Venice Portfolio: Seeing Venice

Seeing Venice

As Eleanor Lavish stated in E.M. Forester’s novel, A Room with a View, “The true Italy is only to be found by patient observation” (11). Venice is often seen simply through a quick glance at postcards, paintings or photographs, and without ever traveling to the city itself one is able to experience Venice. However, the true, authentic Venice, the one beyond the first glance, can only be discovered with time and patience. Apart from the initial tourist gaze, this saturated, experienced view of the city is essential in understanding Venice. In my portfolio, I aim to discover the development and progression of the visual interpretation of the city and the importance of seeing the “raw” side of Venice that can be found “in the details.” I raise the question: How is the Venice seen “at first glance” different than the Venice seen after many glances and through exploration of the “deeper depths” (to quote Henry James) of the city? My interpretation of this development is rooted in both personal experience, scientific theory, and personal interviews conducted with tourists. The purpose of my portfolio is to take viewers through the visual experience of “seeing Venice” and the different stages associated with this visual experience. My portfolio focuses on this progression of visual interpretation, in itself a complete experience; therefore, I found that it could not be represented in broken fragments or separate appendices. I felt that the best way to represent my portfolio and expand on the ideas presented in my introductory paper was through a movie highlighting the experience and progression of the visual impression of this splendid city. Through this video I recreate this experience for viewers through depicting the different stages of knowing Venice: the stage of the preconceived notions, the Venice at first glance, and finally the saturated and raw view of the city.

Preconceived Notions
Venice is everywhere- in photographs and postcards, artwork and literature, television and film; therefore, it is difficult to escape the legacy of Venice in our modern world. Both visually and orally, Venice has projected itself out into the world and has developed a solid reputation. Venice has long been known as an icon of romance, decaying beauty and peace. These identities linked to Venice have all been perpetuated through both myth and the media. Early writers such as Casanova and Byron promoted the romantic aura of the city and credited the image of Venice as a sexual playground. In recent years, films such as “Dangerous Beauty” and “The Wings of the Dove” also present the city in this highly sexualized way. The image of Venice as a decaying beauty has been represented through both art and photography, often focusing on the crumbling buildings and ancient walls that beautifully create this romanticized image of the city. The early myth of Venice captured the idea of Venice as a peaceful republic, while the modern myth associated with the city contributes Venice as a center for escape and peaceful solitude. Modern postcards of Venice depict quiet, aqua-colored canals, often flanked by a single gondola, and empty streets void of tourists. Modern guidebooks also present Venice in such a way. In his 2009 guidebook, Rick Steves introduces Venice with this remark-“Romantics revel in its atmosphere of elegant decay, seeing the peeling plaster and seaweed-covered stairs as a metaphor for beauty in decline. And first-time visitors are often stirred deeply, awaking from their ordinary lives to a fantasy world unlike anything they’ve ever seen before” (1). The Venice portrayed in the media is often a flawless and magical fantasy world, acting as a simulacrum to remind us of our real life.

These myths and prescribed impressions of Venice have a fundamental impact on the public’s perception of the city. This impact is heightened by the visual fetishism of our contemporary culture. In his essay Picture Theory, W.J.T. Mitchell speaks to this fetishism and describes it as a direct result of the modern media, which perpetuates particular images to the public. He argues that we, the public, also enslave ourselves in this illusion, and although we know it is not real, we lavish ourselves in the falsity of these images. In modern society, there is a large fetishism with the image of Venice, even though these worshipped images are often falsified, or simply extremely rare, views of the city. The predominance of these idealized images leads the public to picture Venice in a particular way; however, what is rarely captured is the unpleasant and unspectacular details of the city that also compose the identity of Venice.

The Cultivation Theory is a popular theory in the Communication field that further describes this phenomenon, and states that the media, especially television, is “responsible for shaping, or ‘cultivating’ viewers’ conceptions of social reality” (University of Twente website). Another popular term in Communication theory, Framing, also describes the media influence on our society. Framing refers to how the media depicts certain issues to influence how and what the viewers think about these issues, thereby influencing the perceptions of the audience. Venice is constantly depicted through a specific “frame” by the media, and therefore people perceive Venice to be a particular way. The frame of Venice would be one full of all of the previously mentioned iconic ideas- romance, decaying beauty and peace. Images of gondolas, canals and Carnivale masks would also be included in this frame. My classmate’s blogs describing their “Venice Imagined” further supports this theory. Natalie Banka described her expectations of the city, writing “The images we see of Venice are ones trapped between astonishing beauty and melancholy. If I had to conjure up just one cliché of Venice, it would be a foggy morning with no one in sight except gondoliers.” Caylen Redden, another Wonders of Venice student, stated in her blog: “I imagine Venice in the romanticized way it appears in pictures on calendars and shows on the travel channel- a bright, sunny Mediterranean city where the people are friendly and the pace of life is slower.” As these blogs express, Venice suggests specific stereotypes and impressions from its strong presence in the modern media.

The problem with these prescribed images can best be described with a quote from E.H. Gombrich from his essay entitled Art and Illusion. Gombrich writes, “For the artist, too, cannot transcribe what he sees; he can only translate it into the terms of his medium. He, too, is strictly tied to the range of tones which his medium will yield” (8). Gombrich highlights the dilemma when depicting any realistic subject through art- the mediums used chain the subject to a specific interpretation and can never fully capture the complete experience. For example, a photograph of the Rialto may convey the visual experience at one specific moment in time, but what about the experience at the next moment? What about the smells and sounds of the surrounding environment? Artistic mediums, although helpful, cannot fully convey and describe the subject. This leads the viewer to create their own interpretation of these missing factors. Therefore, myths are perpetuated and the true experience must be gained by fully experiencing Venice in real life.

Venice at First Glance
According to the Gestalt Theory of Visual Perception, when we look at an image, rather reproduced or in real time, we immediately see it as one big picture and not in broken fragments. Our eyes perceive the whole over the specific parts of the image and therefore we miss important details many times when perceiving a scene. The Gestalt Theory also states that “parts identified individually have different characteristics to the whole” (http://www.users.totalise.co.uk/~kbroom/Lectures/gestalt.htm). This theory is notable when analyzing the initial first glance of Venice. When first seeing Venice, the city molds itself into a single landscape and visually overwhelms. Even specific elements of the city, such as St. Mark’s Basilica, are often viewed as a whole, allowing viewers to gaze upon the all together glory of the Byzantine gem, but often without the beautiful details that help create the building.

The Venice seen at first glance is naturally different for both the collective and romantic tourist, and Venice beautifully satisfies both entities. With a booming tourist industry completed by the multitude of shops and businesses catered specifically towards tourists, from gondolas to tacky souvenir stands, Venice is a haven for the collective tourist. The multiple signs around the city identifying the direction of the major tourist sites, such as St. Mark’s Square and the Rialto, help to collect groups of tourists and focus them in central locations, allowing the collective tourist the satisfaction of being around others like themselves. However, Venice is also perfectly crafted for the Romantic tourist, tempting them with its narrow and quiet calles that flirt with the idea of solitude and the possibility of “getting lost” in the city. Venice serves as a beautiful slice of the past and pieces of domestic life, such as clothes on balconies hanging out to dry, satisfy the Romantic’s “authentic” view of the city. I try to avoid generalities in my analysis, understanding that the Venice at first glance is a complexity within itself and is dramatically different for every individual. However, interviews with tourists and my own personal experience suggest that overall Venice appears to be a beautiful mystery that lays before the eyes a fantastical land of magic and beauty.

During the initial visual interpretation of the city, particular items stand out- the bright pastels of the buildings, the monumental architectural gems such as St. Mark’s Basilica, the gondolas and the canals. However, it is easy to miss the details, and it is not until we look closer that we discover the true nature of the city.

Venice “In the Details”
Henry James once wrote, “Venice has been painted and described many thousands of times, and of all the cities of the world is the easiest to visit without going there. Open the first book and you will find a rhapsody about it; step into the first picture-dealer’s and you will find three or four high-coloured “views” of it” (Italian Hours, 3). As previously discussed, this statement could not be closer to the truth. However, it is interesting to note that James places the word “views” in parenthesis. This action, however subtle, strongly highlights the inaunthenticity of these prescribed images. The postcards sold on the various stands and shops throughout Venice are all very similar, and yet all lack several of the basic elements of Venice itself- unpleasant decay, trash, flooding, and swarming hordes of tourists. These elements are prevalent around Venice, but sometimes require a bit of a deeper look. People rarely document what they do not want to remember, and the unpleasant underbelly of Venice is often ignored in publicized images of the city. Leonardo da Vinci once said, “Men fall in love with a painting that does not represent any living woman” (Picture Theory, 332). Many are infatuated with Venice without ever truly knowing her, and fall in love with the fantastical qualities of the city without looking at the deeper authenticity of the city. Saturation in the city requires a look at the details and study of the true nature of the city itself. With saturation, the details become important- the gilded bronze horses, religious mosaics and the hidden “Four Tetrarchs” sculpture on St. Mark’s Basilica are all brought to life with a second glance. These details help to weave together the story of the Basilica and speak to the identity of Venice as a whole. The raw, authentic Venice is found through personal exploration in the city, not a glance at a postcard or an immediate first glance; it requires time and a second look.

The importance of saturation while visually experiencing Venice can best be described through a quote from Walter Benjamin’s essay entitled The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. In his piece, Benjamin writes, “With the closeup, space expands; with slow motion, movement is extended. The enlargement of a snapshot does not simply render more precise what in any case was visible, though unclear: it reveals entirely new structural formations of the subject” (12). With a deeper look, Venice expands and opens itself up, allowing explorers to see the true identity of the city.

Conclusion
The experience of “Seeing Venice” is unique to every individual; however, in my portfolio I aim to create a visual experience that is rooted in research, theory, personal experience and the experiences of others. My original idea for my portfolio was to examine the relationship between Venice and photography; however as I ventured around the city taking photographs for my project, I realized that there were areas of Venice that I had never seen in photographs and deserved further examination. I wanted to tie into my project the idea of the “forgotten” Venice, the “dark underbelly” as I call it, along with the frequently unexamined details of the city. I also wanted to weave in some of my communication studies, examining how the greater media impacts the public’s perception of the city. All these ideas combined to create a portfolio focusing on the visual experience associated with the city, a topic for which I have grown very passionate about. I have learned that Venice is even more complex that I ever imagined and I’ve learned to view Venice in a new way. I can now better analyze my experience in Venice over the past several months and better understand my personal visual progression through Venice.

For copyright purposes, I would like to credit the musical artists who provided the music used in my video production:

- "Bittersweet Symphony" by The Verve

- "Time" by Chantal Kreviazuk

- "Little Wonders" by Rob Thomas

Explore. Dream. Discover.

In the past ten weeks I have lived like I never have before. Like Eleanor Lavish famously stated in the E.M. Forster novel, A Room with a View, “One doesn’t come to Italy for niceness….one comes for life.” My experience in Italy has presented me with a new outlook on life and a plethora of unforgettable memories. Italy has served as the stage for my first experience outside American borders, and it has been an excellent host to my theatric antics- my collective tourist tendencies, my multiple (and sometimes cheesy) photo op’s, my wide eyed looks of amazement as I gazed upon the wonders around me, my mad dash to catch the fleeing vaporetto, my shock as I watched an innocent tourist get their bag stolen and my rocky endeavors to master the Italian language. I have breathed in the salty Venetian air, trampled the beautiful and crumbling landscape of Rome, experienced the vibrant Milan nightlife, delighted in the romantic aura of dreamy Verona and explored the bustling streets of Padova. Through my Italian travels I’ve mastered the quick tongued “scusi,” tasted the fresh flavors of true Italian cooking, experienced the intrigue of the Carnivale mask, and spent several hours relaxing with a friend and a cappuccino at a quaint Venetian café.

However, Italy has not been the only stomping ground for my European adventures. I have gazed upon the idyllic scenery of Ireland, wandered the foothills of the Irish countryside alongside babbling brooks and watched traditional Irish folk dancing in Dublin. I have relaxed in an English pub, been in awe of the beautiful Westminster Abbey and zipped through the Underground like a true Londoner. I have shopped with the locals at the lively Christmas Market in Zurich, delighted myself in fried apples and the aromas of cinnamon and cider and strolled along the winding cobblestone paths dotted with tiny shops in Switzerland. I have drunk thick German beer as I cheered on an oompah band in the most popular beer hall in the world, the Hofbrauhas, in Munich. I have witnessed the splendor and insanity of Gaudi in the form of his dripping beauty, La Sagrada Famila, explored the perverse side of Pablo Picasso at the Picasso Museum and spent an entertaining evening enjoying authentic Spanish cuisine in a smoky restaurant in Barcelona. I have spent a leisurely evening with a glass of wine and a chocolate crepe at a Parisian café, surrounded myself with the masterpieces of Claude Monet in his large scale wall murals and experienced the glim surroundings of the imprisoned Marie Antoinette at the Conciergerie in Paris.

As a tourist, a traveling vagabond with the world at my feet and my life on my back, I have also had some interesting experiences. I have spent the night on a couch in the Dublin airport, struggled to sleep in a cramped overnight train, spent numerous evenings in communal hostels sharing rooms with strangers, attempted (and often failed) to stuff my belongings into a small backpack, been hit on by strange foreign men, paid way too much for a bottle of water and even lost my wallet. However, every experience has only added a chapter to my chronicle. Europe has not only fulfilled my yearning to travel and delighted my senses, but has also taught me about myself in ways I never dreamed possible. I learned that I am much more independent than I ever knew, had even a stronger passion for art than I thought possible and have grown to appreciate my Indiana roots. I miss friendly Hoosier smiles, free refills, Christmas spirit and home cooked meals. I will also miss many things about Italy: the splendid art, decaying history surrounding me, true Italian pizza, and being able to simply pack a bag and go to a different country for a weekend. This experience will truly be an unforgettable one- teaching me about myself and the world around me. I would like to wrap up my experience in Italy with my personal mantra that has been serving as the subtitle for my blog throughout the semester. I believe that it perfectly sums up my experience overseas and also speaks to the way I try live my life. So in conclusion, as the great Mark Twain once said: “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

The Four Tetrarchs

Near St. Mark’s Basilica stands a group of four men. They are unmoving, gazing out at the square with wide eyes. But they are not frozen in awe, struck by the beauty of the landscape before them; they are a single statue, one slab consisting of four bodies. The statue of the “Four Tetrarchs” (also called the “The Tetrarchs”) sits on the south-west corner of the basilica near the former grand entrance to the Doge’s Palace, also known as the Porta della Carta. Before I further describe this work, I’d like to share a story: I have been watching this site for several weeks and have seldom seen tourists looking at the work, much less using it as a photo op. However, when I was here taking pictures the sculpture for my blog, I realized that suddenly many visitors stopped and gazed upon my piece. Some stopped only for a moment, looking first at my camera and then at the sculpture, but nonetheless I noticed a drastic difference in the tourist activity surrounding the work during my visit. I found this humorous and a fine example of the collective tourism that is so popular in our modern era. Many times, people stop and look at what they believe they are supposed to. They must have thought “If someone is eagerly snapping away photograph after photograph of a statue in the Piazza, it must be important!”



The sculpture is crafted from red Egyptian porphyry, a tough purple stone composed of large crystals. The color purple is commonly associated with royalty and throughout history porphyry was typically used for imperial objects and greatly admired for its beauty (Wikipedia). This Roman sculpture is dated to the 4th century and was taken from Constantinople in 1204 during the Fourth Crusade when Venice conquered Byzantium. In his book “Byzantium and Venice: A Study in Diplomatic and Cultural Relations,” Donald M. Nicol describes the Piazza San Marco as the “monument for Venetian taste for Byzantine art” (183). Venice was strongly influenced by Byzantine art, as the mosaics decorating basilica suggest. Many of the spoils of war from the Fourth Crusade decorate the square, one of the most famous examples being the four gilded bronze horses on the balcony of the basilica (Nicol). Venice had a complex relationship with Byzantium- first as a part of the Byzantine Empire, later as an important ally and trading partner, and finally as a conqueror of the city.

“The Tetrarchs” is a depiction of the four rulers of the Roman Empire near the end of its existence, who are shown huddling together during the Barbarian invasion. The tetrarchy was first established by Emperor Diocletian in 293 CE to help manage the vast size of the empire. This four emperor political structure split the Empire into four parts, giving each ruler a different area to govern. The Eastern and Western sections of the Empire were each ruled by a pair of emperors, an Augustus and a Caesar. The Augustus was the official ruler, while the Caesar was selected as a sort of “leader in training” that essentially had the same powers and was mostly a self-regulating body. Diocletian declared himself as the Augustus of the Eastern half and ruled over Italy, while Maximian was selected as the Augustus in the West. Diocletian chose Galerius as his Caesar and stationed him in Illyricum, while Maximian selected Julius Constantius, the father of Constantine the Great, as his Caesar and ruler of Gaul. The four emperors ruled until 304 CE, when the tetrarchy was transformed with Galerius and Constantius now serving as Augusti. The tetrarchy continued as a ruling plan until 313 CE, when internal corruption and conflict caused the system to break down. Later, Constantine revived the tetrarchy when he divided his empire among his three sons (Barnes). Perhaps the downfall of the tetrarchy can be best described by a quote from our reading, “Empire.” In their essay, Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri describe an empire as a “…global concert under the direction of a single conductor, a unitary power that maintains the social peace and produces its ethical truths” (10). Although the tetrarchy placed great importance on being united as one solitary power throughout its existence, perhaps the problem was simply that they did not have one single director to lead them.

The sculpture has sparked several debates concerning the identity of the four figures. During the 19th century, scholars began to investigate the possible identity of these men. The majority concluded that these were the four rulers of the initial tetrarchy created in 293 CE. However, in the 20th century this debate was revisited and it was decided that while this sculpture was certainly a portrayal of a group of tetrarchs, it is possible that they represent the later tetrarchy composed of Constantine and his three sons (Museo San Marco).

Stylistically, “The Tetrarchs” is characteristic of sculpture of the late Roman period. The abstraction of the forms, squatness of the figures and the wide, staring eyes are all qualities of late Roman sculpture. The focus on symbolism over realism and personalization is another common feature of sculpture at the time. The body language of the figures, grasping onto one another in a tight embrace, symbolizes their unity. Their lack of individualized features signifies their interdependence and the equality of their rule. As a tetrarchy, they can only exist as a unit- one cannot have a tetrarchy without four rulers. Therefore, the figures are created from a single slab of porphyry, molded together and joined with stone, unable to exist independently. The sculpture is unconcerned with anatomical proportions and instead focuses on the symbolic nature of the piece. The dress of the figures is typical of the period, complete with flat Pannonian hats and military tunics (Rees). Each figure grips an eagle-headed sword in his left hand, representing their military power and strength. The attachment of the sculptor to the basilica is intriguing, as the figures seem to emerge out of the church into the air (or one could argue, blend into its walls).

The perspective of the viewer is also interesting, as the viewer is placed into the position of the barbarian invader. The tetrarchs’ fearful eyes stare at you as they huddle together. The significance of the sculpture’s location near the grand entrance of the Doge’s Palace indicates a superiority over these figures. The statue’s location served as a reminder of Venice’s power and strength to conquer and overcome enemies, as they later did in Byzantium. The sculpture also served as a reminder to Venice to avoid the fallacies of the past. In “Space, Power and Knowledge,” Michel Foucault discusses the “ideology of the return,” or the desire to return to the glory of the past. Foucault argues that history, riddled with problems and conflicts of its own, stands as a “defense” against this desire and “preserves us from returning” (166). “The Tetrarchs” serves as a tangible reminder of the problems of the Roman Empire- a culture greatly esteemed by the Venetian government. Venice looked to Classical Rome as a model for their government, establishing their own similar republic. “The Tetrarchs” is positioned next to the home of the Venetian government to remind the city that the past is not perfect and serve as a model for the future. Therefore, the statue also acts as a heterotopia for the Venetians. The work reflects Venice’s relationship with both the classical Roman Empire and Byzantium, and in doing so helps us to better understand the values of the Venetian culture.

It is important to note how the tetrarchs were displayed in other forms of art of the period. One of the most famous examples of the group, along with this particular work, is a relief on a column in the Biblioteca Apostolica in the Vatican (Rees). The relief displays the two Augusti of the original tetrarchy, Diocletian and Maximian, grasping one another in the same way as the men here. They are wearing the same military armor and also lack individualized features. The tetrarchy were actually represented as identical in all of their official portraits, including the coinage used in the Empire at the time- the names inscribed on the coins served as the sole indicators of each figure’s identity (Wikipedia).



The sculpture of the tetrarchs truly transcends time, providing a reflection of the past through the glory of the Roman Empire, the conquering of Constantinople, and the legacy of the tetrarchs’. The transcendent nature of the statue can best be described by a quote from “Empire-” “Empire exhausts historical time, suspends history, and summons the past and future within its own ethical order. In other words, Empire presents its order as permanent, eternal, and necessary” (11).

Bibliography:
Barnes, Timothy David (1981). Constantine and Eusebius . Harvard University Press.
Museo San Marco website: http://www.museosanmarco.it/WAI/eng/tetrarchi.bsm
Nicol, Donald M. (1988). Byzantium and Venice: A Study in Diplomatic and Cultural Relations. Cambridge University Press.
Rees, Rodger (2004). Diocletian and theTetrarchy. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press Ltd.
Wikipedia.com. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Porphyry(geology)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tetrarchy

The Evolution of the Traveling Writer

With pens in their hands and eager to tell tales of adventure, 19th century writers traveled to Europe to experience, as well as document their experiences, in an exotic world. In his essay “The Beaten Track: European Tourism, Literature, and the Ways to Culture,” James Buzard discusses this trend, remarking that “the Continental tour is more of an affair of ‘writing’ more than of ‘traveling’…” (156). This mass influx of travelers to Europe resulted in numerous travel journals and guidebooks, laying the grounds for what tourists and other travelers should do and see while abroad. Writing and traveling became a game of claiming territory, much like a soldier claims a battlefield after a war, and produced a frenzy among writers to write about locations that had not already been “covered” (158). This search for the unmarked territory became an emerging trend for the travel writers in the 1800s. Along with this fight for the rights to undiscovered locations, writers began to make their journals more personalized and “truer to lived experience,” creating “volumes of personal impressions” (165) that were not the same, bland subject material of the other writers. Travel-writing began to emphasize personal experiences and the focus became on poetic rather than prosaic quality, as tales of “impassioned impressions” (166) became the new trend.


Like many other writers of the time, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe traveled to Italy to document his travels in a series of diary entries entitled “Italian Journey.” Goethe presents a collection of his travels that blend the poetic and prosaic while also recognizing the appropriate uses of each. He begins his journal with a visit to the Roman Amphitheatre in Verona, where he highlights the picturesque nature of the location through his description of the shape of the giant oval and the artistic qualities of the structure. He also focuses on the stillness and emptiness of the theater, stating, “I felt strange because I was seeing something great and yet actually seeing nothing…. “Of course it should not be seen empty, but brimful of people…” (3). Goethe is identifying with the position of the collective tourist gaze which, according John Urry’s essay entitled “Consuming Places,” regards places as needing people to complete the ambience and considers places strange when absent of these entities. Goethe’s description of the amphitheatre is extremely different than the description provided by William Beckford in his writings of the amphitheatre, which also focus on the solitude and sublimity of the setting. Beckford describes the freedom of being alone in the theater, the drama of “throwing” himself on the grass to observe the beauty around him (Buzard, 177) and the rich details of the scene around him. His description is extremely poetic, writing “red and fatal were the tints of the Western sky” and the “weeds and grasses which skirt the walls and tremble with the faintest breeze” (Buzard, 177). Goethe, on the other hand, provides a more prosaic description, a narrative of his experience that is more factual and less personal in comparison to the flowery, emotional account provided by Beckford.


As Goethe’s journal continues, it becomes increasingly written like a guidebook, a description of his do’s and don’ts on the sites visited. He writes of his visit to San Giorgio, “I shall touch briefly on the pictures I have seen and add a few observations.” He then continues with his overall impression of the gallery, stating, “San Giorgio is a gallery of good paintings, all altarpieces, perhaps not of equal worth yet certainly noteworthy” (Goethe, 7). This passage sounds like a piece from a modern Rick Steves guidebook, and the emotion of his experience is absent. It is not until our protagonist arrives in Venice do we see a shift in the evocative quality of his work. This shift is purposeful, as stated by Goethe, “So much has already been told and printed about Venice that instead of a detailed description I shall just give my personal impressions” (24). This statement outlines the structure of Goethe’s narrative, suggesting that his earlier writings were purposely descriptive because of their lesser known origins in the world of tourist travel. His writing then shifts to a more fluid, poetic prose, describing the Grand Canal as a “great serpentine canal” (25), providing excellent imagery of the city.


The myth of Venice and the influence of this myth on Goethe become apparent in his description of the city. He begins by stating, “I have often sighed longingly for solitude, and now I can really enjoy it; for nowhere does an individual feel more alone than in a bustling crowd, through which he presses, unknown to all” (22). Goethe is describing his desire for the sublime, a characteristic of the Romantic tourist that Goethe has now possessed. However, his tourist identity is somewhat appearing as an odd mix of the romantic and collective as he adds a new twist on the idea of the sublime. While adhering to the myth of Venice as the location where one can discover solitude and discover his inner being, he also recognizes the overabundance of tourists and visitors and the bustling nature of the city; he finds peace and solitude in the bustling crowds. He hints to the concept of urbanism in that he finds that being surrounded by crowds allows him more time to lose himself in his thoughts and blend into the world around him. In the crowds, he loses his identity while at the same time also discovering his inner self. Goethe also comments on the myth of Venice as a decaying beauty. He writes, “It is succumbing to time, like everything that has a visible existence” (26). Although Goethe aims to write about Venice as a series of personal impressions, his impressions are extremely generalized statements relating to the popular myth of the city. He does offer some unique observations of sites such as the Arsenal, of which he writes “reminds me of an old family which is still active although the best season of blossoms and fruit is past” (33).


Goethe offers a direct commentary on the tourist gaze in his work, referring to St. Giorgio Maggiore, St. Mark’s Square, and the Grand Canal with a regard for the popularity of these sites and their images in the media. He writes, “All the views and prospects have been engraved so often that anyone who likes prints can easily get a vivid idea of them” (25). As a Romantic tourist, Goethe is searching for authenticity in Venice, describing later how he “adequately assimilated the local way of life and know that I am taking away a very clear and true, if incomplete, impression” (148). This desire for a genuine and real experience is a characteristic of the Romantic tourist into which Goethe has transformed, although his collective identity is still retained. As a result, Goethe’s Venetian memoirs combine the collective and Romantic gaze to produce a beautifully crafted work.


As Goethe concludes his travels in Venice, he attempts to highlight to readers the importance of his journal as a “monument of first impressions” which, as he states, “we continue to delight in and treasure, even if they are not always true” (47). This statement directly relates to the trend of the time in which, as I previously mentioned, writers aimed to compose “volumes of personal impressions” that were free from the bland quality of the guidebook and “truer to lived experience” (Buzard, 165). Goethe achieves this quality in the end with his complex tourist identity and unique writing style. Venice is crucial in Goethe’s transformation and triggers Goethe’s awakening to the Romantic. Venice has served as breeding ground for artistic awakening and inspiration for generations, and many artists have traveled to Venice to use the island as their muse. Goethe begins his writings as a collective tourist and ends with a blended identity that encompasses both the collective and Romantic.

Once Upon a Time....

I am a strong believer in the phrase “Everything has a story to tell.” From an empty soda can to an exhausted tennis shoe lying on the side of the street, I believe that all objects are imbued with an inner narrative that weaves together a larger story about society as a whole. Archeologists are one of the largest advocates of this phrase, devoting their time to searching for objects that tell the story of the history of humankind. Of these objects, architectural features are excellent story tellers, speaking to the function for which they were created and the type of peoples that inhabited them.

Last week my classmates and I were fortunate enough to visit one of these cultural storytellers. Residing in one of the most populated parts of Venice, the Piazza San Marco, the clock tower is constantly on display to tourists and Venetians alike. With its brilliantly decorated façade, the tower is truly an architectural beauty; however, it is often overshadowed by other more imposing masterpieces such as the Basilica di San Marco, the towering Campanile, or the Doge’s Palace. Challenged by the immense size of its counterparts and less frequently the subject of tourist photographs, the tower elegantly decorates the square and although sometimes overlooked, has a beautiful story to share. The clocktower is an enigma, telling its story through the mouth of Venetians rather than in dusty textbooks. The tradition of the tower is strictly oral; therefore, a shroud of mystery surrounds the tower.



The façade of the tower is decorated with the magnificent clock that displays the time, phases of the sun and moon, and the zodiac. The tower was originally created to impress outside enemies and display the wealth and grandeur of Venice to those coming to the city by sea. The detailed information on the clock face was also helpful to sailors at sea, especially the information concerning the phases of the moon. When the clock sparkles with all gold, it indicates a full moon and high tide. This allows Venetians to prepare for high water and flooding in the city. On the other hand, when the clock is all blue it indicates a moonless night which consequently also causes high tide. When the clock face is half of each color, the tide is normal and the city is less prone to flooding. Therefore, the clock face is a crucial information point for the Venetians. The back façade of the tower faces a narrow calle and is more domestic in function. This personalized façade is not intended to impress, but rather to convey the time to the Venetian peoples as any clock is designed to do. The tower itself is a multi-functioning piece of the city, performing two distinct tasks to satisfy a wide array of peoples.



The tower’s main façade is one of decadence and display while its secondary façade is more personal and simple. This dual façade highlights a key characteristic of Venice. The city “dresses up” for visitors, lavishing herself in her jewels and best clothes. The city puts on a show and is in itself a spectacle, with its dramatic Carnivale masks, beautifully sculpted gondolas fluttering with an aura of romance, and elaborately decorated churches. However, the true Venice is one of simplicity and domesticity- a daily life (for the limited number of Venetians who still remain in the city) which centers on family and tradition. The true Venetian is not adorned in expensive gems and elegant attire, but instead a simpleton going about their daily life. The clock faces reflect these two identities- one of lavish display and the other of simple domesticity.

The clock tower also speaks to another central aspect of Venetian life- the focus on water. Although the tower is not exactly bordering the lagoon, it still has a direct relationship with water, as Venice as a whole continuously does. Water is at the heart of the city, serving as a center of exchange, transportation and recreation. Therefore, it is no surprise that this structure also relates to water, in that it predicts the tides and phases of the moon. Its relationship with the early Venetian sailors also connects the tower to the mercantile industry of the city

The digital clock above the main clock face was added later by the manager of the clock tower who added the feature because he supposedly hated the silence found in that particular section of the building. The man lived with his family in the tower and they called this odd place their home. I found it fascinating that a family could arrange their living quarters around the cramped and busy interior space. I cannot imagine having clock gears popping out of the floorboards of my living room or stepping over wires as I crawled into bed each night. However, the tradition of a man living in the tower to supervise the structure continued until 1998 and this way of life became the norm for the inhabitants of the tower.



The tower is a bit strange in that it is open and accessible with the naked eye, yet is truly a private space. Serving as a private residence throughout history, the tower was not open to the public. Although the tower now serves as a museum, the exclusivity of the space continues. Only a limited amount of visitors are allowed into the tower at time due to the tight quarters and visitors are also only granted a one hour visit because of “safety reasons.” Many only view the external features of the tower and do not explore the internal skeleton and inner workings of the structure.



The tower further serves as a panopticon, allowing one to view the main square and streets of Venice with a bird's eye view. However, the limited amount of windows and sheer small size of these features, along with the essentially closed-off façade, make it nearly impossible for outsiders to see the world within the tower. As I peered out of the tiny rounded windows from the top of the tower, I was overcome with a sense of invincibility and power as I stared upon the small figures below me who were ignorant to my gaze. Within the tower, one can watch the actions of those below in secrecy, and it caused me to wonder what life would have been like living in such a place. Did the inhabitants live a peculiar life of secrecy, or were they simply social beings who dwelled in an odd enigma?

The clock tower is also a heterotopia for the Venetian people. As discussed in class, a heterotopia serves as a mirror that helps a society better understand their culture. In a literal sense, a person can actually gaze out at the culture around them through the panoptic windows of the tower and through doing so better understand how their society functions. The tower is also a statement of the Venetian values and cultural ideals. The values of decadence and display are seen through the extravagant clock face, while the focus on tradition and domesticity is seen in the opposing facade. Through the clock tower the Venetians can see their society reflected in a tangible form.

As I ended my tour at the top of the tower, I looked down at the city below me and breathed in the salty sea air. I gazed down at the figures below me and the city stretched out beneath my feet. The tower had just told me its story, delighted me in its external splendor and internal complexity, and as I looked out into the city I thought of the other storytellers that Venice has to offer. I’m listening.

Venice and the Desire for an Escape

Venice exists in the modern world as a sort of fantastical utopia, a place of decaying beauty and elegant tradition. Throughout history, Venice has always been a bit of an enigma, and because of her mystery and intrigue she has seduced many to explore her twisting calles and sparkling canals. Venice is directly related to a desire to escape, in one way or another, from one’s normal existence.

Through the centuries Venice has been represented in many different ways, from serene and pure to erotic and overly sexualized, the image of the city has morphed throughout history. In the 1700’s, Casanova perpetuated the myth of the sexual, erotic Venice as a playground for sexual escapades and an escape from the confines of societal expectations. The Carnevale and the corresponding Carnevale masks helped to satisfy this longing for an erotic escape through disguising one’s true identity and serving as a tangible representation of mischief and desire. Venice becomes a symbol for the erotic and secular, steering away from the purity it represented in earlier times. Various artworks hype up this idea of the Carneval-esque Venice, including Pietro Falca’s piece “The Ridotto in Venice.” The aristocracy, encumbered by manners and societal rules, were particular fond of these masks as a means of escape. In his memoirs “History of My Life”, Casanova describes an experience at the Carnevale where he and his comrades were “rambling about together with our masks on, in quest of some new sort of mischief to amuse us.” Casanova’s experience excellently displays the reason why the Carnevale masks were so appealing and the sort of behavior that resulted from wearing the mask. The masks allowed one to be playful, ill-behaved and vulgar and promoted activities of mischief and scandal. The Carnevale served as a breeding ground for the mischief of the aristocracy. With their identity concealed, these normally well-mannered individuals could let loose and act inappropriately. I myself have experienced the enchanting spell of the mask, wearing a Venetian Carnevale for Halloween earlier this year. Throughout the evening I met numerous persons who kept exclaiming “I’ll never be able to recognize you after tonight without your mask!” I had never thought my disguise shrouded my appearance so well, but after hearing this I was overcome with a sort of power that I could be anyone and do anything because of my mask. While I in no way played up this luxury as the Venetian aristocrats and Casanova once did, I did better understand the captivating power of the mask and the fresh identity it bestows upon the wearer.

The courtesans of Veronica Franco’s time were also influential in promoting this idea of Venice as a highly sexualized and erotic escape. The courtesans became a symbol for the erotic Venice, seducing and allowing men to carry out their wildest fantasies. They represented men’s desire and longing for sexual freedom and erotic play. Venice, along with her courtesans, served as an escape from the mundane and normal. In Margaret Rosenthal’s piece “The Honest Courtesan,” she discusses Fynes Moryson’s, an author and sociologist of the 16th century, belief that the demand for Venetian courtesans was “not merely a product of the republic’s sexual license but rather was tied to the repressed physical desires or young or married men” (pg.21). This further supports the idea that the courtesans acted as a tool for men to satisfy their sexual desire. In his piece “Itinerary Containing his Ten Yeeres of Travel” Moryson wrote that all types of men are fueled “with fierce affections to forbidden lusts” (Rosenthal, pg. 21), describing men’s longing for an erotic escape. Because of these two entities, the Carnevale and the Venetian courtesans, Venice became a place to escape into a world of sexual debauchery and fanaticism.

Tourists often come to Venice with a different desire, a longing to escape into a piece of the past and a fantasy world. Many come to Venice longing for an escape from the modern world, hoping to lose themselves in the charming calles and enchanting nature of the city. Venice supports this type of longing for the glory of the past that exists so frequently in our modern world. Much like the Venetians longed for the glory of ancient Rome, tourists come to Venice longing to return to the glorious past in this ancient city. Venice is truly a slice of the past, a Disneyland-esqe landscape that plays on the fancies of the traveler- the gondola, Carnevale masks, and meandering canals all lure travelers into the magical world of Venice. This image of Venice as a glorious piece of the past coincides with the Venice often displayed on postcards and in the modern media. However, this image displays a city that is in essence no longer real, but rather a fantasy land satisfying the desires of tourists. According to ABC News, there are less than 60,000 Venetians living in the city and an average of 150,000 visiting tourists a day. These statistics demonstrate the shift of Venice from a real to imagined community. Venice now simply exists for the tourists, and because of these rampant creatures the business focus in the city is predominately on tourism. The city has ultimately transformed itself into the type of city tourists dream of and cater to the desires of these visitors. However, although visitors long to escape to a piece of the past and fantasy world when traveling to Venice, like E.H. Gombrich, they still “want the frame to be there” (Art and Illusion, pg.279), reminding them of the illusion before them. Tourists understand that Venice is not real and is not an example of the modern world; if it was considered the modern world they would not come for such an escape. Venice is not, and cannot be because of the rampant tourists, a real place. It is imagined, it simply exists to carry out tourist fantasies of longing and escape.

Venice supports a longing and desire to escape in multiple ways. From an escape into a fantasy world, a piece of the past or into sexual liberation, Venice serves as a canvas for these fantasies and quells this longing

Guidebooks and Fanny Packs: The Identity of the Modern Tourist

We recently read a socio-anthropological essay by Clifford Geertz that deciphered and analyzed the politics of Balinese cockfights. After reading this essay, I began to think about the tourist as a socio-anthropological subject. According the American Heritage Dictionary (4th ed), a tourist is defined as “a person who is traveling, especially for pleasure.” I find this definition to be rather vague and extremely superficial. What is the deeper meaning behind being a tourist, and what are the politics of such a title? I attempted to explore this idea, using my own experience as a tourist as a focus for the study.


To begin, what exactly is a tourist? The definition implies that anyone who is traveling can be placed into this category, but I do not believe this is the case. In their essay entitled “Touring Cultures: Transformation of Travel and Theory,” Rojek and Urry further explore the meaning of a tourist, even questioning if such an entity exist. While the authors do supply the typical definition of tourism as “involving stays of more than four nights and less than one year,” they also agree that this is vague definition that does not explain much about the real desire of the tourist. They also identify the various types of tourism, including day-tripping, culture and excursion. I believe that this acknowledging of the differences among tourists is the catalyst for further exploring the idea. All tourists, in my mind, are unique in their quests. Some wish to discover freedom from the daily grind and experience a new way of life, some long to explore the vast unknown of exotic and foreign places, and some simply travel to visit sights that are of specific interest to them. Therefore, I think it is impossible to squeeze all that it means to be a tourist into a small definition. Tourism, as acknowledged by the authors, is a profound subject that deserves much examination and therefore cannot be satisfied by a measly definition. Many times, society and the media depict tourists with guidebooks, fanny packs, a constantly flashing camera, and a constant look of awe on their faces. However, as we have already discovered, not all tourists fit into this narrow category.


Tourism and the idea of the tourist is an excellent breeding ground for Goffman’s idea of a “focused gathering” that Geertz defines in his essay. Many times, tourists are grouped together in a common activity, such as standing in the square gazing at the Basilica di San Marco, and are relating to one another in terms of this action. They are preoccupied with their common flow, acknowledging one another simply to share guidebooks or ask to get their picture taken. They come together to share a common experience and would likely never have met without the focused gathering to unite them. In my travels abroad, I’ve met many individuals from various cities that I have met only through being a tourist. My identity as a tourist has connected me to these individuals, who I usually meet at the hostel I am staying at. Hostels are strictly designed for tourists and many times offer group outings and activities which I often participate in with fellow travelers. These persons and I have come together through this common activity, together experiencing the beauty of Barcelona or the vibrant London nightlife, only to depart in our different directions with only that moment in time, the focused gathering, to define us and our relationship.



Being a tourist is like being a cultural voyeur, gazing down at another culture with a subjective view. It is easier to see a culture from the outside, including the strange traditions that define it. A tourist is hyper-aware of the culture being that they have others, or at least one another culture, to compare it to. Many times, tourists define their travels by the differences they discover. For example, when I traveled to Barcelona I noticed that nearly everyone smoked and there were not any restaurants or bars that had designated non-smoking areas. Obviously, this is drastically different than the United States, where there is typically a non-smoking area and many parts of the country that are no longer allowing smoking in any restaurants or bars. I immediately noticed this difference while visiting Barcelona and quickly defined the city as a smoking one, which I later found out to be exceedingly true (70% of Barcelona smokes!). As a tourist, it is common to notice that differences between other cultures and your own, and often a tourist remains more sensitive to these differences than the locals of the culture they are visiting, who consider this difference to be simply a part of their daily lives.


There are many rules, or perhaps more properly termed expectations, that going along with being a tourist that our society has deemed. The first of these is that tourists are expected to visit the crucial landmarks and sights while traveling. This is one expectation that I have found to be increasingly annoying during my travels. I have discovered that I enjoy picking several places to visit and spending a great deal of time exploring them, many times places that are off the beaten path of tourist activity, rather than simply rushing through all the major attractions. For example, when I visited Paris I had so many art museums and specific sights that I wanted to see that interested me, but might not have been to interest to others, that I did not even visit the Eiffel Tower because I was simply too busy. I saw that tower from far away and that was all I needed. I did not want to simply see the sights that all the guidebooks told me “not to miss!” but instead I longed to see what interested me and get a true taste for the French culture. For me, it was not important to stand beneath the steel structure and gaze upon it when I had numerous other, and in my opinion more interesting, sights to see. However, when I returned from Paris everyone asked me “Did you see the Eiffel Tower?” or “Why don’t you have a picture with the Eiffel Tower?” I felt discouraged, like I had in some way failed at being a tourist while in reality I had experienced the city in exactly the way I had wanted.

Another common expectation of tourists is that they are willing to spend money, and often a great deal of it. Travel souvenirs are often quite pricey simply because tourists, as simply passersbys, want to quickly snag a piece of the place they are visiting before they move on. Many businesses cater to tourists, raising their prices because they know tourists will be willing to pay. In Venice, for example, the gondolas are very expensive because they are strictly catered to tourists who want the complete Venetian experience and are willing to splurge for such. Tourists are expected to be in these strictly defined areas and not at the local restaurants and cafes that are off the beaten path. These businesses are often quite rude to tourists simply because they do not belong. Therefore, a specific space is commonly designated for tourists in every city and it is expected that tourists stick to these spaces. Along with this expectation of tourists emerges another: the expectation that tourists need to collect souvenirs or mementos from their travels, rather it be in the form of photographs, postcards or t-shirts. It is expected that tourists came home with a piece of the place they traveled to- a tangible memory to share with others. While traveling overseas, I have followed these guidelines being that I enjoy collecting souvenirs and snapping photos, and I am excited to share there with my loved ones when I return. I feel also as though I am supposed to have pictures to display of my travels, and even for myself, I want to have something to remember Europe by. A fourth expectation of tourists is that they are ignorant and essentially culturally-dumb to the cultural they are visiting. Guidebooks were essentially created to counter the ignorance of tourists- they are not designed for those who know about the city, but instead for those who are uninformed about the city they are visiting. Tourists are not expected to know the language, have knowledge of the specific geography of the city or where things are located, or be aware of dangers such as pickpocketers. In many places I’ve visited, I attempt to speak the language only to be answered in English. I am not expected to try to speak the local dialect; I am simply treated as a tourist and not part of the actual culture. Tourists are expected to have to ask for directions, and pickpockets prey on these distracted tourists who are too dumbfounded by their city map to notice their wallet getting stolen. I attempt to defy these expectations while traveling, by attempting to speak the language and being hyper aware of pickpockets (which I did see several of in Barcelona). These are just several examples of the expectations of tourists created by society.

In conclusion, a tourist cannot be simply constructed into a stereotype and also cannot be expected to satisfy the societal expectations of what a tourist should be or do. There are many different types of tourists, from the romantic to the collective, and the desires and reasons for traveling vary with these individuals. I have had many personal experiences with being stereotyped into the “typical tourist” and I believe it is crucial to not view tourism in such a close minded way. The culture of tourism is a diverse plethora of individuals who may share some commonalities, such as their focused gathering, but ultimately differ in their internal motivations and external actions.

Famiglia and Mates- Venice vs. London

Having been in Europe for six weeks now, I’ve had the opportunity to travel to several different countries and experience a plethora of diverse cultures. Although Europe sometimes tends to be grouped as one mega culture, I’ve come to find that the European countries all have their own unique subcultures which are, in reality, quite drastic from one another. Venice and London are two cities that I’ve had a chance to explore during my stay in Europe. Although the cities share several similarities, the differences between the two cultures are extremely interesting and deserve deeper analysis.

The first thing I noticed when I arrived in London two weeks ago, hungry and ready for my first English meal, was that it was nearly impossible to get dinner at any restaurant or pub after 9:00 at night. As I later learned from talking to the locals, unless you want fast food, you eat before 9:00. As the owner of a local pub told me as I eagerly searched for dinner, “Nothing is open at this time!” The British enjoy going out to the pubs immediately after work to grab a drink with co-workers and friends. This is a stark contrast to Italy, where dinner typically occurs between 7:30-9:00 pm. In London everyone heads out to the pubs around 5:00 or 6:00 to drink and heads home around 9:00 or 10:00. While making my way to a pub at 10:00 in London I found that the place was clearing out and the pubs typically closed by 11:00. However, in Italy many of the bars and nightclubs do not even become crowed until nearly 11:00. When visiting Milan, I had my first experience at an Italian nightclub and found that the club did not become crowded until nearly midnight. The alcoholic beverage of choice is also different in these two countries. In Italy, wine and spritzas are two popular choices, while in England beer and hard cider are the norm.

Another difference noted between these two countries was the attitude towards family. Being that I only spent a weekend in London, I have a very superficial perception of the culture; however, from my observation, London seemed to strongly value friendships while Italy places family at the crux of their culture. In Venice, many businesses close down for a lunch break so that families can be together for several hours in the afternoon. In London, this tradition did not persist and I found a larger focus to be on the “mates,” the English slang for friends, over family. I viewed multiple advertisements around town, especially in the metros, referring to “mates.” As I already mentioned, going out for drinks after work with coworkers and friends is an important tradition in London.

Public transport exists in both London and Venice, however differs greatly between the two cultures. In London, the “Underground” is the term for the metro that zips Londoners around town. It serves as a way to get to and from work, the airport, or simply around the city. However, because there are vehicles and roads in the city, many Londoners also have cars and the metro serves as more a secondary form of transportation. In Venice, however, there is an absence of cars and therefore the whole dynamics of public transport is very unique. The vaporetto, or Venetian water bus, is the primary form of transportation for Venetians. The politics and rules surrounding these forms of public transport differ greatly, although there are some similarities. Both the Underground and vaporetto are not designed as social places but simply places to be “in your own world” and do your business (reading the paper, listening to music, zone out or even sleep). However, in Venice you are expected to stand up well before your stop and head towards the exit, while the Londoners take it slower and prefer to wait for the last moment to head towards the exit. The Venetians seem to be a very rushed culture as opposed to the Londoners, as I have many times gotten “Permesso!” shouted in my ear for not moving off the vaporetto quick enough.

Venice and London, both vibrant European cultures, are simply one example of how not all European cultures are alike. Although they share a continent, they are unique in many aspects, which only makes the experience of traveling so much more enjoyable!

The Vaporetto: A Symbol of Venice

In Clifford Geertz’s socio-anthropological analysis of Balinese cockfights, entitled “Deep Play,” he mentions the term “focused gatherings.” The term was originally defined by Erving Goffman as a “set of persons engrossed in a common flow of activity and relating to one another in terms of that flow” (Geertz, pg.7). Focused gatherings are a unique component to the modern world, exemplifying the impersonal nature that has come to define many of our daily activities. As an individual living in Venice with a strange identity of more than a passing tourist but without being a true Venetian, I have had the opportunity to explore the Venetian culture and the daily activities that occur in the narrow calles of the beautiful city. One activity that I have become quite accustomed with is riding the vaporetto. The vaporetto is the water bus that travels throughout Venice, functioning virtually as the main form of transportation in the city. Venice is unique in its absence of motorized vehicles in the streets, therefore for both Venetians and tourists alike, the vaporetto is utilized as the main mode of transportation aroud he city. The vaporetto serves as a space for the focused gathering discussed by Goffman because it houses a set of activities that are in complete synchronicity with the space around them. The persons on the vaporetto are interacting with one another simply in terms of the “flow” that Goffman describes. The passengers are constantly changing and coming together simply to share a common activity. Their actions are defined by the space around them- a space that dictates a specific set of rules and behaviors.

The vaporetto is not simply a vessel of transportation for Venetians; it is a heterotopia of social dynamism. There are unspoken guidelines and rules for the vaporetto that you will not find inscribed on any signs, however are simply inherent to Venetians and regular travelers, and often overlooked by tourists. When I first arrived in Venice I was, like many visitors, naïve of these social guidelines and only now after much experience am I beginning to understand them. Here are the unspoken guidelines for the vaporetto that I have discovered: When waiting to enter the vaporetti, a mass forms, rather than a line, where it is perfectly acceptable to push your way to the front, virtually “cutting” the others. Once on the boat, it is acceptable to sit in the seats reserved for the handicap, pregnant women or elderly- however, it is expected that as soon as one of these persons enters the vaporetto you will relinquish your seat. The vaporetto is not a social atmosphere that fosters friendships; therefore you are not expected to make small talk with anyone around you. Personal space does not exist on the vaporetto, and it is common to have someone’s arm in your face or a person bumping into you the entire ride. When exiting the vaporetto, you should stand up and make your way to the exit before the boat has come to a stop. If you stand up and do not swiftly work your way towards the front as the boat is beginning to slow down, expect to get shoved out of the way by a hasty Venetian muttering “Permesso.” The persons riding the water bus vary and the water bus is utilized by all sorts of individuals. As the main form of public transportation in the city, and one could argue more important transportation vessel that you would find in other cities because of Venice’s absence of cars, the vaporetto neutralizes social status and places all passengers on the same level. In other societies, vehicles such as cars represent social status; however Venice is absent of these vehicles. Although residents do sometimes own private boats, the vaporetto is the main public transportation around the city and therefore is utilized by virtually everyone because of its convenience and efficiency.

Not only does the vaporetto house focused gatherings that are imbued with a set of unique guidelines, it also serves as a space that connects sites in Venice to one another. In Michel Foucault’s essay “Of Other Spaces,” he describes our modern era as one where “space takes for us the form of relation among sites” (pg. 23). The vaporetto exemplifies Foucault’s idea of contemporary space as a bond that affixes sites together. The vaporetto as a space can also be analyzed in terms of its openness. The vaporetto is used for public transportation and therefore, unlike cars or personal vehicles, while riding the vaporetto all of your personal actions are constantly on display. The city of Venice as a whole is a very public space that promotes openness. Because of the pedestrian nature of the city, it is common to feel as though you are always on display. The canals weave throughout the city and often run right next to private residences. This is a complete contrast to the idea of neighborhoods where houses are sheltered from the outside world in a protected, private sphere. The concealment provided by a private vehicle is absent on the vaporetto, and therefore the boat serves a space where private actions are many times publically displayed. One interesting experience I had on the vaporetto occurred while standing next to a young couple. The two were tightly embracing and intimately kissing the entire ride. I was uncomfortable and taken aback by their actions; however others around me did not seem fazed at all. Additionally, cell phone calls commonly occur on the vaporetto and private conversations are held for others to hear. I conclude that because the sphere of travel is so naturally public in Venice, Venetians and others frequently utilizing the vaporetto are used to performing their private actions in a public space.

The vaporetto not only serves a functional purpose for the Venetians but also speaks to the culture of the city. The vaporetto exemplifies Venice’s complex relationship with water. The surrounding lagoon and Adriatic Sea serve a dual role as Venice’s barrier and gateway to the outside world. The canals that flow through the city both divide and connect the segments of the city. The vaporetto both exemplifies and serves as a tangible manifestation of this relationship between Venice and water. The interplay between the vaporetto and the city is fundamental to understanding the nature of Venice and the Venetian identity.

The vaporetto serves as both a transportation device and a symbol of Venice. The complex social guidelines surrounding the vaporetto speak to the Venetian culture while the space inside the vaporetto fosters the type of focused gathering discussed by Goffman. The vaporetto itself represents the character and personality of Venice and therefore acts as an important gateway to better understanding the Venetian culture.

The Quest for the Real

Last week I ventured to the mysterious city of Padova for a class trip. I refer to it as mysterious because I had no idea what to expect prior to visiting the city. Like a child preparing for a trip to Disneyland, I had grandeur visions of the Padova: meandering, quaint streets, inhabited by slow-moving Italians living a peaceful, quiet existence (which overall seems to be a common stereotypical perception of Italy in general, with the exception of the bustling and lively city of Rome). Needless to say, I should have done my research!

From the moment we emerged in Padova and witnessed the vibrant student population and fast-moving metropolitan life pulsating through the city, I realized that the city had, in a single instant, defied my expectations. Padova is a peculiar city, a melting pot of the past and present, much like the city of Venice. Upon entering the Padova, the urban culture immediately springs upon you, much like the large-scale advertisements do in Venice. However after wandering about Padova for a while, I found myself consistently thrust into what seemed like scenes from a landscape painting or children’s fairy tale. Beautiful parks sparkling with the ruins of the past and quaint walkways through green grass and autumn-colored trees contrast with the urban nature of the city, yet seem to fit perfectly and beautifully into the Padova puzzle.

Our day consisted of many adventures, including examining the great artwork of Titian and exploring the other various religious art of the city. We also toured the University of Padova, where we viewed the famous Anatomy Theater where dissections used to occur. While all these adventures were enjoyable, my favorite part of the day was the visit to the Scrovegni Chapel. As an art history scholar, I’ve taken numerous art history courses throughout the past few years. I remember studying Giotto’s “Lamentation” in my very first art history course in high school and being immediately awestruck by the piece. The vivid blue utilized by Giotto is undeniably gorgeous, and the photographs in textbooks do little justice to the true beauty of the piece. Throughout my studies in college, I’ve analyzed the “Lamentation” numerous times, discussing the effect of the harsh diagonal that dominates the piece and directs the eye of the viewer to Christ. The highly emotional figures are typical of Giotto and convey the drama of the piece. The interplay between the angels in the sky and the figures on the ground is fascinating and highlights the Gothic shift towards the Renaissance.

To say I was excited to witness the work firsthand was an understatement.

When I entered the chapel, I initially was fascinated by the starry sky that decorates the ceiling and the sheer quantity of frescos decorating the walls. As I scanned the room, carefully reading Giotto’s narrative that he so wonderfully displays in his artwork, my eyes hit the “Lamentation” and I smiled- I had found my treasure. As an art history scholar and art enthusiast, it has been such a powerful experience time and time again to view works up close and personal that I’ve previously studied. While studying art from a textbook, there is always an absence of the real. Viewing a copy of art, for some, may be just like viewing the original. After all, through a copy of a work it is still possible to witness the same artistic elements- the subject, the colors, the brushstrokes, etc. However, it is my belief that the true essence of the piece can only be understood while looking at the original. The emotion that flows through the brushstrokes out of the piece, the vivid color that can only truly be witnessed in person, the relationship that the viewer forms with the artist through the personal viewing- these are the effects of viewing a work “in real life.” The mechanics of a work simply cannot be fully expressed in a copy. This experience got me thinking- Why is it that we have such a strong desire for “the real?”

To explore this question, I analyzed our modern culture in the United States. Through doing so, I discovered many ties to women and our society’s obsession with “the real.” While our culture in many ways promotes makeup and plastic surgery to beautify woman, the definition of true beauty in our society is “natural beauty.” Models, celebrities, and beautiful women in general are constantly being prodded and picked at by the media and our general culture to discover if they have had plastic surgery, something that is looked down upon as being “fake.” The girl next door (the natural beautify, full of integrity), also commonly referred to as the All-American girl, is a persona that is highly praised in our society. Young women (and never men) are also commonly referred to as being fake in their relationships with other women, pretending they like one another when they truly do not. I remember a comedian who came to Boiler Gold Rush at Purdue two years ago and cracked a joke about this very issue by pretending to be an enthusiastic female college student waving to another female and shouting “Hey Girl!!! What’s up!!!”, only to quietly whisper to himself a moment later, “You whore!”

The focus on “the real” in our culture does not simply relate to women. Our society, both historically and in the modern era, cherishes values such as honesty and integrity- values which essentially oppose “the fake.” The political candidates of our society often slander their opponents by referring to them as liars, while at the same time emphasizing their own honesty.

Through this brief analysis, I believe the answer to my question is simply that our society has influenced us to value truth. Although I did not explore other cultures, I think it is fair to say that all cultures share this emphasis on honesty and truth; therefore, this inclination towards “the real” is what makes us inherently human. As human beings, we are fascinated by the real and live our lives in a way as a “quest for the real.” I believe this is why seeing an artwork in person is such a powerful experience. Simply because I’m human, I hold a desire to see the “real thing,” and I look forward to satisfying this desire in the weeks to come.

The Case of the Vaporetti Thief

This past week I saw something very “urban,” a sight that shocked my mid-western mind. As I waited to step onto the vaporetti leaving Piazza dei Roma, I watched mindlessly as the typical crowd shuffled off the water bus. The vaporetti in itself is an interesting part of the Venetian culture- a communal transportation device, it constantly travels around the city picking up passengers of all sorts, both camera-toting tourist and authentic Venetians. The vaporetti is completely void of a sense of privacy and a complete contrast to the a car as a transportation vessel. Because of the lack of privacy, one must constantly be more aware of themselves and others around them. Many qualities become public on the water bus, such as one’s appearance and belongings, and therefore a fear of protection and self-preservation surfaces. From my past vaporetti experiences, I have always felt “on guard”, on display for the world to see. I constantly watch my belongings and the people around me. But, enough about the vaporetti, let’s examine the incident that occurred.

Back to the line….as the passengers exited the craft, I noticed a young man running full speed off the boat, holding a classy shopping bag high above his head. A well dressed business man chased after the man, reaching out and almost grabbing the fleeing man. However, he missed the assailant by an inch, and he begrudgingly slowed his pace with a defeated look on his face. The assailant ran away into the busy crowd shuffling in front of the train station, with the stolen bag held high in the air. As I watched him run into the crowd, I waited for some Good Samaritan to trip, hit, or simply stop the man, but the reality of the situation was that everyone continued about their business with nothing more than a glance. I was so in shock by what I had just seen that I almost forgot that I needed to board the boat. As I entered the vaporetti, I looked around for stunned faces and murmurs of the incident, but there was none to be found. My heart immediately went out to this stranger, and I found myself in a surreal state of alarm and discomfort. Before coming to Venice, I heard that petty theft was common, especially during high tourist seasons. However, after living here for several weeks and never feeling endangered or uncomfortable, I had developed a somewhat false sense of security in this foreign place. Perhaps it is a naivety of mine, but I have already acquired a sense of security in Venice. Although I always keep an eye on my bag in large crowds, I have never actually seen anyone who made me feel threatened or felt a need to obsess about keeping my belongings safe. I have briskly walked up behind slow moving tourists many times, in a hurry to catch a vaporetti or to make it to a store before it closes, only to find that the tourist quickly hugs their bags close to them, afraid that I may snatch them and sprint away in a single instant. I have always laughed to myself at their paranoid behavior, finding it especially humorous that they think that a young, American girl like me would ever even attempt this.

After this incident, I got to thinking about the psyche of the tourist, and the paranoia and fear that comes naturally when traveling to unknown places and entering foreign cultures. The nervousness that comes with a new place is undeniable, although a great deal of excitement is also inherent. I do not know the identity of the man who was robbed, but from his business suit and rolling suitcase, I imagine him as a traveling businessman who is not a permanent Venetian resident. This situation also raised the question- Why didn’t anyone help, or even pay attention to the incident? During a class discussion yesterday, Shannon brought up an interesting point about the psychological idea that the larger the density of people in a given place, the less likely people are to assist others in panic situations. I find this theory to be exceptionally interesting based on my recent experience, and actually true. Perhaps it is a Venetian indifference, in that petty crime among tourists is so prevalent that they become desensitized to it all, or the theory mentioned by Shannon playing out in real life, but whatever the reason, I am puzzled by the event. I feel as though I have seen a new side of the city and a new side of tourism culture in general. I definitely will be watching my bags more carefully on the vaporetti, and if I was in the way of the assailant, I would have helped. But, perhaps the truth behind it all is that what we think we would do it never what actually plays out. It is an interesting idea to ponder, and I am curious to if I see an other such incidents in my time left here in Venezia.

Venetian Voyeurs: A Bird's Eye View of Venezia

A large scale painting, composed of oil colors on an immense canvas, proudly hangs in the Museo Correr in the heart of Venice, the Piazza di San Marco. G.B. Arzenti’s “Pianta-Veduta di Venezia” is a depiction of the city from a bird’s eye view that not only displays a beautiful layout of the city, but also speaks volumes about the city of Venice itself.

The artistic decisions made by Arzenti while creating this piece not only add to the beauty of the composition but also highlight the nature of the city itself. The vivid bright blue of the water streaming through the canals and into the Venetian lagoon greatly overshadows the earthly and dull reddish-brown of the city buildings. This color choice emphasizes the water and conveys the importance of water in Venice. Water truly was, and remains to be, a valued resource for the city. In a time when there was a great fear of foreign invaders, the lagoon provided security and acted as a natural moat that protected Venice. Water was also the catalyst that allowed Venice to develop its mercantile industry and to become a major player in the international trade network.

Compositionally, there is a large quantity of ships found throughout the piece. The majority of the ships reside in the Venetian lagoon and near the Arsenal, depicting once again the importance of sailing in the Venetian society and the significance of ships for military combat, modes of transportation, and as vessels for trading. The ships in the work are extremely massive, with several of them being larger than the lagoon islands and parts of the city. Arzenti depicted the ships in such a monumental way similar to how the Gothic artists portrayed artistic subjects based on hierarchical standards and superiority. This focus on the ships once again points to the significance of Venice as a mercantile capital and also reflects the pride of the city for possessing such a glorious title.

For further compositional analysis, the city itself is unique in how it is depicted. While some buildings appear hazy and dark, a blend of color absent of detail, other buildings are exceptionally detailed and crisp. For example, the Basilica di San Marco is extravagantly detailed, complete with dazzling teal domes and bright crimson flags. The Basilica is the most colorful building in the piece, which is representative of the strong religiosity of the Venetians. The Ponte di Rialto also appears clearly in the work, proudly rising above the miniscule and lowly buildings around it. The Rialto is a chief landmark in Venice that has a superiority that other bridges simply do not possess being that it is the main bridge over the Grand Canal. Throughout Arzenti’s work, the more detailed, and therefore more significant, buildings appear on the edges of the canals, while buildings in the interior of the city appear less detailed.
All of the buildings in the piece are entirely unique, which is an amazing feat for such a large scale painting. The melting pot of architectural styles in Venice is described in this work, with Gothic pointed arches adorning the façade of some buildings while the gentle curves of the Renaissance style decorate others. In comparison to the buildings, the people in the city are portrayed as minuscule figures, lightly spotting the streets of the city and the Piazza. They appear as almost shadows, with the focus of the work remaining on the glory of the city itself and not on the inhabitants.

On the edges of the painting lies a cloudy mist that surrounds the city. The island of Burano is identified with a label in the painting, yet one can barely distinguish the island because it is lost in the foggy haze. This haze provokes a great deal of questions. What does this haze represent? The haze could indicate that Venice is protected, not only by the sea, but also by the elements of nature, and perhaps even God himself. Is the haze isolating Venice from the rest of the world? Arzenti could be implying that Venice is a sacred gem, a treasure that is lost in its own world while nothing else great truly exists beyond the sea. Perhaps Arzenti was simply depicting the natural mist that sometimes rolls into Venice from the lagoon, and nothing more. One could interpret the haze in many different ways, and the subtle incorporation of this element adds a sense of mystery to piece.

The perspective of the viewer in this work is interesting, because instead of being invited into the work, the viewer is distant from the subject. We, as the viewer, have a bird’s eye view of the city, allowing us to view Venice in its entirety. However, when one is in the city of Venice itself, it is impossible to view the city as a whole. The twisting canals and maze of calles barricade and separate the city into small modules, while the towering buildings shield the city from the eyes of those inhabiting it. Michel de Certeau’s work “Walking in the City” highlights the difference from viewing a city as a voyeur, high above city, and as a pedestrian from within the confines of the city down below. Certeau substitutes the word “walkers” for pedestrians in his piece, and describes them as living “down below, below the thresholds at which visibility begins” and states that they simply “follow the thicks and thins of an urban ‘text’ they write without being able to read it.” Certeau implies that those in the city cannot accurately view their surroundings like those above the “thresholds at which visibility begins” and seems to imply a form of ignorance that “walkers” posses that prevents them from understanding the true nature and reality of the city they inhabit. Certeau explains that we should strive to be voyeurs, rising above the natural constraints of being “in” the city and become free to examine the city from outside its “grasp.” Arzenti’s depiction of Venice allows us the luxury of viewing the city as a voyeur and invites us to detangle ourselves from the depths of the city.

G.B. Arzenti’s work may appear to be a simple painting of a map of Venice- however with closer examination, it is clear that the artistic decisions made by Arzenti reflect the personality of Venice and allows us to view Venice from a truly analytical, voyeur point of view.

Investigation into Liberty, Power and the Gothic Style

In his work “Space, Power and Knowledge,” Michel Foucault boldly declares, “I do not think that there is anything that is functionally- by its very nature- absolutely liberating.” However, in John Ruskin’s work “The Nature of Gothic,” he presents Gothic architecture as an essentially liberating form of architecture. The juxtaposing views of these great thinkers calls for investigation into the relationship of liberty and architecture, specifically in the Gothic form. The underlying idea in Ruskin’s piece is that Gothic architecture is a “free” form of architecture, meaning that is promotes the ideals of liberty and freedom. The Gothic style bestows power to the architect as opposed to the artistic style and the building itself. The architect has power over the work and what is being created. Along with shifting the balance of power from the style to the architect, the Gothic form also delivers power to all of humanity. This important shift of power is what makes the Gothic so unique, and ultimately so beautiful.
Gothic architecture fundamentally is a form of free artistic expression, encouraging creativity and enlivening the imagination of the architect. Ruskin speaks of this ability to create as almost a luxury, a severe contrast to the chains of conventionality (tradition, rationality, symmetry, and expectations) that enslaves other architects. His work reads, “If they wanted a window, they opened one; a room, they added one…,” and this essentially speaks to the power of the Gothic architect (Nature of Gothic). In more traditional styles, the power lies in the style itself and the architect must submit to a set of expectations demanded by the form.
Although there are, naturally, a set of characteristics that define the Gothic form, variation of these elements is encouraged and even expected. The Gothic style is typically characterized by architectural features such as pointed arches, tracery and flying buttresses. However, these core features permit a range of complexities and variations that allow the architect to manipulate and ultimately, create. As Ruskin explains, a pointed arch is such an undefined element in terms of proportions and style. The pointed arch supplies the architect with endless combinations of proportions, while the circular and rounded arch that is characteristic of earlier styles is always the same and does not permit variation. The Doge’s Palace in Venice excellently demonstrates this point. While gazing upon the façade of this Gothic beauty, one can easily see the variation of the pointed arch used, including wider and more curved arches alongside narrower and more peaked ones. Ruskin classifies tracery in the same way, in that tracery allows for many different designs so that the artist is virtually unlimited with his use of this element. The flying buttresses typically associated with the Gothic style also speak to the politics of Gothic architecture, for they spring off the building in an uncanny and untraditional way instead of being tightly wrapped up tight inside a perfect package. Instead of simply blending in or ornamenting the structure, like the pilasters of the Renaissance style, the flying buttresses exist solely for functional purposes and forge their way into our gaze without hesitation.
The Gothic style also admits its imperfections, and the artist has the power to make mistakes and not have to create a work that appears to be perfect. Much like the oppressive governments throughout world history who have demanded uniformity and perfection from their peoples, the rigid and unforgiving architectural styles that encourage these conventional ideals fail to, metaphorically, embrace the outsiders of society, the ugly and the unique. The Gothic form offers a haven for these individuals, with its grotesque gargoyles and unfinished appearance, and celebrates differences as beautiful, rather than a mistake. The Gothic form sees exquisiteness in the unconventional. For example, the Gothic jewel of the Ca’ D’Oro that rests proudly along the Grand Canal in Venice, displays a set of pointed windows in the courtyard with a balcony extending along the bottom. However, the balcony unexpectedly falls short of meeting the last window in the set of four. Immediately, this powerful artistic decision appears as a flaw; nevertheless, the nature of the Gothic style speaks to this imperfection. Ruskin would adore the savageness of this defect, as he characterizes savageness as the most essential and important characteristic of the Gothic form (Nature of Gothic). As for the unfinished nature of Gothic architecture, the Chiesa di San Pietro Martire on Murano, a small island in the Venetian Lagoon, has a façade that opposes the perfected beauty of classical architecture and could be argued to be too raw and imperfect for the exterior of a church. However, the unfinished nature only speaks to the importance of savageness in the Gothic style.
The Gothic style bestows power upon the artist, and is a “free” form of architecture that provides for endless possibilities and delights the imagination. Ruskin even compares the imperfection of the Gothic style to the deficiency of the human condition. He says, “Nothing that lives is, or can be, rigidity perfect; part of it is decay, part nascent” (Nature of Gothic). Humanity is victim to the decay and imperfect nature of life much like the Gothic form. Therefore, the Gothic style is inherently human. The perfectly carved and symmetrically aligned architecture of the classical style seems almost divine and too perfect to be associated with men, but rather with heaven. Therefore, we can conclude that the Gothic style bestows power to not only the architect, but also to humanity. It is the architecture of the people. Although one could argue that the verticality and massive ribbed vaulting of Gothic churches can make an individual feel dwarfed in comparison to the divine, I would argue that the verticality only speaks to the power of the architect to create such an incredible feat.