Posted in Architecture, architecture, art, art,poetry,writing, Books, Poetry, Poetry, Quotes, Venice Diaries, wanderlust, Writing, writing, tagged beauty, holiday travels, home, impromptu visits, Invisible cities, itali calvino, Italia, new year, Venezia., venice on January 1, 2017|
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And, suddenly, you are gazing at the eternal sublime. Venice’s borders are the dream realms. This is a city that starts on water and ends in the soul. Venice is a portal between reality and myth. A city that is real, but also impossible. My little cousin declared, at ten years old, that ‘this is the most beautiful city in the whole world.’ In no other country man-made and natural Beauty is so entrenched with the national psyche and identity. Beauty is elevated as the greatest national virtue, privilege and asset. Beauty is Italy’s doctrine and her true religion. We are, after all, Il Bel Paese.
Venezia, Italia, January 1, 2017.
‘There is still one of which you never speak.’
Marco Polo bowed his head.
‘Venice,’ the Khan said.
Marco smiled. ‘What else do you believe I have been talking to you about?’
The emperor did not turn a hair. ‘And yet I have never heard you mention that name.’
And Polo said: ‘Every time I describe a city I am saying something about Venice.’
Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities
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Posted in Architecture, art, art,poetry,writing, Photography, tagged Photography, Venezia., venice, winter on January 11, 2012|
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Posted in Architecture, art, Art Gallery, Art Show, Artuesdays, Competitions and Collaborations, Digital Manipulation, Experiments, History of Architecture, Photography, Poetry, Writing, tagged fotografia., Inverno, Photography, Venezia., venice, winter on January 3, 2012|
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In the winter, Venice is like an abandoned theatre. The play is finished, but the echoes remain.
To build a city where it is impossible to build a city is madness in itself, but to build there one of the most elegant and grandest of cities is the madness of genius.
There is something so different in Venice from any other place in the world, that you leave at once all accustomed habits and everyday sights to enter an enchanted garden.
It is the city of mirrors, the city of mirages, at once solid and liquid, at once air and stone.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand.
A train-ride takes you from Milano to Venice..whose real name is Venezia, the Most Serene city and splendid, golden Republic. On the train you think about Byron, his letters written on trains, his Venetian Countess.
Through frozen fields and dormant earth, through fog and long-gone rice paddies , you deboard to the Sublime.
At dusk the lights from bars and cafes shimmer on the dark waters, and you start thinking in cliches, such as temporarily inhabiting an Impressionist painting.
Yet the feeling is fresh and true: each visit to this surrealists’ dream had its poignant moment of suspension of disbelief.
Each time the city grabs you and takes you away with her.
Here’s a taste of today’s acts of flanerie in La Serenissima.
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Posted in Cures for the Nothing, NaBloPoMo, Photography, tagged Babylon, Blu 70, Calabria, Calalunga, Caminia, Carnevale, Catanzaro, Homesickness, Ionian sea, Italian Bread, Italian Sea, Mar Ionio, Milano, Olive Bread, Pietragrande, Venezia., venice, Wanderlust on August 9, 2010|
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We interrupt this broadcast due to a bout of homesickness and wanderlust.
The Pacific is, to paraphrase Coleridge, ‘ Water, water everywhere (and not a drop to swim in)’.
I miss my home.
Exhibit A: My home in Milano.
Exhibit B: Calabria, small harbor with 'historical' outdoor nightclub attached, Blu '70.
Exhibit B1: As if it weren't enough, there is an(other) outdoor club in front this rock (Pietragrande), considered one of the most scenic in Europe.
Exhibit B2, Calabria, the coastline near my house. Tomorrow morning, this is how it will look, and August is the hardest month to be away.
Sit down, let's have an iced, sweet espresso. Hear the music.
Let's take the train next week, go to Firenze, we can stop by Venezia, certainly. Do you remember that olive bread?
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