Dig into the YouTubes of the local scene in Venezia, and you hear about the problems of over-tourism, and the locals trying to prevent its becoming an pastiche of itself – a 'backdrop for selfies' or a 'living Disneyland'. At least the cruise ships are gone, and the city now imposes a fee (contributo) for day-trippers. We still remember being told on our first visit, that we might as well go to Vegas.
So, what is 'real', and what is 'imitation'? and why should we value the 'authentic'?
We have a day of art ahead, not churches and palaces, but a tour of Venezia's artisan shops. To set the mood, we spend the morning in the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, which is near the Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute at the end of the Canal Grande.
Looks like another beautiful morning from our roof terrace, but the Weather app says it may rain tonight. With yesterday's hazy air now clear, we realize how close we are to the leaning campanile of the Chiesa di Santo Stephano.
To reach the Collection, we cross the Campo di Santo Stephano and cross the Canal Grande on the Ponte dell'Academia.
The Collection features a show called Marcel Duchamp e la seduzione della copia (the lure of the copy). In the context of recent issues surrounding AI and the SAG-AFTRA strike, the show provides an interesting perspective on the ideas of 'originality' and 'creativity'. The show catalog includes this statement from Duchamp on being copied:
I wouldn't do anything. I don't give a damn. A forgery is a type of publicity, unless it's tendentious. It would even be amusing to go and see it … we still have the cult of the original.
[People] say that a machine-made thing is not a work of art. It's ridiculous … A duplicate or a technical repetition has the same value as the original.
In the history of art, there are few as inventive or unique as Duchamp. The show highlights how Duchamp's inventiveness makes room for mechanical copies, which during his time, is the 'new thing'. The first piece is A propos de jeune sœur (1911), a cubist, seated female figure. But, on the back of the stretcher is another image, a Fauvist, seated female figure, with the word merde scratched in the background. Then in the upper right is another image of a female figure wearing a hat, so there's a layer under the layers (reverse image turned 180-degrees).
The star of the show is the Boîte-en-valise (1935-41, ed no I/XX), a miniature, traveling museum in a box, inside a case. The box contains copies of other works by Duchamp, but by itself and as a piece of conceptual art, is wholly original. The original works surround the display case which contains the box in a case. The levels of transposition begin to play on our brains – which is the point.
A Life magazine article shows another edition of Boîte-en-valise (ed no IX/XX) owned by MOMA in New York.
The adjoining rooms show more of the originals, which are often photographs or collages of other pieces, many about the same size as the 'miniature copies'. There are printed images from stills of his surrealist op-art film, Anémic Cinéma (1925-26). The film shows Rotoreliefs (1935), discs of art played on a phonograph, not for sound but for the visual effect, then captured on film. One piece of art employs the other.
In addition, there is a sketchbook and a folio of notes that helps us come to terms with Duchamp's process, which is truly fascinating. Inspecting the label, we find that the notes are collotypes, printed copies of his notes. The piece is called La Mariée mise à nu par ses célibataires, même (1934).
The famous image of the Mona Lisa with scribbled facial hair, L'Envers de la peinture (1955), is the punchline and the key. Obviously, it is an image that Duchamp repeats for decades; this one is a printed dish towel. To make sure we 'get it', he adds a tiny painter's palette and brush in the corner. The first version of L.H.O.O.Q. dates from 1919, soon after Duchamp shaved his head, a parody with a progeny of parodies (and not all by Duchamp).
Another frame displays a copy of La Joconde on the back of a canasta card, and with a clean chin; it is L.H.O.O.Q. rasée (ie shaved, 1965). The hair is next door, in the Mustache and Beard of L.H.O.O.Q. (1941), with scribbles on an otherwise blank page and this poem:
La mémoire du miroir se vengequi fut inventée par l'homme.
Qui est cet homme?Celui qui supprime avec des barres de glace.Qui est cet homme?Celui qui broie la suieavec le moulin à cristal de la neige.[The memory of the mirror takes revengewhich was invented by man.
Who is this man?The one who removes with ice bars.Who is this man?The one who grinds sootwith the snow crystal mill.]
We finish our tour of the exhibit in a daze, our minds working through layers of abstraction. There is a second Boîte-en-valise with the title de ou par Marcel Duchamp ou Rrose Sélavy (1935-41), along with Dadaist images, some pop-art, and photos of Duchamp and Guggenheim with other artists.
The exhibit ends with a software re-creation of the Boîte-en-valise with a touchscreen that invites visitors to open the box and inspect the 3D-scanned pieces. This a digital copy of the Boîte – a shame it's not online.
We wander in the permanent collection still processing the Duchamp show. It's a 'greatest hits' of modernism, many amazing works, and many of our favorite artists: Joseph Cornell, Yves Tanguy, Paul Klee, Kurt Schwitters, and Cy Twombly.
We unwind on the Collection's terrace facing the Canal Grande. With the swash of the lagoon, we consider the light, the textures, the motion, and the colors of Venezia. The world is different; we feel the art's impact. Then we break for lunch.
After lunch, our artisan tour starts at the Colonna di San Tòdaro. While we wait for our guide, we look around the Piazza San Marco. Free of the floor-water walkways, tourists cluster in front of the entrances to the sites. High above, we watch the workers cleaning the stone facade of the Palazzo Ducale. Like window washing, but for a sparkling opaque material, the washing team has a lot of work to do.
Also high above is San Tòdaro, who along with San Giorgio (on the other side of the canal) is known for dragon slaying, and before the ninth century was the patron saint of Venezia. That dragon looks part dog and part legless gator, and San Tòdaro looks like the reused statue of a Roman soldier – which he was.
We meet our guide and begin our walk 'against the tide' of the tourists swarming the Piazza. We stop next door at the back door of the Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana (by Sansovino and Scamozzi, sixteenth century), an historically important and large library, as well as a beautiful building.
Our guide points out the statue of Giustizia at the top of the south face of San Marco. She tells us that another statue of Giustizia once stood on the top of the main dome, too. And she tells the story of the Traslazio through the mosaics. In one lunette (Pietro della Vecchia, seventeenth century), the basket containing the relics is filled with pork, and the Muslim inspectors react to the contents. In the medieval half-dome (thirteenth century), the relics arrive at the Basilica.
We pause in the Campo Santa Maria Formosa, a lovely, spacious square where a local market sets up. We are surrounded by an eclectic group of buildings, including a large Renaissance church (Chiesa di Santa Maria Formosa, fifteenth century), the Palazzo Querini Stampalia (sixteenth century), and the Palazzo Vitturi (thirteenth century).
Near the Campo is the Ponte Minich, which turns a corner and allows views to a thin, 'flatiron' type building that splits a canal – very pretty and one of our guide's favorites.
Our tour takes us to the Campo Santi Giovanni e Paolo, where we find the Scuola Grande di San Marco (fifteenth century), with its intricate south facade. Above the highest of a series of delicate, cascading arches, San Marco stands above a winged lion. On the lower level, a set of trompe-l'œil panels with more lions and stories of San Marco.
Below the equestrian Statua di Bartolomeo Colleoni (Verrocchio, fifteenth century), a local family uses the fenced-in area at the base as a secure, mini-playground; the kids don't seem particularly happy about it.
The Chiesa dell'Ospedaletto (Longhena, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries) is just around the corner. Tucked into a narrow lane, this facade ripples with energy, especially from the four telamoni who seem to carry the weight of worlds, as well as the grotesques carved over the columns. By contrast, the Madonna addolorata in the pediment is quietly moving.
These buildings are not a backdrop for selfies, but for flea markets and family outings – what a place to call home.
We meet Frederico, Isabella, and their new baby at Arzanàrt Venezia. A playpen with plush toys fills one side of the shop. While Isabella feeds the baby, Frederico introduces us to the art of paper marbling. Though perhaps not as iconically 'Venetian' as Murano glass or Burano lace, paper marbling is a remnant of the city's empire, said to have been brought back from feudal Japan, as re-interpreted in the Islamic Near East.
A tray contains a thickened solution which includes extracts from seaweed, which keeps the pigments on the surface. Frederico drops the paint into the tray by tapping his brush and builds layers of color from dark to light. He uses a dowel to slowly stir the drops into a pattern, then carefully lays the paper. He pulls the sheet from one edge of the tray, doing his best to retain the pigment while removing the solution, assuring the pattern will dry quickly and remain consistent. It is a deliberate, meditative process but the results are vigorous and vibrant.
The task is repetitious, but the designs are one of a kind. Frederico describes several pattern types, and demonstrates how to make the 'peacock', by adding the colors and transforming the drops by haltingly drawing a comb through the mixture.
As we leave, we offer our thanks and congratulations to Frederico and Isabella. Perhaps they are accomplishing the most crucial type of 'multiplying', creating more Venetians.
Papier Machè Venezia is owned and run by the Gottardo family, near the popular Liberia Acqua Alta. Unlike other shops filled to the ceiling with masks, this is a place where things are made. Pieces in various states of production are all about the tables and counters, even on the floor. This is a place not just to sell masks but to share a craft. Which is not to say the displays are not wonderful – they are.
The masks are shaped in plaster molds from heavy, bluish-grey stock, then dried and shaped. Then the artists may paint, add gold or silver leaf, or adorn the masks with stitching, beadwork, or feathers. Like the marbling, there are forms and types of masks, each piece is unique.
We head to the Arsenale to finish our tour. As we wind our way through Castello, we savor the quiet views. As there are hardly any other tourists, we have this slice of Venezia to ourselves – the Renaissance churches, time-worn apartment blocks, and serene canals and bridges. There is an inviting courtyard, some stunning ironwork, and a muscular door with a peephole that looks back at you. We pass the impressive Chiesa di San Giorgio dei Greci (sixteenth century), with another leaning tower, as we continue south.
The Arsenale (twelfth to fifteenth centuries) is guarded by a collection of ancient lions, gathered from the corners of the empire. This is where the strength of the empire was manufactured, cranking out warships on an assembly line. Today, this is a staging site for the MOSE project, dedicated to saving Venezia from climate change and the acqua alta.
A fitting end, then, to a day of creative pursuits – the ability of the inventive Venetians to make at every scale may save this astonishing place. In touristy San Marco and Rialto there may be less value in the 'copy', as we learned on our first day, but this neighborhood is authentic and vital.
As we stand on the Ponte del Paradiso, in front of the Torri dell'Arsenale, the sea moves up the channel, and the rain begins to fall.
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