Giu­lia An­drea­ni /

Ar­tist, Pa­ris

L'officiel Art - - Venise Seen By... -

I was born in Ve­nice, cli­ni­cal­ly dead. Well, in the sub­urbs of Ve­nice. There was a lot of snow on that day and – rare enough to be men­tio­ned – the la­goon was fro­zen. The mal del ponte (the bridge si­ck­ness) in the fog and the sun­set. I have cros­sed that Mus­so­li­nian Ponte della li­ber­tà thou­sands of times. Ve­ne­tian people hate it be­cause it links the ci­ty to the cam­pa­gna, the main land of the coun­try bump­kins. For a few mi­nutes, I would feel in a kind of limbo, an in-bet­ween, out of time. The fee­ling is ve­ry strange and the sight ama­zing. On one side Ve­nice, that “whore with rot­ten teeth” as Ez­ra Pound used to call it; on the other, that en­or­mous pe­tro­che­mi­cal com­plex. Eve­ry­thing fades in the co­lours of the la­goon. No work in the Bien­nale has ever ma­na­ged to equate this im­pres­sion, even if Ola­fur Elias­son's work in 2005 was quite good. Ar­me­ni­ty, the Ar­me­nian pa­vi­lion on the Is­land of San Laz­za­ro, Me­lik Oha­nian's project in par­ti­cu­lar.

I am al­so ea­ger to dis­co­ver the Ita­lian pa­vi­lion. I've heard that the work of pain­ter Ni­co­la Sa­mo­ri will be ex­hi­bi­ted. Ita­lian Pa­vi­lion Cu­ra­tor: Vin­cen­zo Trione. Pa­di­glione Ita­lia, Tese delle Ver­gi­ni at Ar­se­nale. The Gal­le­rie dell'Ac­ca­de­mia that contains the col­lec­tion of the School of Fine Arts with its mas­ter­pieces such as The Mi­racle of the Slave (al­so known as The Mi­racle of St. Mark, 1548) by Tin­to­ret­to. I had the great for­tune to go to classes in the his­to­ri­cal head­quar­ters of the school, next to the mu­seum. Af­ter that – and that's what you get when you live in a mu­seum ci­ty – the class­rooms were mo­ved to ano­ther lo­ca­tion, close to Pun­ta della Do­ga­na, cal­led the In­cu­ra­bi­li: a for­mer psy­chia­tric hos­pi­tal then a jail for ju­ve­nile de­lin­quents. The word means “the ones that can­not be cu­red”… not bad for young ar­tists! Gal­le­rie dell'Ac­ca­de­mia Cam­po della Ca­ri­tà, 1050 gal­le­rieac­ca­de­mia.org Scuo­la grande di San Roc­co where one can ad­mire a beau­ti­ful group of pain­tings by Tin­to­ret­to. It's so­me­thing of a ri­tual for me to vi­sit them eve­ry time I go back to Ve­nice.

I real­ly love the Spa­zio Ve­do­va, a strange mu­seum de­si­gned by Ren­zo Pia­no de­di­ca­ted to this in­for­mal Ve­ni­tian pain­ter. Fon­da­zione Ve­do­va Dor­so­du­ro, 42 - fon­da­zio­ne­ve­do­va.org

The Bot­te­gon is the wine shop where art school stu­dents like me used to drink a lot of wine and spritz af­ter class. They have great cic­chet­ti (small snacks). It's lo­ca­ted op­po­site the Sque­ro where gon­do­las are made.

Ponte delle tette, the “bridge of the tits” was the sexy neigh­bou­rhood of the Se­re­nis­si­ma Re­pub­bli­ca di Ve­ne­zia. The le­gend says that the cour­te­sans would un­veil their charms at the win­dows to en­tice the pas­sers-by… Ponte delle tette, Ses­tiere San Po­lo San­ta Ma­ria dei Mi­ra­co­li is a ve­ry well-hid­den church. Its ni­ck­name is “the je­wel box”. San­ta Ma­ria dei Mi­ra­co­li - Can­na­re­gio, 6074 I love the dark side of Ve­nice, and I must men­tion Zo­na Ban­di­ta. It's a pa­laz­zo that was tur­ned in­to a kind of squat where a lot of ar­tists used to live and work. I spent a lot of time there, pain­ting and al­most li­ving there. There is a fres­co of Ceres and Bac­chus on the cei­ling and a great view on the Grand Ca­nal. In the end it was quite chic, ex­cept for the jun­kies that so­me­times slept on the floor. Fon­da­men­ta dei Ta­bac­chi San­ta Croce

Rio San Gi­ro­la­mo, a ca­nal on the banks of which one can sun­bathe, one of the lo­ve­liest parts of the Can­na­re­gio neigh­bou­rhood where I used to live.

Rio Ma­rin which is of lit­tle in­ter­est… but where I cros­sed paths with my great love, a fo­res­tie­ro – this is how we call stran­gers in Ve­nice. When I think about it my gly­cae­mia cer­tain­ly gets hi­gher.

“One of the grea­test emo­tions I have ever felt: on the Ponte della li­ber­tà. On one side, Ve­nice, that ‘whore with rot­ten teeth’ as Ez­ra Pound cal­led it; on the other, that huge pe­tro­che­mi­cal com­plex.”

GIU­LIA AN­DREA­NI, LES SEPT SOEURS, 2011, acry­lic on can­vas, 200 x 250 cm, Col­lec­tion Con­seil Gé­né­ral de l'Eure.

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