Ever since I first saw the Byzantine basilica of San Marco twelve years ago, with its glowing cluster of domes dominating Venice's Piazza San Marco, I've always wanted to return for a visit insde. I just never suspected that a clerk in the baggage check room would have had so much influence on my experience of it.
You can't bring back packs and other large bags into the basilica. OK, fine, makes sense. Finding the bag check was not so easy--it's tucked away on a side street facing the basilica-- but once I got there, the guy hands me a ticket and says, "Be back in a hour." An hour? I've been wanting to see this masterpiece for twelve years and expect to spend hours studying every mosaic and statue, and he shakes his head. "Most people do it in an hour. You can too."
The basilica, modeled on a church in Constantinople/Istanbul that no longer exists (I think), is layered in tiers, with massive mosaics covering every possible surface. I'm particularly interested in Byzantine mosaics because they figure into the strange dance between naturalism and abstraction, becoming the dominant mode of representation as the Greek Byzantine wing of the Roman empire rose while the western portion sunk into the dark ages, losing in the process its love of the human figure presented in its natural shape and mass. And we know from our art history classes that the flattened, schematic formality of Byzantine iconography was supplanted by a return to naturalism in the Renaissance. Turns out, I like the abstract approach and wanted to get up close and personal with Venice's appropriation of Byzantine art, and that would take time, I thought. Until I realized that the ordinary viewer's access to the actual art is extremely limited. There is a corridor formed by chairs set up in the basilica for regular church services, and your access to the art is limited to the path around the chairs. If you crane your neck, you can look up at the mosaics covering the walls and ceiling and interiors of the domes, and if you twist your body around a bit, you can spot some of the work on the lower levels. Takes about 15 minutes to complete this loop and out the door you go. I decided to pay 2 Euro extra and get a closer look at the Pala D'Oro, the gold panelled screen behind the altar decorated with rows of tiny jewel-like angels and saints. Now that experience, added to the loop around the chairs set off with red cords, took about a half hour.
As I was heading for the exit, I puzzled over just how elusive this experience is. Sort of like the mystical experience of religion -- you can read about it and search for it and when you stand in the house of worship with the external signs in front of you, it is remote and unreachable and unreadable.
So, feeling like I just did not have enough basilica under my belt, I opted to climb that old stone stairs up to the museum and terrace. Each step is about a foot and a half high, and by the time you scale the stairs, your heart is pounding and you're clutching the railings, afraid of falling back down the well of the staircase. And then the fun begins. The museum is wonderful, filled with large scale drawings and models of the basilica, beautiful fragments of mosaics damaged during various reconstruction works over the centuries, and, best yet, access to some of those tiers you can only see if you crane your neck. Wandering through the upper levels -- access to the balconies closest to the ceiling mosaics is limited -- you still get a much closer, more intimate look. And in the rear-most galleries are massive illuminated choral graduals, the two-panel set of painted covers for the Pala D'Oro by Paolo Veneziano and a beautiful, if damaged Byzantine icon, The Madonna del Latte (the Blessed Mother breast feeding the Christ Child), evidently the original model for other lactating madonna icons in pre-Renaissance Venice. What a treat! And there was even a free public bathroom in the museum!
OK, that was good for 20 minutes. So what to do with the extra 10 minutes before you run back to rescue your backpack? You get to stand on the upper balcony terrace with the replica horses (the originals, trophies from the time when the Venetians captured Constantinople instead of going on to the Holy Land like the other good Crusaders, are in the museum) and take pictures of Saint Mark's Square and the Doge's Palace (picture taking inside the basilica is strictly forbidden -- I watched attendants chasing down those foolish enough to try it). So, for another 5 Euro, the basilica is not quite so remote or inscrutable, though like many aspects of Venice's art history, it requires an interest at the specialist level of detail that is removed from most tourist's experience. I am fascinated by the iconography of Byzantine art, but I don't have the background that it takes to really understand the intricacies of these highly formalized modes of representation.
But what the hell. I was back in the baggage check within the hour, just as the clerk said. Now he wasn't there, so, unfortunately, I wasn't able to personally thank him for his insight into my experience of the basilica. But I left a tip for the guy who was. These Venetian baggage clerks really know their stuff.
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