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.