this city breathes
this city breathes. its alleys open to hidden squares, the sharpened sunlit houses, a water surface, a passage, then, enclosed again. light penetrates in courtyards and casts moving water patterns on a wall. half open doors invite me in and from a corridor a window leads to water. reflections, colors of laundry on a line, a crowd of people murmurs on a sidewalk, a next turn turns to stone. sunlit paint on old facades, the dark stones of the passage that never see the sun but receive our feet, feet of thousands passing through this city’s silent streets.
this city breathes, it opens and closes, it burns and invites, demands waiting and wandering, meeting and gathering, and being alone. embarked on this floating, breathing city, the floating ideas of architects, compressed in one moment, in the sheer surface of an old arsenal and pavilions in a garden: the elements of architecture.
this city breathes. its windows open, curtains and people and plants, its walls dilapidated but colorful, its floors weathered by water, its ceiling the counter form of rooflines cut by light, its stairs crossing bridges or stepping down to water, its corridors the narrow alleys in shadow, its balconies the stages of urban life. for a moment we are parts of this organism, walking on streets trodden for centuries and cherishing sunlit meals, the daily rhythm of the streets, floating on water and get lost in between architecture and the very elements of urban life.
On the occasion of the Venice Biennale, 2014