Grab The Moments

My first week of one month in Venice seems to have flown by quickly. Sometimes I want to grab the moments and make time stand still. I feel I am in a special situation—living in a city I love, one that people the world over are attracted to visit.

From my apartment overlooking a busy "calli" or pedestrian avenue, I walk down a flight of stairs and open a door to the heart of the city. Within moments I am at Rialto Bridge, the main walkway across the Grand Canal which divides Venice and also serves as perhaps the grandest thoroughfare in the world.

Water busses, called vaporetto, travel up and down the Grand Canal, taking passengers. I have a boarding pass that I brought along from my previous stay but to my surprise I have barely used it. I am walking instead.

Today has been typical. I woke from nine hours of sleep at about 9 o'clock, made breakfast with eggs and prosciutto ham, and coffee. Then to the fish market, which is the main one, and only a couple minutes away. This being Saturday, it was very busy. I chose the fish stall I like best and waited in the crush of people, with my eye on some fresh "pesci". As I stood, something caught my attention—some of the fish were still alive and thrashing around on the ice. I felt a pang of sorrow for the little creature taken from the sea and dying in front of my eyes. A woman next to me bought a wide assortment of fish, squid and lobster. I imagined she owned a restaurant or something. Next I went to a nearby stall selling vegetables and bought fresh broccoli.

I was now very near the Rialto bridge, and went to take some photos. I have developed an odd hobby. I take pictures of people taking "selfie" pictures. If I stood on the bridge from morning until night I could probably make about 1000 photos of people, mostly couples, taking pictures of themselves, most often using poles with their smartphones attached. Some folks get a bit annoyed that I am in on their intimate moment, but today a Chinese man had a good laugh when he saw me taking a picture of him and his friend taking a picture of themselves.

On the way back, I stopped for a "pasticceria" pastry and "macchiatto," a type of expresso coffee with dollop of foamed milk on top.

Back at the apartment, I got back to work on a painting I am making. I bought my linen canvas at a local art supply store I like. In my kitchen I work on a sturdy marble table under good light, with additional light from windows nearby. Mid afternoon I stopped to nap for about forty minutes.

Usually, just before sunset I go out walking and take photos. Yesterday I took some pictures of gondolas moored along the Grand Canal, their silver prows gleaming in the fading light. But now, my painting was demanding attention so I did not go out. I finished the first stage, called an underpainting. The subject is from a photo I took of a "ponti" or small bridge over a canal. It is stone and just at the top two women are lounging. Behind them tall old buildings loom upward in the darkening twilight. Some windows are lit with a warm glow, and a street disappears behind.

Dinner was the fish and broccoli.

Haven't decided whether to go out. It's just me.

Heart Connected To Place

 

I am among Mexicans now. Each day I walk the cobbled streets and walkways of Guanajuato City where I am living. All manner of people greet me and I find if I make eye contact and smile even a little, a warm acknowledgement occurs with reciprocation.

The narrow passages wind about, and when I stop to buy meat at a carniceria (butcher shop), stop in a farmacia for personal incidentals, buy fruit or vegetables at a stand or pick up bread at a paneria, I get by with the little Spanish I know. If I don't understand the exact amount I owe, I reach in my pocket and pull out my change and they take the coins needed and wave me off with a smile.
Everything is cheaper than in the USA.

Tonight, Saturday, I wandered into the city centre (about a ten minute walk) and found street performers, happy crowds of families, all types of people, and roving groups of singers dressed in spectacular costumes with instruments entertaining groups of spectators, getting them to join in singing familiar songs.

I am quickly coming under the spell of this vibrant city. The quicker I assimilate into the culture, the happier I am. I don't like playing “tourist.”

Today I started a painting of a Mexican man leaning against a wall, wearing a broad brimmed hat, looking down at a paper in his hand. A flower pot with blooming plants is next to him and doorway behind. I have made my kitchen into an impromptu studio—it has a big table, is spacious with large windows lending plenty of light.

I am indulging my passion for street photography. Setting forth walking, sometimes for hours I disappear into the path ahead, rambling, only aware of light, texture, sound, the motions of people and the congruence of forms. It is easy to slip into THE DREAM. I am not aware of myself as separate; I am what I see as boundaries disappear. I enjoy taking my chances with odd pictures and look for poignant fleeting images that come and go quickly.

Sometimes I am surrounded by people with cameras, often smartphones attached to the end of sticks so they can take "selfies." I have no interest in this and I do not try and take great tourist pictures. There are photographers with much better equipment and more camera knowledge than I who will always do better. What I bring is my own way of seeing, and a heart connected to place.

Imagine Vividly

Gondola traffic in a narrow canal.

For many years now, when I awake from sleep I do not remember dreams. There was a time when I remembered and wrote prolifically in a dream journal. These days, perhaps my entire life is a journal and is not separated by boundaries—what happens in sleep is simply rolled into waking consciousness and woven into creativity. In conscious thought I imagine vividly.

Now, living in Venice, Italy, the waking hours are even more remarkably like fantasy. A huge window is in my kitchen and the first thing in the morning, I look out upon a small bridge that crosses over a canal below, which is often traveled by gondolas, the way it has been for centuries. Further on is a 1000 yer old stone paved campo lined with little shops and honored with an ancient church that sounds wonderful bell chimes.

When I first arrived in Venice, I bought a vaporetto (water-bus)  pass, but have hardly used it since I walk and explore. It is remarkable how little changed the city is from the last time I visited in 2008. Elegant instrumental groups continue holding court in the evenings at cafes on St. Marks Square, the Doges Palace gleams with gold mosaics, tourists from everywhere pour through the streets and empty starry-eyed onto the campos, and the air feels the same with a slightly pungent smell of sea and canals. One thing has changed and that is that many people are addicted to “selfies,” and walk around with smartphones attached to long rods taking videos of themselves as they go from place to place. They can't take their eyes off of themselves and I wonder how they see anything else!

Tourists, completely tuned into cameras.