The super foggy morning gave a moodiness to our view, but there was no rain predicted so we got up and got out in a timely fashion.

Our first goal was to revisit the Palazzo Franchetti and see the exhibits we had missed there previously.  On our way we stopped in at the North Macedonia exhibit.  It was, literally, a room full of duck feathers!  

Espresso at Le Café in Campo Santo Stefano is always so good!  The first show we saw was called “Breasts.”  It was funded by Intimissimi (the Italian Victoria’s Secret). Here is a photo of the entrance hall—no filter on the color:

They had a nice, varied collection of  breasts in art including a beautiful black and white Irving Penn photo and a Mapplethorpe. I always enjoy the quirky Cindy Sherman:

And this Dalí called Nude with Snail Breasts made me smile:

The next major show was called Your Ghosts are Mine and was put on by Qatar. Its purpose was to expose the art world to Arab cinema. Works of more than 40 artists, from many countries, were shown in 10 rooms, mostly with multiple screens.  It was largely depressing and it was just not for me.  I do not want to be someone who buries my head in the sand, but this was not vacation viewing.  The entrance was so interesting with the background of the opulent palazzo:

We shook off the blues with a walk through Dorsoduro—Campo San Barnaba, there is still the fruit and vegetable boat and Campo Santa Margherita.  And, what do you know?  We were at Il Grifone, the wonderful leather shop where I found a great purse. Wonderful Ken said it can be my birthday present. The son has taken over the business, but he did call his dad to see if he could make the style I liked in black.  You can see it in the window in bright blue.  

Walking back towards home, I bought another cheap bracelet from the same place where all the Slow Trav women bought jewelry back in the day and had a good talk with the owner.

Bar Tiziano is right on the busy path between Cannaregio and Rialto but it is always filled with locals.  We got tramezzini, a delicious plate of vegetables, a beer and a Spritz (best in Venice according to Elisa, and I have to agree). There were many graduates with their laurel wreaths on the heads and flowers in their arms parading by as we ate:

Came home for a nice rest time.  We really had to push ourselves to go out again, but we did.  Ken noticed a Biennale sign for the Cuba exhibit right down the fondamenta.  It was an experience.  You go through a black curtain into a large black room and there is a spotlight on a white rock.  That’s it!  We came out and had a nice talk with the attendant there about the meaning of it (it’s all about contrasts and perception), so we went back in to see if we’d missed something. We hadn’t.

We came home and had the last of the bean soup and salumi and bread and got in bed early.  

The Biennale—from the Sublime to the Ridiculous!