By train from Vienna. Up the hill to Innsbruck. Through the yodelling country and the Brenner Pass, and down past the Dolomites and grape growers into Venice. We all know that Venice has lived for over a thousand years in a converted swamp, but it still comes as a surprise on coming out of the train station to not see any roads, busses and taxis. Instead, a tangle of boats bouncing on choppy green waves smelling of the sea and fish. A thirty-minute ride on Vaporetto No. 4.1 lands us at the Arsenale terminal, a short walk from our Airbnb home for the week. Wifi, tick etc. etc.

Venice rule #3 – “Those who walk naked down the streets and fields can be fined.” Venice rule #5 – “The dirty dog must have a master who cleans.” On the island there are, of course, no cars. As well, cycles, skate boards and skates are forbidden. The trams, trains and motor vehicles that use the causeway between the mainland and the island are all quarantined in a sort of marshalling car park. Contrary to Vienna, where people are quiet and orderly, at the tram terminal a crush of boarding passengers tries unsuccessfully to enter the tram before the sardines on board can dismount. The low slung three carriage trams curiously only have one rail. We think the rail is use for electricity and guidance and that they must have bus tyres secreted somewhere.

In Peggy’s Garden

Had the good fortune to meet up with old friends Norma and Corrie and their ex-pat friends who all have real estate here. They introduced us to Aperol spritzers at the Glass house, Squid ink pasta, proper tira-mi-su and the good life. Ellen, a Dutch woman, has a sculpture exhibit at Palazzo Mora in an event associated with the Biennial. Requested a route from Maps.me to take us from home to Palazzo Mora, half an hour walk away. All good until the dotted line crossed a canal where there was no bridge. We didn’t reach the Mora on that day, but with the benefit of woman’s intuition we did find our way home.

A couple of days later, took advantage of a Vaporetto day ticket to visit Peggy Guggenheim’s collection on the other side of the canal. Although she died over thirty years ago, her collection of surrealist, abstract and impressionist art continues to grow. Many of the works by Pollock, Picasso, Klee, Kandinsky, Chagall, Brancusi, Braque, Rothko, Giacometti and husband Max Ernst that she collected soon after the war are still on show. Then on to the Mora to seek out Ellen’s sculpture.

Ellen’s Sculpture

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Party time on the Addiction

In a place like this on the Med you expect to see boats. From day to day the superyachts come and go at the Venice Yacht pier along the way from the Arsenale terminal. Two of interest were Addiction, hosting glamorous parties and Ace, larger, hardly more discrete, which is available for charter through her agents for €1,000,000.00 per week off season. An ideal charter yacht for socialising and entertaining with family and friends. Accommodates 12 guests, served by a crew of up to 28. The captain and his off-sider would wear smart uniforms. The deckies would all be handsome and so polite. The chef would be Shannon Bennett himself. Anyone for caviar and bubbles? A cynic might wonder if Addiction was funded by drugs and Ace by gambling. Couldn’t possibly be – they are all so clean and shiny.

Dining on the Ace

Venice is awash with art, and not only at Biennial time. Art appears in the venues, the Palazzos, the Galleries, shops and in the public domain. Art of every conceivable style and medium. At the Giardini many nations have permanent pavilions that usually have plenty of space to showcase the work of their currently chosen artist. And then there is the Arsenale, the high altar of the Biennale.  The Arsenale was where ships were made for about 500 years. In the olden days when the Venetian fleet extended to about 3000 boats, The Arsenale could turn out a complete galleon in 24 hours. Consequently, the covered in space is very wide, very high and very very long. Inspiring sculptors to make huge and very impressive creations. Media include wood, clay, metal, textile, video, performance and all of the visual arts. The exhibits by turns can inspire, intimidate, challenge, annoy, encourage, stimulate,  bore and even make you smile. Yes, but is it art? There are a number of installations, including videos, that are in effect a collection of found objects. In another context, they could simply be seen as rubbish and swept up accordingly. Around the streets, there have occasionally been piles of rubbish that might have enjoyed critical acclaim if placed on the clean marble floor of a Palazzo. It is often difficult to know. To be fair, the artist usually tells a tale of the significance of his or her installation. Does this mean that the art is in the story rather than in the rubbish? That the medium is actually words rather than rubbish?

Arsenale installation

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My reading of the United States pavilion at the Giardini may differ from what they intended, but I was too shy to seek clarification. The forecourt looked like a tidied-up building site with a little rubbish and a few discarded paper cups. In the middle of the floor of the second room there was a pile of scrunched up black and gold papier mâché titled Medusa.

Medusa

The third room was made up to suggest an ornate church or palace. Scrunched up black and gold papier mâché was used to suggest the ornate gold baroque decoration. What were they saying? “We don’t care what we look like”. None of the staff had bothered to look outside? “Things that appear to be black and gold and glittery are not always what they seem to be”. Whatever.

Don’t know why, but continually drawn to gawp at the grand old churches and palaces. Latest target was the Doge’s palace. Bought tickets on-line a few days ago – jumping queues and all that. On arriving at the palace, smugly bypassed the very long static line waiting for the release of the day’s tickets. Flash iPhone with e-ticket at the man on the gate. He waves me through to the security man with his Darth Vader wand.

Woman at the final gate says “no, go in there”. Went in there to be told by a tall happy man “You have to get printed ticket”. “But how?” I shrugged. “Out there, turn left, turn left” He grinned. Turning left and turning left and walking a couple of hundred metres, stumbled on an internet café (remember those?). The internet man took my phone, went punch, punch and €1 later I had a printed ticket. Back to the head of the queue, past the line of poor souls who still hadn’t moved, past the gate man, past Darth, to the final gate woman. “Go in there” she says, without smiling.

Happy man takes the printout and says “Go to that counter”. Finally receive little ticket with barcode. Final gate woman smiles at last and entry is achieved. Great entertainment and the palace tour was well worth all of the flapping about. It was like this – there were those who lived in obscene grandeur, and those who didn’t amuse the ‘in’ set were sent over the bridge of sighs to the dungeons. And cold and hard dungeons they certainly were.

The following presentation at the Arsenal is definitely entertaining. But, in your opinion, is it art?