Strange to say, it’s on Halloween that we really miss the USA most. They do a small-scale observance here in Italy, clearly half-hearted. You see some roba in the check-out lane of the grocery store, but no one seems to be buying it. Roberta says H’Ween vibe has only been around ten years or so, a symptom, to her mind, of this goofy Americanization one sees more and more in old Italia. Other manifestations include box stores, giant SUV’s, fast food. When something becomes screwed up by an excess of U.S. influence, they call it americanato.

I always think of D.C. Berman’s wedding in Louisville, KY., ‘02 I think it was. Lawren, Gate, and I toured the city the night we arrived- it was right before H’Ween. L. knew of this great novelty store from a time years before when she was in Louisville visiting Bob Nastanovitch. Can’t remember the name, but what an incredible place. They had every H’Ween accessory you could imagine. There was a whole aisle devoted to gory stuff in gummy latex, severed hands and bits of guts. There’s nothing like that here in Verona.

Mary’s trip to Venice wasn’t quite as exciting as ours.

We lucked upon this well-curated show at the Museo Fortuny – ARTEMPO – WHERE TIME BECOMES ART.

Detail of installation by an artist from Ghana named El Anatsui.

a little Hans Bellmer-ish … but not as creepy.

Steve attempts to pick up a radio station signal on his own at the Mexican Pavilion.

We are ‘drawing’ in the signal (har). As we touch, the signal becomes stronger.

Surveillance cameras detect and record our movements …

.. creating a ripple effect with the chairs (the seats raised and lowered like barber’s chairs).
Hey NFL fans, next time you want to make the perfect ‘wave,’ you should borrow this from Rafael!

More on Rafael Lozano-Hemmer at Palazzo Van Axel.

more photos coming soon.

Must summarize this lovely stretch of time with Mom, Lawren, and Mary the Dog in old Venezia. The best part was getting up in the AM and walking with Mary, seeing the daily life of the city creeping like fingers of light through the calle and the campo. Mom was entranced and got around like a champ. Crossing these dozens of canals is no easy task, not for anyone.

Our last full day, October 19th I think it was, we took the vaporetto to the island of Torcello. A long boat ride, great chance to really feel the lagoon. We went past Murano and Burano, found ourselves in the dreamy lap of the water with the distant buildings like an emerald mirage. Torcello is an awesome, ancient place, silent and calm now though at one time it was a hub of commerce. There is a venerable chiesa with Byzantine mosaic, stone remains of Roman foundations, the Throne of Attila, the more recent ghost of old E. Hemingway, who came out here to hunt.

On the boat ride back to Venice, we are treated to a Baroque sunset, piles of clouds and a smoldering orange which somehow seamelessly blended to bird’s egg blue. It’s the kind of weather event folks cross the ocean for, it’s why you spend an early evening in the Lagoon of Venice. We’re so glad Mom got to see it.

One of four slaves bearing the Doge’s tomb in the Frari.

We are in Venice by 11am. L. has contacted a fellow named Stefano who will rent us an apartment for our stay. We take the #82 Vaporetto to the Rialto stop, where we are to meet him. Stefano is short in stature, well-dressed, with a bit of stubble. He has his buddy Dante with him, we think they are business partners. Dante’s nickname is Baldo, but he seems a little annoyed at being called this. Is it a tease about his half-naked head? ‘Baldo’ as in Monte Baldo, on Lake Garda, actually means ‘bold’. In any case, we’ll use Dante.

We follow them through the winding, teeming streets of San Marco and Castello to a door in one of those crazy, narrow walkways (it’s called a calle in Venetian dialect). We are just a few steps from Piazza San Marco and Santa Maria Formosa, across from an internet cafe’ and an English-themed sports bar. The pad is adequate, if tiny, with a loft bed and closet-sized kitchen.

After some tramezzini, we visit briefly the Chiesa San Marco, with it’s wonky slate-grey interior. All the gilt accents in the dying light are the exact color of waning glory, opulence tarnished by the indifferent hand of time. Along the heaving waters of the canal, we find a Billa supermarket and stock up for our stay.

Yesterday, we listened to a re-transmission of Sunday’s glorious Packer game. Green and Gold pull out a strong win against the Redskins at Lambeau. Brett Favre, the ageless one, is playing well this season (turned 38 October 10th).

We are leaving for Venice crap of dawn tomorrow, but tonight there is a festa for Rosa’s birthday at their new pad on Via Mameli. I give them two little framed drawings for a house-warming. One of them is a three-headed lady with six eyes from my Parona show. Vasily and Catalina say that it looks like a portrait of Rosa when she’s mad. There is much fun and hilarity. The apartment is large and warm, if not yet sistemato. Home to the Vicolo not too late.

Another fun day on the road. Mom is suitably impressed by Scarpa’s tomb (the Tomba di Brion-Vega). She cannot believe it’s been just kinda dropped here in the middle of nowhere. We do a drive-by of Villa Barbaro, and wander the gardens of another Palladian joint, called the Villa Emo. There’s a vibe of autumn in the tame woods surrounding Emo, tall trees with cleared forest floor, leaves starting to drift down in numbers, fields stripped and prepped for the next planting.

We do a fast giro in the cool city of Treviso, a lovely Centro at passeggiata time with street lamps and store lights glowing in the fine old walkways. Mom stops in at the flagship Benetton store and buys a lovely sweater.