Venezia, Through the Looking Glass by Corinne Spector

Venezia, Through the Looking Glass

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Corinne Spector

Editorial Team Batsceba Hardy - Chief editor Michael Kennedy Fabio Balestra Keef Charles Concept Batsceba Hardy Graphic Design Batsceba Hardy Massimo Giacci

Progressive Publishing House All texts and illustrations contained in this book are subjected to copyright.

Any form of utilization beyond the narrow limits imposed by the law of copyright and without the express permission of the publisher is forbidden and will be prosecuted. This applies particularly to reproduction, microfilming or the storage and processing in electronic system.

Adult Content The photographs on this book are realized by capturing moments of daily life in public places without a lucrative purpose, and with exclusively cultural and artistic intent.

Venezia Through the Looking Glass Corinne Spector

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I was in Venice for the first time 15 years ago for a romantic weekend. Venice, late February 2020, during the Festival of masks, looks like a stage set. I felt a constant duality in what I was seeing – on the stage, people from all the over the world dressed in lavish costumes who felt the need to release their stresses and to be silly, to trade their identities with masks – to be a young woman instead of an old one, or a politician, a duchess, or a poet. Perhaps a fisherman, or a nobleman instead of a servant. You can be someone else, whoever you like.

And if it’s not clear who is who behind the masks, this creates a feeling that everyone is equal…

However, what really captured my attention was life back-stage, behind the scenes, the daily life of the Venetians. I felt like Alice in Wonderland on a whimsical adventure, walking around the maze of massive brick walls, peering into hidden courtyards, hopping from step to step on the cobblestones. The narrow alleyways led me to hidden corners in the shadows of Venice.

Each alleyway was a story waiting to be told, a story for me to discover.

It was like being in a book, where every detail of the illustration comes to the forefront.

One by one, piece by piece, I was introduced into a totally different place…

I could smell the odor of fresh fish cooking nearby in my nostrils, the aroma of almond cakes straight from the balcony above. A moment later, I caught the sweet scent of laundry powder from a young woman’s baby stroller as they passed. I looked closer, noticing her red scarf and, peeking inside I saw a sleeping baby.

Then I began seeing who actually lives there… In glimpses of the residents’ day-to-day lives, I noticed quite a few elderly people. Here they were, carrying their shopping home, hanging their hand-washed clothing out on lines. Peering into the windows, I could see them cooking lunch on the stove, the scent of bread wafting out from a kitchen. Here a woman pushed an older man’s wheelchair into the sunshine outside so he could see everyone who’s passing by.

And like Alice, I noticed so many intriguing details – the sculpted iron face holding the shutter open, a carved wooden door, a curtain blowing in place of a door, a small laundry rack attached to the side of a house. I felt the discovery and wonder of a deeply personal experience, not at all like one of hundred of thousands who come to Venice each year.

All of these details can be seen on the backdrop of the marvelous architecture of medieval Venice, where the light filters in and highlights the many angles and shapes, which the people then pass through on their way.

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A very tall man with a black hat becomes lost in the shadows of anchors on the huge walls.

He turns and comes to stand with a church behind him. It wasn’t clear whether he was confused or perhaps the church itself had gotten lost, because suddenly the church was just a shaft of light…

Like Alice, I spotted a huge cat nearby, not far from a tiny elderly woman.

And I saw two old men with baskets, returning from somewhere… Their slow-paced walking invited me to become curious alongside them. “Where am I actually hurrying to?” I asked myself, so I slowed my pace, my camera tagging along.

I saw what seemed to be the loneliness in some of the older residents, but also the sense of belonging and continuity of the Venetian population. I could sense both silence and sadness, yet in the next moment I saw kids playfully wiping ice cream on one another’s faces.

I also saw artisans in workshops, creating things particular to Venice – like a man making long oars for gondolas, and a woman bringing a mask to life.

With sunrise, in the special dawn light we saw people dressed in their costumes on the pier, wearing their evening wear so early in the morning. Like Alice in Wonderland, I thought “Why, sometimes I have believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast!”

This duality is intriguing – and it mirrors the duality of the city itself – one moment it is alive and colorful, yet the moment these parades, events, and focal points moved aside, it was like being in a theater within a theater.

As I was there, rumors of the corona virus began; we heard that it hopped from China to Northern Italy, and suddenly we became more sensitive – is anyone sneezing?

In the next moment, we forgot all about it because we were here right now, it was wonderful and magical, so we just continued to observe the wonders all around us.

I came back home one day before the Carnival was closed, two days earlier than they'd planned. I went into self-isolation at home upon my return, just in case. From the bright life in Venice, back to the silence and the alone-ness of the quarantine in my house, in my rooms.

All was well but it left me a lot of time for reflection. As always, I felt how we are never satisfied with all that we have – our health, our homes, our families, our loves, our lovers.

The simplicity that remained in Venice, after the costumes had moved aside, and the modesty and softness, remind me that this is how life should be lived.

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I was born in 1961 and grew up in Jaffa, and Bat Yam, now living in Shoham, Israel. As the eldest of six sisters, I made up and told them stories. Now I use my camera to tell stories, and people say they see whole stories in my photos.

I have been taking courses in photography for the past five years, including nature, documentary, cultures, and so on. I have been focusing on street photography in the last two years. Photography enables me to get a moment of feeling into one frame, to feel something and be excited by it. I am pleased with a photo when I find more layers of meaning each time I look. During photography there is a decisive moment in which there is a story, something unusual or a connection. Nothing is staged, and with all the movement, I insist on maintaining a strong aesthetic sense.

Photography allows us to feel like we are preserving this moment in time – for a bit longer. I feel that my best photo is the one I have not yet taken‌

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