Venice is a city famous for hordes of pigeons and hordes of tourists, both of which I tend to dislike. So I boarded our train to Venice with some trepidation and less excitement than my fellow classmates. We arrived in the early evening, our water taxi transporting us on a glittering canals at sunset, and I began to rethink my initial qualms.
That’s not to say that Venice wasn’t overrun by people and nasty birds (I refer to pigeons as rats with wings). Yet, I began to appreciate that there must be something truly special to attract the numbers of people it does every year. For me, I found that special wonder in small moments throughout my days in Venice.
The Venice Biennale epitomized the draw of this water town. A massive contemporary art show which showcases the feats of artists globally, this show “May You Live in Interesting Times” stunned me in it’s scope and scale. The miles of buildings full of art overwhelmed me in the same way that Venice did, but entering specific rooms felt like the same quiet discovery as an empty bridge across a tiny Venice canal does.
I loved the Lithouanian exhibition “Sun & Sea (Marina), a building devoted to the art of Lithouanian artists Lina Lapelytė, Vaiva Grainytė, and Rugilė Barzdžiukaite. Viewing the exhibit involved waiting in an hour line, but once admitted the space was uncrowded. I entered a viewing balcony with zero expectation. Gazing down, I saw an artificially constructed sandy beach populated by living participants. They lazed on towels with books in hand, playing uno, throwing frisbee and eating grapes. Every few minutes one of the actors would break into opera, singing a silly and often satirical ballad about modern beach goers. The whole thing was absurd and wondrous, and made even better by my utter cluelessness to what I had stumbled upon.
I left the biennale in search of sustenance, and happened upon a shop selling freshly fried seafood in paper rolls. Again I waited in a long line dubiously, my efforts rewarded with a still hot cup brimming with polenta fries and delicately battered calamari. Each bite was salty and deliciously surprising, just like Venice.
Although our trip was exhausting (I walked 10 miles everyday) amid crowds of tourists, it surprised me in its moments of splendour. I thought I would never want to return to Venice, but on a call with my parents I found myself telling them that I couldn’t wait to attend the next Biennale in two years.
Ariel Brodey