Non consecutive meditations on blogging / Venice & other matters briefly discussed

God, how tedious it is writing blogs!

So at least I have increasingly found over the last month or so. We’re just back from Venice. Such rich material! But I cannot just post some photos, accompanied by a few banal comments – such as the majority of bloggers seem to put out . . .  at least when they are not telling us how exciting and fulfilled their lives are: oh, keep it to yourself, do!

Sometimes I think that writing is a substitute for living: sometimes. Anyway, I’ve set up my easel, and have canvas, paints, brushes, and white spirit to hand. Materiality is what it’s all about: substance, stuff. And since everything seems to consist of matter – which in itself is infinitely more miraculous than wooden weeping statues of the Blessed Virgin Mary – that has to be alright, does it not?! (That combination of a question mark and an exclamation mark is called an interobang. It’s meant to be restricted to informal writing, but what the hell? I’ve just turned seventy, so I allow myself to do these things now.)

Truth seems to be in as much danger as it was under the Stasi. People lie in public to such an extent that truth’s currency is often fatally undermined. There are many suicides caused by the denials of the rich and powerful. And have you noticed that people in powerful positions who have committed crimes that would put the ordinary Joe behind bars, are said to have “Made mistakes”?

An early Venetian

There is something interesting about our holiday in Venice. I couldn’t sleep one night: not at all. At about four, I tried a whiskey from the fridge: but to no effect. I then tried a liqueur: still no effect.  Finally, I got up, and took to the rainy streets at 6.00. This was a curiously interesting experience as it happened. No tourists about; the houses, campi, etc. looking quite Utrillo–like in the grey morning light; and then the warm light of the interior of a cafe on the Riva degli Schiavoni, already open – in which I had a good cappuccino and the most delicious chocolate croissant (hot) that I’ve ever tasted. For half an hour I got completely lost, and found myself walking along workaday calle, fondamente, etc. – encountering only a few Venetian early workers. This is the Venice that scarcely any tourists ever see (which is to assume that tourists for the most part see much anyway.) 

Early morning walking is a good time for meditation. A sad meditation on that occasion: that there are losses that come out of the blue – like a strike of lightning – unforeseen and irreplaceable. A loss of friendship in this instance, and a reminder to heed Emerson’s advice to take “more wariness in our private estimates.”

The Venetian lagoon: a study in grey