I was listening to an Alan Watts lecture ( a very poetic one). He was describing his love of the water. For him, love of water equals love of life. And this is exactly how I feel. Many times I imagined myself living by the sea, in a tropical place and just be and work all day in the water. Live -and sleep even- in the water, if possible. Only I would not like it to be very cold (and that is why my fantasy is taking place in a tropical paradise). While I was working on this photographic investigation, having just returned from a wetter than usual Venice -after November’s exceptionally high tide- I had still very vivid the image of glass windows wet from the inside, as the water that was trapped-in tried to get out, trapping itself again in the windows. And in my mind I knew that years of concentrated resentment by the Venetians about the Disneyland quality of their city, were probably the reason the waters rise so high, to purify and clean. Seeing little boats filled with destroyed refrigerators and washing machines going up and down the canals was poetry as well, a poetry with the same surreal quality of Alan Watts’ lecture. But then, a photographic investigator is trained to see these things, and even report them, even though she knows that her Venetian friends will probably resent her views and deny to take responsibility for what was manifesting around them. As up, so down, as inside, so outside.
