A gondola in a bookstore - Libreria Acqua Alta, Castello

In Venice, there’s a surprise around every corner. 

My husband and I are incapable of walking past bookshops, so of course we had to stop to take a look at this sale table outside a shop in Calle del Tintor in Castello:

Entry to the Libreria Acqua Alta bookshop in Castello, Venice

We were lured further inside the shop by the sight of three majestic cats, one guarding the cash register, the other the entry to the shop, and the other stalking around.

I was on the hunt for any out of print books or books of poems by Diego Valeri that I could find. 

Imagine my surprise to find a full-size gondola in the middle of a bookshop. Complete with costumed mannequins inhabiting the gondola..

Inside the Libreria Acqua Alta in Castello, Venice

The shop was filled with books, old and new, esoteric titles, mainstream titles, reference books, books in French, books in Italian, books in German, books in English – books, books, books!

Inside Libreria Acqua Alta, Castello, Venice

At the proud encouragement of the store owner, I ventured into the courtyard to find a staircase made of books.

Staircase made of books at Libereria Acqua Alta, Castello, Venice

And the symbol of St Mark:

The courtyard of Libreria Acqua Alta, Castello

I looked up to observe the interesting construction and design of the homes around the courtyard:

Courtyard inside Libreria Acqua Alta, Castello, Venice

And then I ventured back inside to find this iconic view of the bookshop and its neighbouring canal:

Inside Libreria Acqua Alta, Castello

I didn't find any out of print books by my beloved Diego Valeri, but we did buy some prints and enough heavy books to warrant a trip back to our accommodation!

What I'm reading - The Other Venice

I'm not a book worm, I'm a book gobbler.  I gobble books almost whole, and usually with such voraciousness that I race through them once, digest, reflect and then I have to re-read them to fully appreciate the plot, or information or style of writing.  

Before Christmas 2013, I went on a book bender and went nutty buying Venice related books including this one pictured - The Other Venice, written in 2004 as L'autre Venise and first published in English in 2007. 

Reading The Other Venice at my local cafe

The author is Predrag Matvejevic, who, according to the book cover, taught in Paris and Rome and was born to a Russian father and Croatian mother.  

This is a book like no other that I've read about Venice.  I'll read virtually anything and everything about Venice, and often Henry James' words about Venice ring in my ears as my read: 

"...There is notoriously nothing more to be said on the subject.  Every one has been there, and every one has brought back a collection of photographs..." (you can read a fuller quote from Henry James' Italian Hours here).

Predrag Matvejevic's first paragraph of The Other Venice echoes this sentiment.  He writes: "what can one add to the history of this city that history itself does not know?".

Matvejevic writes about Venice as no other author I've encountered has done - he writes lyrically, lovingly and compellingly about the smallest details of Venice: about its rust ("the rust of Venice is sumptuous, the patina like gilding'), its bridges, its islands, its obscure wall sculptures.  He writes about the couch grass growing between the walls and stones of the city, and hunts through the streets of Venice for vegetation which he also discovers in the paintings inside galleries and churches around the city.

He also devotes a whole chapter to the bread of Venice, and it is this chapter above all else that stays with me.

For me, the heady, delicious smell of bread baking is always one of my fondest memories of Venice.  

When I first went to Venice, that smell was everywhere and so were bread shops.  But it's disappearing.  

I think the Rizzo Pane shop near Campo Santo Stefano is still there, as is the Rizzo Pane near Campo San Barnaba.  But the small shops where I used to buy my morning roll on my way from Campo Santa Margherita to the Guggenheim have long ago disappeared, and with them has gone that heady early morning smell of Venice. 

Matvejevic describes how bread ovens were lined with brick, stones or ceramic tiles and heated with oak and chestnut, with the dry cane so ready available in the lagoon, used as kindling.   

He also writes about the many Venetian names for 'baker':  "pistore", "fornero", "panettiere", "panicuocoli" and the number of streets named "Calle del Forno" or "Calle del Pistor" which record their former ubiquitous presence in the city.  

In her beautifully illustrated book, Venice & Food, artist and writer Sally Spector explains how there were two distinct trades of bread making in Venice- the forneri or panacuocoli who prepared and baked bread but could not sell it to the public, and the pistori who both baked and sold their own bread as well as the bread of the forneri.  

In Australia, one is accustomed to buying pre-packaged bread from the supermarket.  It lasts quite well for days, and the range is limited.  I discovered in Venice that you buy bread when you intend to eat it - there are no preservatives, and it's hard and stale within a few hours.  

I was also blessed by the patience of the many shopkeepers who helped me to learn how to order the breads I wanted - the first few times that I was faced with rows of unlabeled baskets and shelves filled with different kinds of bread, I was completely at a loss to know what or how to order.  

Matvejevic lists the varieties available, and I will copy them here, and provide a brief description, for the sheer pleasure of writing their names and remembering their shapes, tastes and smells:

ciabatta - 'slipper' - a modern bread created in the Veneto in the 1980s, with a very crusty exterior and chewy interior (it was inspired by the popularity of French style baguettes)

ciopa - another bread from the Veneto, shaped with 4-6 bumpy tips or knots

bovolo - shaped like a snail, with a moderately crusty exterior and soft fluffy white interior

montasu - a soft white bread, with a shiny top from being glazed with egg wash

rosetta - shaped like a flower, with 'petals' surrounding a circle, with quite a crusty exterior and soft interior

pane biscotto - the famous durable, hard bread used for rations for sailors (the island of Sant'Elena near the Arsenale used to have 34 ovens owned by the State specifically for baking bread for its fleet - I've never actually seen this type of bread for sale in Venice bakeries)

zaleto - a yellow bread (more like a biscuit) which is yellow from corn flour.

What I'm reading: Venice Revealed – ‘all the days of my life will not suffice’

Clicca qui per leggere questo post in italiano 

Each morning I sit on a crowded, noisy, hot, hulking train speeding into Sydney's CBD to work in the city and I miss the light, the ancientness, the delicacy, the visual pleasure of Venice. 

I live in a country that is at least a 21-hour plane ride from Europe, and I can’t think how I will ever be able to look enough, to see enough – up, down, straight ahead and then all over again - to know Venice as well as I would wish to do so.

On these train journeys, I’ve been re-reading Paolo Barbaro’s wonderful, dense, poetic, love letter to his city, Venice Rediscovered, which was written on his return to Venice, after he had spent years living and working in other Italian cities and overseas.

And it’s comforting to know that even a Venetian resident can feel this sense of desperate urgency to see Venice and to walk its every inch.

Paolo Barbaro writes:

Days go by, and then weeks.  A little each day, I keep telling myself, and I’ll get there – I must see it all.  But months pass, and I grow ever-more uncertain.  No matter how much I see or rediscover, there’s always more – to see, digest, introject and understand.  And then to compare, participate in, listen to: every stone speaks as clearly as a human being.  The next few days will not suffice; all the days of my life will not suffice.  I shall try to say something, pass something on to my children, to those who come after.  But I have the impression that what counts most is forever slipping out of my grasp.  Wasn’t the city I saw from the plane little – very little?  I walk on her stones, look at her, love her, discuss her by myself and with friends.  But the more we come to know her, the more she multiplies, the greater she grows, this flower of stone.”

I first read Venice Revealed as a library book, and there was so much to absorb and re-read and comprehend in Barbaro’s book that I later purchased it as an e-book, and lately I’ve ordered a hard copy version in both English and Italian.  My holiday project over the Christmas/ New Year break was to tackle Barbaro’s marvellous prose in its original Italian version (I'm still going with this!).

Venice Revealed and Venezia La Citta Ritrovata are widely available through online book stores and through iBooks/ Google Play.  I highly recommend this book to anyone who loves to read and who loves Venice.

NOTE: I wrote this recommendation because I love the book.  I haven't received payment of any kind for this post.

What I'm reading: Venezia La Città Ritrovata – ‘Non basteranno i prossimi giorni, tutti i miei giorni’



Click here to read this post in English

Ogni mattina mi siedo su un affollato, rumoroso, caldo treno per lavorare in città e mi manca la luce, la vetustà, la delicatezza, il piacere visivo di Venezia.

Io vivo in un paese che è almeno un viaggio in aereo di 21 ore dall'Europa, e non riesco a pensare a come sarò mai in grado di guardare abbastanza, di vedere abbastanza - su, giù, dritto e poi tutto da capo - per conoscere Venezia.

Su questi viaggi in treno, sto rileggendo il libro meraviglioso, denso, poetico di Paolo Barbaro, Venezia La Città Ritrovata, che è stato scritto sul suo ritorno a Venezia, dopo aver passato anni in altre città italiane e all'estero.

Ed è confortante sapere che anche un residente veneziano può sentire questo senso di urgenza disperato di vedere Venezia e camminare ogni suo centimetro.

Paolo Barbaro scrive:

Passano giorni e settimane: un po' al giorno, continuo a dirmi, ci arrivo - devo vederla tutta.  Passano i mesi, e sono sempre meno sicuro,  Per quanto vedi o rivedi, resta sempre di più da vedere, da digerire, da introiettare, da capire.  E poi da confrontare, partecipare, ascoltare, ogni pietra parla come ogni essere umano.  Non basteranno i prossimi giorni, tutti i miei giorni.  Proverò a dire qualcosa ai miei figli, a quelli che mi seguono o m'inseguono...L'impressione è che sfugga sempre quell che conta di più.  Ma non era piccolo, molto piccolo quella città vista dall'aereo? Cammino, vedo, parto, discuto, da solo o in compagnia: cresce e si moltoplica il fiore di pietra, man mano che lo conosciamo.

Ho letto Venezia La Città Ritrovata come un libro della biblioteca, e c'era così tanto da assorbire e rileggere e comprendere nel libro di Barbaro che poi ho acquistato come un e-book, e ultimamente ho ordinato una versione in inglese e italiano.

Venice Revealed e Venezia La Citta Ritrovata sono disponibili attraverso negozi di libri on-line e tramite iBooks / Google Play. Consiglio questo libro a chi ama leggere e per chi ama Venezia.

NOTA: Ho scritto questa raccomandazione perché amo il libro. Non ho ricevuto il pagamento di alcun tipo per questo post.

Along the Fondamente delle Procuratie - cold, damp, tiramisu & the local prison

After several months of enjoying my lovely apartment on the Calle dei Cerchieri, I had to find cheaper accommodation. I found a little room in a flat on Calle del Volto just off the Fondamente delle Procuratie near Piazzale Roma. 

I shared the apartment with an incredibly sweet-hearted, gregarious and generous Venetian flatmate. His landlords in turn lived in the flat below us with their two children. 

My new surroundings were much more humble.  Here’s a view of the street leading to my flat:



Calle del Volto, off the Fondamente delle Procuratie, Dorsoduro

Entering the building, we would walk past our landlords' laundry, playroom and storeroom, and then climb an incredibly steep set of stairs, past their flat on the first floor, to reach our flat on the top level of the building.  From our front door, we then climbed another steep flight of steps which ended in a kitchen that was just large enough to fit a stovetop and a small set of shelves.  The window sill was the kitchen bench. 

I swapped a view of the campanile of San Pantalon for a view into the apartments across the alleyway and my new street ended at a bridge leading to a local prison (at the former Santa Maria Maggiore complex) instead of the Grand Canal. 

I follow InVenice (the official booking agency for the Associazione Veneziana Albergatori) on Facebook.  Each day they post an Instaweather snap of a Venetian scene with the weather forecast.  It was so lovely to find a photo of my old building on 24 November 2013:

 

 

As you can see, the building is made up of two blocks (containing 60 apartments in total) joined by a pedimented roof and an arch.

The blocks span from Fondamente delle Procuratie across to the Fondamente dei Cereri. At either end of the blocks are larger apartments that look like the façade of a typical Venetian ‘palazzo’ with balconies and large windows. 

 

A long courtyard provides light and ventilation (and front door access) to the smaller flats within the block. 

 

Living inside the flat, I could easily have mistaken the modular apartment construction for a modern building, but in fact the building dates from the late 16^th century, when the Procurators of San Marco had multi-family housing built for the needy (hence the name of the street – Fondamente delle Procuratie).

When I moved into the flat, there was a wardrobe literally stacked with blankets.  As winter deepened, I gradually added blanket after blanket to my bed, so that by the time Carnevale rolled around, I would be burrowing under at least ten layers of blankets every night.  It was so damp that the walls would drip green during the winter, and come summer, we had to whitewash the internal walls. 

Apart from the intense damp and cold, my abiding memory of living there is of countless platefuls of fresh tiramisu which my kind hearted flatmate would whip up most evenings.  He’d start making the tiramisu late at night, so in the early hours of the morning, he'd be urgently knocking on my bedroom door to let me know that the tiramisu was ready, and that he had to get to the laundry pulley (outside my bedroom window) to relay a plateful of tiramisu to our neighbor across the alleyway.



Calle del Volto, off Fondamente delle Procuratie, Dorsoduro Venezia

Here is a view of the complex on Google maps - you can just make out the arches at either end of the blocks.  The yellow building to the right of the map on Fondamente Cereri is where the poet Diego Valeri lived (click here for more about Diego Valeri).  The complex on top left hand corner of the map is the prison.

View Larger Map

If you want to read more about this place, Dorsoduro 2410-30 (Fondamenta Cereri and Fondamente delle Procuratie) is described on page 67 of Egle Renata Trincata's A Guide to Venetian Domestic Architecture. 

Calle dei Cerchieri (Dorsoduro)

In my last post, I shared some shots of my first street in Venice.  So let's continue the theme...

After saying farewell to the Istituto Ciliota, I moved into a beautiful apartment with three American girls, two of whom were fellow interns at the Peggy Guggenheim Collection and the third was a violinist who was travelling through Europe.

Our apartment was on Calle dei Cerchieri in Dorsoduro (not far from the Rio della Toletta) and it seemed astonishingly beautiful and luxurious - filled with ornate furniture, some hand painted with Venetian scenes, and with cupboards filled with Venetian glassware.  We had two balconies, and the one off the kitchen looked out at the bell tower of San Pantalon. 

Here is the narrow entry to the alleyway:

Calle dei Cerchieri (Dorsoduro), Venezia

And the entry to our apartment building:



Calle dei Cerchieri (Dorsoduro), Venezia

Our apartment was perfectly located - just a brisk ten minute walk from the Peggy Guggenheim Collection.  It was also a short walk to Campo San Barnaba to buy grocery items: cheese and bread (the cheese shop has closed - it's now a café - but the bread shop (I think it's called Rizzo Pane is still there).  I'd buy my vegetables from the old vegetable boat moored alongside Fondamente Gheradini next to the Ponte dei Pugni (thankfully it's now run by new operators after the former owner retired) and then carry onto the supermarket at Campo Santa Margherita. 

Most evenings we walked over to Il Doge in Campo Santa Margherita for a cup of gelato (in those days, Campo Santa Margherita was lively but it certainly didn't pump until the early hours of the morning as it does today). 

There was a little bar on Calle dei Cerchieri, just a few steps from our front door, where I learnt to like drinking prosecco.  One of my flatmates drew some charcoal views of Venice which she was allowed to pin up along the walls of the bar, and when I stood on tiptoe to look into the bar in 2007, those charcoal drawings were still there, although the bar never seemed to be open.  When I returned this year, the bar was definitely shut and I couldn't see any sign of those drawings. 

I loved the Calle dei Cerchieri then, and I still do.  It feels like home and a sanctuary.  But what I loved most of all was the end of our street...it ended  with a little wooden jetty on the Grand Canal. 

I come to stand here at every chance that I have to enjoy the quiet and peace of this little section of the Grand Canal.  Here is the view looking to the right (toward the Accademia bridge in the near distance):


View of the Grand Canal from Calle dei Cerchieri (Dorsoduro), Venezia

And a view toward the opposite direction:




View of the Grand Canal from Calle dei Cerchieri (Dorsoduro), Venezia

I’ve always been so fascinated with the quiet view of the Grand Canal from the end of Calle dei Cerchieri, that until recently I’d never thought to wonder about the buildings around my old apartment.  Here's a view of the two buildings that flank my little viewing spot taken from a vaporetto:



View of Calle dei Cerchieri (Dorsoduro), Venezia from a vaporetto (June 2007)

The building on the left is Palazzo Loredan dell’Ambasciatore, a late 15^th century Gothic palazzo.  In 1752, I recently re-read Andrea di Robilant’s account of his ancestor Andrea Memmo’s love affair with Giustiniana Wynne and realised that Palazzo Loredan dell’Ambasciatore was briefly her home after she married Count Orsini-Rosenberg.

The building on the right hand side of the viewing spot is Palazzo Moro, which dates from the 16th century.

What I'm reading: A Venetian Theory of Heaven - Part 4

‘London for a ceiling from Ca’ Contarini’

William Riviere, A Venetian Theory of Heaven, Sceptre, 1992

Here, Riviere is referring to a ceiling by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo dated around 1754 -8 which was originally in the Palazzo Contarini.  Titled An Allegory with Venus and Time, the ceiling may have been commissioned to celebrate the birth of an heir in the family, as in the painting, Venus is handing a little boy to the figure of Time.

 The ceiling was acquired by the National Gallery of London in the late 1960s.

What I'm reading: A Venetian Theory of Heaven - Part 3

‘She had visited Paris for the pictures the French had stolen’

William Riviere, A Venetian Theory of Heaven, Sceptre, 1992

The work which came immediately to my mind when I read this sentence in A Venetian Theory of Heaven, was Paolo Veronese’s (1528 – 1588) Wedding of Cana which today hangs in the Denon Wing of the Louvre Museum (in the same room as the Mona Lisa) after it was looted by Napoleon from the refectory of the Benedictine monastery of San Giorgio Maggiore.

The refectory was built to a design by Palladio and completed in 1562.  The friars commissioned the painting from Veronese in 1562, insisting that the work be monumental and Veronese certainly delivered– the work originally measured 70m² (it is the largest work in the collection of the Louvre museum). 

 Veronese worked on the painting for 15 months, completing it in 1563.  The Wedding of Cana marked the beginning of a fruitful collaboration between Palladio and Veronese – they later worked together on the Villa Barbaro at Maser.  The work was feted around Europe – Cosimo III de’ Medici claimed that it was worth the trip to Venice just to see this painting.

The Wedding of Cana hung in the refectory for 235 years until Napoleon ordered that the work be confiscated.  It was torn from the wall, cut in half for the journey, rolled up like a carpet and shipped to Paris in 1797.  As a result, the painting suffered from significant paint loss and it underwent restoration in the 18^th and 19^th centuries, but records from these works are incomplete.

 Napoleon, of course, literally ‘captured Venice’, when he forced the city to surrender in 1797. 

During the French Republican and Napoleonic eras, looting became a military tactic by victorious armies.  Napoleon established the first official military division dedicated to seizing and shipping captured artworks.  Specially-trained personnel would follow behind the army to inventory, pack, and ship art. 

Stealing art from vanquished countries was a morale booster, and looted masterpieces were moved to the recently converted Louvre museum, where Napoleon’s art advisor Dominique Vivant Denon became the museum’s first director (remember which wing of the Louvre museum houses this work?).

 In 1815, when the allies who had beaten Napoleon negotiated the redistribution of confiscated works of art, the size of The Wedding of Cana presented a conundrum, and the negotiators settled on an unsatisfactory exchange of this masterpiece.  The Wedding of Cana remained at the Louvre, and in its stead, Venice received The Pharisee’s Banquet with Mary Magdalene at Christ’s Feet by French artist Charles Le Brun (now at the Accademia in Venice).

In 1992, whilst undergoing restoration, the Louvre was embarrassed by two separate incidents with The Wedding of Cana – it was first spattered by water from a leaking air vent and just a few days later, as museum workers were raising the 1.5 ton painting to a higher position on the wall, one of the supports collapsed and the entire painting fell.  The accident tore five holes in the painting. 

The Benedictine monastery at San Giorgio Maggiore was destroyed under Napoleon.  It was later used by the Austrian army.  The island became a free port and was later home to the Venice artillery, and a new harbour was built in 1812.

 In 1949, Count Vittorio Cini established the Giorgio Cini Foundation in memory of his son, Giorgio Cini, who was killed in an airplane accident at Cannes.  The original purpose of the Foundation was to restore the former monastery and to create a cultural centre for Venice.

 The Fondazione Giorgio Cini has advocated for years for the return of this masterpiece to Venice.  According to reports, they have been told that whilst intellectually the painting belongs in the refectory of the monastery, politically, it can never be returned.

 On 11 September 2007 (the 210^th anniversary of the looting of the painting by French troops) a full scale facsimile copy of the painting was unveiled in its original location at San Giorgio Maggiore.  The copy was commissioned by the Fondazione Giorgio Cini.

 The Louvre museum website’s notation for the painting merely states that this work ‘entered the Louvre in 1798’. 

A Venetian Theory of Heaven – Part 4

 ‘London for a ceiling fromCa’ Contarini’

What I'm reading: A Venetian Theory of Heaven - Part 2

‘She’d been to Dresden, had stood before Giorgione’s Venere dormiente’

William Riviere, A Venetian Theory of Heaven, Sceptre, 1992

 Also known as the Dresden Venus, Giorgione’s Sleeping Venus is in the collection of the Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister in Dresden,Germany.

Giorgione (Giorgio Barbarelli da Castelfranco) was born around 1477/1478 in Castelfranco, Veneto.  Although he was one of the most significant and collected artists of the High Renaissance in Venice, relatively little is known of his life.  He died (possibly of the plague) in Venice in October 1510 at the age of just 32 or 33 years.  There are now only a handful of paintings which are believed to be Giorgione.  He is believed to have been apprenticed to Giacomo Bellini and was a contemporary of Titian, with whom he worked on the exterior frescoes of the Fondaco dei Tedeschi near the Rialto. 

 The Sleeping Venus was unfinished at the time of Giorgione’s death, and it is believed to have been completed by Titian.  Like much of Giorgione’s work, there have been many debates regarding the attribution of this painting.  It is generally believed that Giorgione created the nude, and Titan completed the landscape (the group of rustic buildings on the right is also included in Titian’s Noli me Tangere in London and in the Borghese's Sacred and Profane Love).

In 1843, restoration work on Sleeping Venus revealed a hidden cupid at Venus’ feet, holding a bird in his left hand and an arrow in his right.

It is generally believed that the painting was commissioned by Girolamo (or Jeronimo) Marcello in honour of his marriage to Morosina Pisani in 1507.  The Venetian collector Marcantonio Michiel wrote that the painting was in the home of Jeronimo Marcello at ‘San Tomado’ (San Toma) in 1525.  Michiel’s editor, Carli Ridolfi saw in the Ca’ Marcello over a century later in 1646.  He wrote:

‘In Marcello’s house there is a lovely nude Venus sleeping, with Cupid at her feet holding a bird in his hand, which (cupid) was finished by Titian.’ The Venus is now alone in the landscape, for the Cupid was so badly damaged that it had to be effaced”.

 In 1699, the work was acquired by French dealer Le Roy for King Augustus of Saxony.  By 1707, it was listed in the Dresden inventory as ‘a Venus with an amoretto by Giorgione, Original”.

Note  – I’m still trying to locate ‘Ca Marcello near San Toma’ where the work is believed to have originated. 

In John Berendt’s City of Falling Angels, he describes meeting a present day Count Girolamo Marcello (who lives in a palazzo near the Fenice).  The contemporary Girolamo Marcello was a friend of the Russian poet and writer, Joseph Brodsky, and Brodsky wrote ‘Watermark’ whilst staying at Ca’ Marcello.  Brodsky also published two poems in his volume of poems, So Forth, In front of the Ca’ Marcello and Homage to Girolamo Marcello. 

 I’d appreciate any leads that readers may have about the Ca’ Marcello near San Toma. 

A Venetian Theory of Heaven – Part 3

‘She hadvisited Paris for the pictures the French had stolen’

A Venetian Theory of Heaven – Part 4

 ‘London for a ceiling fromCa’ Contarini’