'Green is special for us.'

Modern housing development in Cannaregio, around the corner from the train station.



Leaning merchant in the Ghetto.




Ceiling of Madonna dell' Orto, a Gothic church in Cannaregio.




Saintly portraits.




Cimitero San Michele:
















The newer part of the cemetery.




Parco di le Guglie



Delicious home made breakfast! Polenta with spinach, tomatoes, and an over-easy egg.

Jamuna's bday dinner, below:

This post if from Friday, we have spotty internet at the studio:

Today we got up at 7:30, which felt early for an evening of birthday celebrations, to meet at the train station for the first of several walking tours we will have over the next few months. Our guide, Carla, was one of the first females we've interacted with since we've been here. The city seems to be filled with men, though perhaps it is just that the men are the most visible, as the public transportation is run predominantly by men. Our instructors are also male, and of course there is the ever-present sense of machismo. Carla was incredibly knowledgeable, and took us on a three-hour walk through the area northeast of the train station, Cannaregio, to a couple newer housing developments, examples of Baroque, Renaissance, and Gothic churches, and the Ghetto, the formerly Jewish neighborhood from which the word originated. Our first stop was a modern housing development designed by Gardella (I think, translation is hard sometimes). As we left the blank open spaces, singular materials, and barbed-wire topped walls behind and turned down a shoulder-width walkway into the older part of the city, I immediately felt my senses perk up, and couldn't help thinking that modernism has failed people on some level, or at least this example of modernism. There is something captivating about beautifully crafted details, proof of life lived in a place, and textures; they speak to us on the level of emotional and physical experience. Life is creative and messy, and a backdrop of stark simplicity doesn't always speak to our souls and imaginations.

Of course there are examples where modernist design does serve us, though I would argue it depends on how it is integrated. For example, the newer part of the San Michele cemetery was a powerful contrast to the old, each area providing a contrast to the other that made each more compelling. But people do not live in cemeteries; rather, they are places of memory and memorial, perhaps better served by an architectural statement of simplicity. And of course the integration of the old and the new is not an easy puzzle to solve, especially in a place like Venice, where it feels like the city is melting into itself as it slowly sinks, creating a visual collage of texture that would be impossible to recreate in new forms. So I guess the question is, how do we find the essence of place? How do we preserve it, or if this is not possible, how do we honor it and compliment it? There is a need here for change, one of the reasons our ideas about Sacca San Mattia are important and interesting to the people here. Venice is a city of old people and babies, and not much in between: its community is endangered.

We also visited several parks today, a rarity in Venice. Something in me responds to plant life here as if it is as essential to my survival as air, food, and water, yet I don't realize that I am missing it until I stumble upon it and feel instantly relieved. Carla pointed out how special these places are for Venetians, especially those that live in the center of the city, where even a single tree is hard to come by. I understand completely.