Costumes Complete - Through the City
e don’t seem to be getting over We don’t seem to be getting over the jet lag. I’ve slept until eleven, today — Rose slept until one. Fortunately, Carnevale is an afternoon/evening event.
We don our more complete costumes — I’ve swapped out the cargo khakis and cycling tennies for dress slacks and shoes. It works better with the cape, I think. Rose has figured out how to keep her hood up by clamping it under the top part of her mask. We do mirror checks and then egress out into the narrow walkway leading to the Via Garibaldi, capes billowing out behind us. I can’t help but think of Amadeus, and we know the effect is working when people walking on the main road happen to glance down our alleyway and are stopped dead in their tracks.
They can’t, however, see the silly grins on our faces underneath
the masks. That’s good. It would certainly ruin the effect.
We make our way back to the fondamenta, the wide walkway along the huge Canale di San Marco. It (the walkway) changes names every section, over no less than seven minor canale between our neighborhood and San Marco, the last stretch of which is significant: it is the Rio del Palazzo behind the Ducale Palazzo (the Doge’s palace.)
Looking from the Ponte della Paglia down the canale you can view the Ponte Sospira — the Bridge of Sighs, so named because prisoners were escorted over it prior to their execution.
So we just call it the fondamenta.
Once again, we enter the crush.
Many more costumes out, today, and a nice bright sun to show off the glitter. Some make use of the gondola docks just outside the square, others stand on the bases of monuments to elevate themselves above the crowd. This is helpful as it helps isolate them from the noisy background. We join the press and elbow our way to positions for shots.
The creativity is stunning. One girl has affixed herself at the base of one of the monuments. Her mask, hood, costume - and “alter-ego” doll — is festooned with pinwheel florets, jewels, sequins, and even seashells. She is a breathing work of art,
and she holds her head, regally.
Couples work as teams, with costumes that either complement or play off each other. Some have gauze butterfly wings, some flowing glittering robes. All have the impassive masks that imbue the wearer with the sense of mystique.
They could be grinning under there, like us, but outwardly, you’d never know it.
You can’t call the masks expressionless. Certainly impassive, as if the wearer were lost in his or her own thoughts and impervious to outside influences. Much is conveyed by the wearer’s carriage. Some just stand there, but some have a more theatrical bent and use their hands in poses, or tilt their heads to connote assertiveness or inquisitiveness. As a photographer, I appreciate the ones who put something into their posing.
They’re all fantastically elegant and poised, although we note a few attempts here and there among the capite censi to infuse a bit of New Orleans-style raunch into the landscape. A pair of fellows in drag with fake breasts kind of thing. We ignore them.
Apparently, some years ago, there was much more of this along with drunken partying, brought mostly from the younger crowd on the mainland. It got bad enough the city fathers simply stopped the boat service.
Not a bad move, in our humble opinions. It would be sad to see this elegant and beautiful display devolve into just another wild blatant glandular sex-crazed party. One contributing factor, of course, is the weather — you can’t expose a lot of skin in the northern European chill for long and retain your composure.
Not that there isn’t sexuality in the Venetian version — but it’s different. It’s an almost forgotten sensuality — renaissance romance with grace and mystique. If anything, the women are ultra feminine in their carriage — alluring, refined. The men are stalwart — strong supports, but restrained, and ever the gentlemen.
ostumes seem to fall into four categories, Costumes seem to fall into four categories, with side variations:
Fantastic, decorative
These are the ones on the calendars and the postcards. Yards of fabric and gauze, lace and brocade, and always masked, in colors and textures ranging from wild primaries and satins to metallics or stark whites.
The wearers put a significant amount of effort into these — it must be a year-round pre-occupation to dream these up and execute them.
Traditional
Black cape, bauta, white mask (called larva, interestingly enough) and tri-cornered hat. We’ve seen male and female versions of these.
Sixteenth, seventeenth century nobility costumes.
Fantastic embroidered coats, dresses, miles of ruffles, and fringe on edges and huge feathered hats. The wearer may or may not be masked — several are powdered or based authentically with makeup. Wigs are predominant. Crystal topped walking sticks and other props are not unusual.
This is the chance to retro back to the sixteenth century and a play at nobility. Often, the costumes are rented (see the “What Does it Cost?” appendix). Some look out of place on bland, modern faces. But on others, the character reflection is nothing less than startling.
Something else, again
Well, it is a costume party. Roman centurions, clowns friars — we even saw a band of “native Americans” that looked like they’d escaped from Buffalo Bill’s European tour.
They’re fun, innovative, and add dimension.
Minimalist
Almost doesn’t qualify as a costume by the previous standards, but I’m a stickler for rounding out classifications. Mostly worn by visitors/tourists — big floppy hats, maybe a mask, not much more.
After the sun gets too low for interesting pictures, we take to the streets and alleyways to explore the city and view the shops — maybe find something else to add to the costumery. Rose is inspired — she wants to buy all of the masks. They’re all wonderful. But, I don’t know — I haven’t seen any that strike me as any more fascinating than the one she has.
We’re getting used to each other’s masked personna. The first day we were strange but wonderful apparitions to each other and to ourselves. The second day, we’re getting comfortable. I suppose that’s how the tradition grew of changing costumes every day. A nice idea, but it’s out of our pocket book and packing sensibilities — we have to get this stuff home.
Some observations —
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We hear a lot of francaise and deutsch, mostly in the period costumery. During the earlier promenade, the emcee interviewed many of the participants and I was surprised to hear so many came from elsewhere around the world — France, Germany, England — even Australia and South Africa were represented. And these were major participants, not just visiting “tourists”, per se.
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As we wander the streets, we’re stopped and asked to pose for pictures. Having been on the other side of the camera, waiting in frustration for people to get positioned properly, we’re more than happy to oblige. Besides, we’re instant rock stars!
In Venezia, we must get properly lost, and we do. Once past the Ponte della Rialto, we dissolve into the “gray northeastern zone” part of the city we haven’t quite figured out. It’s getting late — I want to find the Academia and go back that way because I know the route from there, but signs keep herding us out to the railway station. Finally, we give up and backtrack, following the signs to San Marco and back to our apartment for dinner.
Day three draws to a close as we stride back down the narrow corridor to our apartment under the artificial lights, capes billowing out behind us in the light, crisp breeze.
“Rex!” I mutter under my breath. An orchestra materializes in my head, playing the interludes. Drop a fourth. Add a chorus — 150 voice minimum:
“Rex!” Ah. Of course. Common time, full orchestra, unison, descending minor scale in dotted eighth/sixteenth notes. In time to the clicking of my heels on the cobbled pavimente and the puffs of vapor dissipating from under my mask into the cold air.
Crescendo until, at the bottom of the descent, chorus rejoins in thundering resolution:
“Rex tremendae maestasis!”
It’s a fantasy.