Pam and I are in Venice.  We are here for our daughter’s sister’s wedding next week.  Except for India, Nepal and probably the Galapagos, I don’t think I have been anywhere so jaw-dropping.  There is the mystery and movement of the water, and the buildings that rise out of it, the absence of earth traffic, the presence of every kind of water and human traffic.  The sounds of Venice include the rolling of suitcases (our Airbnb is near a vaporetto stop on the Grand Canal), the click and clatter of footsteps, the church bells, the boats passing beneath our living room, the continual thrum of voices – soft, loud, children, dogs – and of language, accent, expression.  It feels as if everything is in motion all of the time.  This evening we rode in a gondola down some of the narrow, quiet canals, and when we got off, our walking rhythm had shifted into that of the gondola – so slow and soft that we were barely moving, as if our cells were still on the water.  At night there is a darkening, more muted tumult of human sounds and the high streaming cries of swallows.

This morning I became a street performer when Pam and I went out to shoot some film and stills for a new dance I am making.