When you arrive in Venice or Denali National Park in Alaska, it’s a “Toto, we are not in Kansas anymore,” kind of a moment. Everything you know about being in the world shifts slightly. Granted, some of the dangers one encounters in Denali National Park are unlikely in Venice (i.e. being eaten by a grizzly bear) what is true to both though, especially during Carnevale, is how humans love to look at the “other.” Whether the other consists of caribou, grizzlies and wolves, or men and women in lavishly designed costumes, the impulse for the observer to photograph, stare, document and savor exists in both.
In Venice, photographers of all levels cluster and shoot when costumed people appear. Early morning sunrise in San Marco brings out the more serious shooters, with their tripods, flood lights, flash umbrellas, and the like. These pictures are a mix of some that I took and some that my sister took. (She and my nieces where here during the first weekend of Carnevale. Look for the pictures of us making our own masks!)
The other similarity between Venice and Alaska is the relationship to wilderness. The more I think about Thoreau and his study of wilderness, and especially his phrase “In Wilderness is the preservation of the world”, the more I believe it is about cultivating a state of mind versus an experience in a particular place. When I was in Denali, Doug and I talked extensively about this, and decided that wilderness is about being present to the unpredictability of life, the knowledge that while we think we are in control, a grizzly bear could appear out of nowhere, just like a person decked out in 17th century finery in Venice emerges from around a corner. This ability to remain alert, to maintain a wilderness mindset, cultivating a welcome acceptance of the unexpected, good and bad, this is one of many “Lessons of Venice.”
Tomorrow is Fat Tuesday, the day before Lent begins, which means Carnevale has been happening here in Venice for the past ten days, with all kinds of revelry and costumed people. I must admit, I will be grateful for Thursday when the crowds will have gone and the quiet of the Venice winter returns. But grateful for having had this experience of seeing the city transformed by revelry and little moments like what just happened–moments that are impossible to photography, but will remain with me long after I leave here. In both instances, the photographs don’t even begin to capture the magic of each moment. Hopefully my drawings tomorrow will…
- …a groups of five LED lit white-clothed people just walked through my campo. They were like little snowballs of white light. Perfect. Glorious.
- And another moment, today on my way to yoga there were three people, I think men, in lovely period costumes with elements of nature. A moss and flower covered staff and massive amounts of peacock feathers coming out of their masks. It was so pretty and they were moving gracefully through the crowd at the base of the Rialto while some string instruments serenade them.
Truly a magical moment.