Venice, the best part

After all the active and often political installations around the city, we found some calm relief on the island of San Giorgio Maggiore. Several years ago, the occupants of the monastery there decided to host exhibitions of contemporary art, including an installation in the center of the church crossing. This year the artist was Sean Scully. First I was surprised at the bright colors of the huge structure in the center of the church.

Looking up from inside the Scully

Then I was increasingly touched by his works in groups in various rooms of the monastery, by his stained glass windows, and by the monochrome boxy structures in various open spaces. Perhaps the juxtaposition of these abstract works with the Renaissance sculptures and paintings gave them added gravitas; I can't say; I'm not sure what it was. 

Walking around the monastery became surprisingly moving, just via paintings in blocks of richly muted colors. Even now, looking at some of my images and the details showing his brush strokes, I feel a tightening in my chest.

Next we visited the exhibition at Le Stanze del Vetro, the museum of glass on the island, of works by the important but not well-known French glass master, Maurice Marinot. Marinot's techniques evolved and developed over a career from 1911 to 1934. He lived from 1882 to 1960, but stopped making glass in 1934, when the glassworks he used closed down. He worked a lot with bubbles, carved glass, and thick, dense vessels, constantly exploring new techniques, always in the form of vessels.

Finally, toward the end of the island we saw the exhibition of works by Alberto Burri. I particularly wanted to see this exhibition because we have visited his masterpiece, the Cretto, in the earthquake-destroyed village of Gibellina in Sicily, and found it impressive.

Alberto Burri, Gibellina, Cretto, 1985-2015

Alberto Burri, Grande Sacco, 1952, with details

Earlier works make use of found objects and are abstract compositions, but as he progressed, his work became increasingly minimal and somehow also increasingly powerful, so that by the last room filled with textured black paintings, I was extremely touched. 

The guard confirmed my sense that these works are very moving, but I can't articulate exactly why. I suspect that their simplicity after all the wild and often aggressive works in the Biennale gave me some comfort. Some of the paintings made use of crackle in a way that suggested the Gibellina project, and they preceded it.

Alberto Burri, Grande Cretto Nero, 1977

There's a lovely cafe/restaurant between Le Stanze del Vetro and San Giorgio and we ended out visit with a light lunch and an Aperol Spritz there.