Our adventures began at 6:00 Tuesday morning (the 15th) when we woke up in time to finish some last minute packing and cleaning and then walk to the train station. It was strange to say goodbye to Castiglion Fiorentino if just for the next two weeks; it’s cobblestoned medieval streets have become synonymous with “home.” It was also strange to have my entire life packed in a single backpack, weighing in at around 10 kilos (22 pounds). Upon our arrival in Florence, we stopped off in the McDonald’s across the street so people could get cappuccinos and the rest of us could use the bathrooms. Oddly, McDonald's has become my beacon of clean free bathrooms, I'm there all the time. It was then back on a train at 9:30 to Venice. Most of my train ride was spent sleeping. Two trains and an exceptionally long chartered boat ride later, we were at our hotel on the island of Lido, an island in the Venice area but not on the main island that everybody knows. It was a hard concept to grasp that we would be traveling either by boat or foot for the next few days. No trains. No buses, well, none on wheels. Venice has absolutely no vehicles but it was quite a nice break from the hustle and bustle of even just our small town where you practically are forced to hug a wall if ever a car passes. We were given free time for lunch and then we headed to St. Mark’s square for a tour of the Doge’s Palace. Basically, the people of Venice elect a Doge whose sole purpose is to be a figure head; he has only the semblance of importance, not any actual political influence, almost like the royal family of England. The Doge’s Palace therefore, is quite ornate and spectacular, especially due to the Moorish influence typical of Venice, but every single room of political importance has a chair at the front of the room designated for the Doge but six on either side for the people who actually hold political power, his judges. We spent several hours looking at the massive guilded ceilings and frescoes, like we do pretty much everywhere we go. It was no surprise then that what most people were interested in were the prison cells located in the dungeons of the palace. To reach the cells, one must first cross a bridge called “the Bridge of Sighs” in reference to the sighs that prisoners would emite on their way to the cells where they would never leave. The bridge has a couple of gridded windows so that prisoners could see their family members for the last time. In actuality, the majority of prisoners were not there for lifelong sentences though Venice was infamous for its torture and its refusal to feed prisoners unless they paid for their food. This last practice led to the creation of monastic brotherhoods devoted to feeding those prisoners who were too poor to pay for their food so all of the cells have food delivery holes. For those of you who are unaware, Venice is sinking. I’ll go into more detail on that later, but think about the fact that these cells are underground. It is not uncommon for the city to flood which means that the cells would flood. In these instances, the prisoners were left in their cells where many of them drowned. These cells were used through the 19th century. Hard to believe. We were free for the night after our tour so me, Kate, Megan, and Cameron spent a couple of hours walking around the streets of Venice, admiring the Murano glasswork and the Carnivale masks on the Ponte Rialto. It had been a long day and we were all exhausted and hungry so we took the boat back to Lido, almost getting on the wrong one and then running for another which we proceeded to miss and then had to wait for the next one. Unfortunately, the weather is awfully limiting when bad so it was difficult to enjoy the city that night.
Wednesday, though we weren’t meeting up at St. Mark’s until about 9:30, Kate, Megan, and I went early to sketch. It was raining, wet, and cold but it was very relaxing to sit under the loggia of the Doge’s Palace, looking out across the obviously sinking square in which puddles were forming, not just from the rain but from water seeping up through holes in the paving stones. I didn’t sketch for too long though, mostly because it was exceptionally cold and eventually my fingers froze to the extent that I could barely hold a pencil anymore. It was around that time that the rest of the group met up with us so we could go on a tour of St. Mark’s Basilica. The church is quite impressive in several aspects; first, the fact that it is, like the rest of the city, affected by the tides with water reaching depths of several inches to feet of water welling within the church, making the foundation sink in places, yet still it stands, wave-like floor, off-kilter arches, and all. Second, the building is covered in mosaics, and not just any mosaics, but composed of miniscule guilded tiles so that when the sun shines in or artificial lights are pointed towards the walls and ceiling, the building becomes filled with a warm glow, enticing the spirit and elevating the soul. The Greek-cross architecture of the building is something incredible to behold for sure, but the ambiance created by these mosaics is what truly gives the building its ethereal characteristics. The building also contains a collection of carvings and a set of four gold cast horses from Egypt (which were stolen by Constantine, taken to Constantinople, then stolen by the Venicians, then stolen by Napoleon and taken to France, and are now finally back in Venice). Looking at the stone sculpture, I felt completely inadequate with the little knick-knacks I make in my stone-carving class. Of course I understand that the masons who created these works of art did so all day, every day, but still, I wish I could have that kind of prowess with a chisel and hammer. We were then free to wander the city for the rest of the day, but by this time, it was raining profusely, we were cold, wet, and hungry, and it just was not going to be worth it to stay on the island so again we trudged back to our hotel in Lido, ate lunch, and then took advantage of the way rainy weather just puts you straight to sleep. I spent much of my time wandering around Lido, embracing the quiet, abandoned streets made all the more eerie by the misty glow of the streetlights.
I then went to sleep only to wake up at about 7:00 in the morning, eat breakfast, and then take the “bus” to San Marco which was once again flooded. There was a rather large amount of people in uniform walking around and it took us a while to realize that they were gearing up for a celebration of the 150th anniversary of the unification of Italy. Megan, Kate, and I just walked around the city, looking at stores as the city woke up. We were then forced to rush to the Peggy Guggenheim museum. The building was originally the home of Peggy Guggenheim, one of the most prolific modern art collectors in the world, but it is now a museum, housing and displaying her collection as well as temporary exhibits. I loved the museum. I loved the art. I was a little sardonic towards the Wish Tree that Yoko Ono gave Peggy Guggenheim but I wrote down a wish and stuck it on a branch like everybody else. Unfortunately, most of the people I was with were not quite as enthralled as I was about the museum. I wandered through the building, fascinated by the pieces, probably 50% of which I had just learned about in my history of modern art class last semester. Things like Ernst and his use of decalcomania, Miro, Tanguy, Giacometi (which reminded me of a Dani Caravan creation), Dali, a mobile by Calder, Rothko, Arp, Albers, Vasarely, Pollock, Severini, Man Ray rayographs, Brancusi (Bird in Space – it was RIGHT there, I could have touched it had I not thought that to be blasphemous!!!), and Klee. I could not help but marvel at the Mondrian, the paintings responsible for such architecture as the Schroder house and of course I could have stood for hours in front of the surrealist Magritte paintings, some of my absolute favorites. One of my friends walked up behind me as I, for the second time, stared at Fontana’s Spatial Concepts, Expectation. He looked at the work and uttered what I’m sure most people in my group thought when they saw it; “You’ve got to be kidding me.” It took a lot to not get upset, even though I know that I might have said the same thing less than a year ago. In his defense, the painting is not a lot to look at. In fact, you might not call it a painting at all. Fontana took a canvas, painted it completely white, and then slashed the canvas five times. I suppose to someone who has never studied the painting, that is all it appears to be but it is so so much more than that. His slashing of the canvas was monumental in art; it wasn’t that he made art on the canvas, it was that he made the convas itself the piece of art, defying the schools that said "art" had to be a painting. I love the painting and all that it stands for so it killed me a couple of days ago when we discussed the museum in class and everyone around me agreed that they didn’t like the it, that it was essentially the epitome of what they think is wrong with modern art. Maybe they’re right, maybe I’m the narrow-minded one because I like to think that I am educated on the subject. But the fact that that painting was brought up multiple times, the fact that people remembered it, whether they liked it or not, I think is exactly the point of modern art. If it is not memorable enough or doesn’t make any impression on you, then what is the point? I recently walked through the Uffizi gallery in Florence which houses works by such artists as Da Vinci, Giotto, and Rafael, yet I could not tell you one thing that stood out, that made me think. I could not tell you who painted what except that it was Renaissance or Gothic. Yes, Botticeli's Birth of Venus was cool, but only because the establishment of art tells me that it's cool. Okay, that is enough of my rant, ask me one day how I really feel and I’ll go for hours. Anyways, we left the museum to walk around the city since it was the first day that the weather had really permited us to explore in comfort. While walking around, we happened on a group of Italians singing and waving flags, clearly for the unification anniversary. It was really neat to witness and again made me feel like I was actually participating in something truly Italian.
Spring break and Germany is on its way!!
but until then, Ciao,
Becca
