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Venice from the Water: Architecture and Myth in an Early Modern City

By Daniel Savoy

In early mediaeval Venice myths grew up that the city was divinely constructed and that the buildings were somehow products of the water, having grown out of the lagoon in a magical way à la Venus on a seashell. The planning of subsequent buildings took into account these myths and furthered the illusory quality of the cityscape.

The early Venetians put a good deal of thought into making their home a jaw-dropping experience for foreign visitors. Visiting dignitaries might leave the mainland from four different quays, but after a tour of the Lagoon, often stopping for the night at an island monastery along the way just to draw out the suspense, they would approach the stunning Piazzetta and Doge’s Palace. According to the importance of the foreign visitor or group, there might be accompanying boats, or even an invitation to travel by the Doge’s own sumptuous boat, the Bucintoro. The view then opened like a stage set. Indeed, much of the Venetian scene was regarded as a theatrical experience.

We are more accustomed to the idea of axes and vistas in city planning in terms of grand avenues and boulevards – the Champs Elysées or The Mall – but in Venice the view from the water is the thing. There is a difference between a façade seen from a street where you can stop at will and one that you are rowed past in a rocking gondola.

According to Daniel Savoy, none of this happened just by chance. The routes to the city from the mainland were carefully planned for maximum impact and, having arrived in the city, the visitor would be shown a changing set of vistas on a progress down the Grand Canal, which winds in an angular backward S from the present train station to the Bacino or Bay of San Marco. The perspectives and angles change constantly because of the forward motion of the boat and the curves of the Canal. Savoy points out that the Rialto Bridge and every other lesser bridge ‘constitute nodes of architectural revelation’.

In addition to the awe-inspiring sight of the buildings there were other contributing features to the scene. The view differed according to the light and weather and tide, as the buildings along the canal were reflected in the shimmering water. Buildings seemed to rise out of the water or even float on it, and Savoy explains how a particular Venetian style of architecture encouraged this illusion. In the classical theories of architecture any vertical line should continue from the ground floor to the top of a building, so a columnar arrangement at the ground level should have corresponding structures on all the upper floors. Venetian architecture of the 15th and 16th centuries broke this rule, much to the distress of Daniele Barbaro, an architectural theorist of the day, by deliberately varying the patterns of decoration and structure and creating a misalignment of decorative forms. Instead of an impression of weight-bearing support, Venetian architecture tended to suggest an airiness and weightlessness that added to the illusion that these massive palazzi were somehow floating on the surface of the water.

Savoy picks up an interesting point about the use of rustication in Venetian architecture, which differs tellingly from the rusticated style used on the mainland. In Florence – as in the Palazzo Vecchio and the Palazzo Medici – rough-hewn stone was in fashion for the lower levels of an imposing building. In Venice rustication was not as chunky and rough as the mainland style but rather made of white Istrian stone and set in regular patterns like brick courses or chiselled into angular three-dimensional shapes. It was popular in Venice from the 15th to the 17th century and beyond and, ‘instead of “weighing down” the eye with large craggy blocks, it softens the façade, allowing the eye to move upward freely’.   Similarly, the Venetian style of long windows extending from floor to ceiling gave a lightness to the walls – ‘dissolved walls’ – as did the narrow cornices, so unlike the deep, heavy cornices on the mainland, common on Renaissance palaces in Florence and elsewhere.

After establishing some of the principles of aquatic building design, Savoy goes on to examine two urban projects of Andrea Palladio: the churches of San Giorgio Maggiore and Il Redentore. The first on the island of San Giorgio and the other on the Giudecca, both facing the Grand Canal and the Piazzetta at particular precise angles. Each was designed to be seen by people emerging from the Grand Canal or standing in the Piazzetta.

Daniel Savoy’s analysis of Venice is a work of scholarship that has the appealing look of a coffee table book. The comprehensive notes and bibliography should satisfy the most demanding reader, and the pictures and description of the architecture should delight anyone who loves Venice.

Venice from the Water: Architecture and Myth in an Early Modern City  by Daniel Savoy is published by Yale University Press, 2012. 143 pp., 154 colour & 50 mono illus.  ISBN: 978-0-300-16797-9