I read recently that English is a morphologically poor language. Perhaps so. But in every other sense it deals well with endings. In fact it could be argued that English is to the languages of the world what Venice is to its cities; a splendidly improbable confection of styles and intentions that somehow works. Despite age and weathering and all the despoilations of the modern urban turn. And a myriad other reasons. But essentially English facilitates wonderfully what Venice is all about; the conflictions of endings. The romantics of the 19th century knew it for what it was and more recently in a wonderfully ironic way so do the citizens of La Serenissima.
Venice has been on my mind a lot lately. Partly because of my recent visit and partly because I’m re-reading – in snatches of time stolen from other things – Invisible Cities. As a piece of writing it continues to draw me back and draw me in. Not many books do so.
So while leaving Venice is perhaps always a statement on hope of return, it was also an ending of sorts this time. Been there, written the postcards, bought the t-shirt & the locally produced, leather-bound journal. I’ve even taken morning coffee by a window onto San Marco; like a million others. And then there’s the mask…
And what a mask!
With seven days of vaporetto journeys behind me, some wonderful personal memories and a greatly increased understanding of the ontological challenges of generating a worthwhile repository tucked away in the belfield brain, I rolled out of Plazza Roma on route to Marco Polo International. Leaving Isidora and Share.TEC to others.
So perhaps there is some small satisfaction in crediting things, and moving on.