at the brilliancy of light on the night water. Series of winks, of glimmers, as brilliant as diamonds, as fast in its fluidity as it is fleeting. This is a backdrop, and my way home I am thinking. Thinking. The life of the artist, your artist, my artist, that artist.
You open a door and it comes rushing out, all that stuff that has been waiting, but not orderly and not beautifully.
SO WHERE HAVE I BEEN
I have not written more journal entries because I have been consumed by my artwork-the other way in which I am documenting and responding to my experience here in Italy…and in particular in Venice. My energy is fully and deeply in the art and I dont have the emotions or the physical energy to document this second year in words.
I have to reconsider who I am and what I am doing every day. I question it with art and with words
and with guilt and with love. It comes out in difficult and challenging ways….I’ve rediscovered the power of making something so personal…of putting physical and emotional effort into making and often not having a tangible product to show for it. Like treading water, with all your might, and never actually advancing...What should be the product of my effort? And to whom do I feel I am required to have a product? This process is like having a wound open. Not the pain, but a sensitivity of ones open self to the stresses of environment and the interactions of others.
And my family and my friends have seen my art and know my relationship to it. I am sorry for my silence. But to open one door I have to open them all. How do I tell the story without telling it all? That, indeed, is my challenge. And art is a slow process. And I will work for 9 hours straight for several days in a row. Feeling like I am working physically-rolling ink with heavy 3 foot rollers, and running the presses, carving minute details until fingers feel numb, so I take a break and eat. The many
ideas that need to be narrowed down to what feels most sincere to myself and what seems closest to the very thing that is blossoming in my head, but not yet mature…and I have 6 projects going at the same time…each one that I try to give %100
…and realizing also there is laundry to do, a house to clean, food to buy, money to save, documents to fill, jobs to find, letters to write, relationships to maintain, memories to miss, churches to visit, facades to sketch, papers to write, future to worry about, and my surroundings, my very particular surroundings, to enjoy every minute that I can.
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Jay
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Kudos!
Have thoroughly enjoyed your blog and life experiences in Italy. My wife and I loved Rome, Florence, Venice in spite of the flooding, and tourist hordes (June 2002). Never enough time to experience the art in Italy. I empathize with your perfection concerning your art; My mother was an artist/writer, and never put pencil to paper, nor brush to canvas unless she was inspired by a subject...