Leaving Venice after nearly two weeks of watching dance at the 13th Biennale Danza, our water taxi hurtled over the wakes of other boats darting from the airport. The Adriatic, a dancing sea of oscillating currents, provided an exhilarating ride along its shallowest tip. I would miss the dance, our lovely flat above a narrow canal and filled with musical toy-like gondolas each morning, the people and conversations. Maybe not so much being lost among the narrow, shaded alleys, the only escape from the brutal heat. The Biennale, and all of Europe, endured a few days of the “Sahara Wave.” If you survived it (and some did not,) you can look back and see the ominous poetry of that phrase—the arid desert air turning humid as it passes over the Mediterranean and Europe, heavy with minuscule droplets of sea, so dense breathing becomes arduous.
Alessandro Sciarroni's “Dance Me to the End of Love.” Photograph courtesy of Venice Biennale