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| Courtyard of the Giudecca Women's Detention Home, Venice - Photo: Marco Cremascoli |
Brief History of Venice's Women's Prison
Venice's women's prison is inside an ancient monastery on the island of Giudecca. It is a singular and controversial venue for a contemporary art exhibition.
Several publications, including the New York Times, say the building was constructed in the 13th century. In fact, the Italian Ministry of Justice says it was probably founded in the 12th century. I cannot find any source to back that up. I am wondering if they are referring to the order of the Augustinian nuns themselves, whose monastery it was, or if there was once an older structure where the current one is now.
What everyone agrees on is that around 1530, the cloister became a hospice for reformed prostitutes called "Santa Maria Maddalena," and known as the "Convertite" or "Converted." The nucleus of the convent was built in 1543, and the church about 10 years later. Initially the reformed sex workers did not have to join the sisterhood. But just 20 years after its its foundation, taking the veil at the Convertite became mandatory -- vows of chastity, poverty, obedience -- the works.
The monastery was suppressed by Napoleon in 1806 and turned into a military prison, until Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria transformed it into a women's prison in 1837. Today, The Casa di Reclusione Femminile is one of five female-only prisons in all of Italy.
I stumbled on a terrific article featuring the Giudecca convent by Professor Christine Scippa Bhasin entitled, "Prostitutes, Nuns, Actresses: Breaking the Convent Wall in Seventeenth-Century Venice." It seems that during Carnival 1681, a wealthy Venetian merchant named Giovanni Battista Cellini brought his concubine, Maddalena Farner, out to the convent on Giudecca to see a clandestine comedy performed by the nuns(!). After the performance, Cellini left Farner overnight in the convent, saying he would be back to get her in the morning.
Well, he never showed up. He was on his way to Amsterdam to serve as Venetian Consul, and had decided to dump Farner in the convent with the nuns against her will. We know this because Farner sued him. According to Bhasin, "...the merchant's choice of locale for a night out in Venice was not exceptional, nor was his choice of escort: by the late seventeenth century, Venetian female monasteries had been providing visitors, male and female, religious and lay, with theatrical entertainment for nearly two centuries."
"Visits to the Pavilion, by reservation, led by the prisoner-docents, will challenge the desire for voyeurism and judgment toward artists and prisoners themselves, eroding the boundaries between observer and observed, judging and judged, to also reflect on power structures in art and institutions."
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| Maurizio Cattelas, Father, for the 2024 Vatican Pavilion - Photo: Cat Bauer |
With My Eyes
With the blessing of Pope Francis, With My Eyes (Con i miei occhi) is an experience designed to defy convention. It's the brainchild of Cardinal José Tolentino de Mendonca, Prefect of the Holy See's Dicastery for Culture and Education, who is the Commissioner of the Pavilion.
The Cardinal commissioned two international dynamos on the art scene, Chiara Parisi and Bruno Racine to curate, who asked eight artists to participate: Maurizio Cattelan, Bintou Dembélé, Simone Fattal, Claire Fontaine, Sonia Gomes, Corits Kent, Marco Perego & Zoe Saldana, and Claire Tabouret.
but now my eyes have seen you.
...combined with Shakespeare, Sonnet 14, in which the poet is enthralled by a woman who all his senses tell him is unattractive:
"The title With My Eyes is both disruptive and prophetic," said the Cardinal. "It's a step in a different cultural direction, questioning the current times when human vision is deferred and less direct, captured by screens and the explosion of digital devices. Will we still know what it is to 'see with our own eyes?'"
The answer is a definite yes. I have visited the Holy See Pavilion on the island of Giudecca twice now. The second experience was more profound than the first. With My Eyes is a groundbreaking artistic and social experiment. The prisoners are active participants, contributing their narratives and artistic voices to the exhibition, resulting in a deeply moving experience.
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| Where you stash your stuff - Photo: Cat Bauer |
Before you even go to the prison, you have to make a reservation and provide detailed personal information and identification. On the day of your visit, you cluster outside an innocuous door, waiting to put all of your belongings -- everything -- inside a locker. No smartphone. No devices. No photos. No hand bag or purse. You are scanned with a hand-held metal detector. They did let me bring in a pen and a tiny notebook, but it took some persuading.
Even though you are assigned a ticket with a digital code after making a reservation, they don't ask to see it. Instead, a guard -- a real no-nonsense female prison guard -- takes your identification: a passport, or identification card. You get the feeling that you have already been run through some kind of security clearance. (Both times I've been to With My Eyes, people have been turned away for different reasons, so be sure you fill out the form properly. If you are approved, you will get a confirmation.)
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| Pope Francis on the first stop of his Venice pastoral visit to the Giudecca women's prison Photo: Vatican News |
The First Visit
The first time I visited was on April 25, three days before Pope Francis himself was due to visit Venice and Holy See Pavilion inside the women's prison, and anticipation was in the air. It was the first time any pope had ever visited the Venice Biennale International Art Exhibition, which was founded back in 1895 -- the original biennale on which every other biennale in world is modeled. The Pope's helicopter would land in the courtyard of the penitentiary. He would tour the exhibition, then speak and greet each inmate before traveling to Piazza San Marco to celebrate mass with more than 10,000 worshipers.
The exhibition had just opened to the public a few days earlier on April 20, and the experience was wobbling to its feet. The
female guard unlocked the prison door with a large set of clunky keys
that look like they belonged to another century.
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| Silk screen prints by the late activist nun Corita Kent in the cafeteria - Photo: Marco Cremascoli |
Walking into the Holy See's pavilion is unlike any other artistic
experience. The very act of stepping through the threshold of the
Giudecca Women's Prison becomes the starting point. The weight of
history hangs in the air. You can almost feel the phantoms of the nuns
from centuries before gliding through the ancient corridors.
Our
group of 25 was greeted by two
female docents. We slowly realized that they were actual inmates. The
tour was in Italian with no translation, with the two prisoners
explaining the artworks and adding a few personal comments and remarks.
After starting in the cafeteria filled with silk screen prints by the late American "Pop Art nun," Sister Mary Corita Kent, we made our way down a narrow brick passageway. Simone Fattal had painted the personal words of inmates -- some of desperation, some of hope -- onto slabs of lava stone along the way. A neon eye cut by a slash created by the Claire Fontaine collective punctuated the watchtower at the end of the passage.
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| Claire Fontaine - Photo: Marco Cremascoli |
We arrived at a garden where the inmates cultivate organic vegetables and herbs that they sell to the outside world each week. The Garden of Wonders contains 6,000 square meters of terrain and produces around 40 types of fruit, vegetables, flowers, and wild herbs. The window that looks out onto the garden is the only one in the prison without bars.
When we entered the enormous courtyard where the Pope's helicopter would land, there were about 30 prisoners sitting on the benches. We walked past them wordlessly, unsure if we were allowed to communicate with them. I spotted one inmate sitting alone in an upstairs barred window. I wondered how they felt having all these alien creatures from the outside walk through their private world.
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| Portraits of inmates as children or of their own children by Claire Tabouret Photo: Marco Cremascoli |
We reached the Chiesa di Santa Maria Maddalena delle Convertite at the end of the visit. The ancient church was in remarkably excellent condition. Woven sculptures of fabric, stones and buttons by Sonia Gomes dangled from the ceiling. Was this the space where Venetian nuns had performed clandestine comedies so many centuries before?
I joined a small splinter group where a woman was translating what the inmates were saying into English for some visitors who could not understand Italian. She turned out to be Flavia Chiavaroli, the architect and exhibition designer who oversees the project. I told her that I had been deeply moved by the exhibition. She said, "It's not an exhibition. It's an experience."
Indeed. I felt as if I had had a transformative experience, and wanted to return.
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| Sinfania by Sonia Gomes inside the Church of Santa Maria Maddalena delle Convertite Photo: Marco Cremascoli |
The Second Visit
I went back a month later with Janet Simmonds of the Grand Tourist, who has written about her own experience on The Educated Traveller blog. By that time, a rhythm had been established. The inmates were more relaxed at performing the role of docents, offering personal information and opinions. The ethical questions some publications had raised about the
project melted away in the face of the raw human encounter. While the
power dynamics of incarceration can't be ignored, the female inmates were
dignified and eloquent as they shared their personal stories. They
became spirit guides, not subjects.
I particularly enjoyed listening to one woman, Marcella, from Columbia. Her descriptions of the artworks were peppered with insight and personality. This time, as we walked across the enormous courtyard, there were only a couple of other inmates sitting out on the benches.
I didn't know if it was allowed, but I caught up to Marcella, walking with her side by side, and speaking to her one-on-one. She seemed happy to interact. I wondered if we were both breaking some kind of rule, but I don’t think either one of us cared. Her observations had been so astute that I asked her if she were an artist herself. She said that she wrote poetry, but what she really wanted to do was write a book.
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| "Dovecote" by Marco Perego & Zoë Saldaña - Photo: Marco Cremascoli |
Again, we shuffled into the theater to watch the short, poignant film by Marco Perego starring Zoë Saldaña. This time, I recognized one of our guards in a group scene. And just like the passage from Job 42.5, I suddenly saw with my own eyes what I had only heard about before.
When the was film over, I found Marcella outside in an area with grass. Where were we? Were we in the playground? (With only my own eyes, and no recording devices, I have to rely on my memories.) I spoke to her earnestly, privately again.
"Marcella, I am a writer. I think you should write your book right now. Now is the time. You are in the perfect environment, with plenty of time. Your story is fascinating. How did you end up in this prison in Venice all the way from Columbia? The world would be interested in your story. Look at how many visitors arrive here every day. Did you shake hands with the Pope?"
Marcella nodded. "Yes."
"It's a great story. Don't think of it as writing a whole book. That's too big. Just think of writing a certain amount of words every day -- say about 500. Don't worry if it's good or bad -- just write the words until it becomes a habit. Soon you will have a book. Right now, during the Biennale, you are surrounded by support. People will help you. You have been given a great opportunity. Others can learn from your experience."
We continued through the exhibition and the portraits of the inmate's children by Claire Tabouret. Marcella pointed out her own son, saying he was six at the time of the portrait, but was now 12. I wondered when she last saw him…
At the end, inside the Chiesa di Santa Maria Maddalena delle Convertite, we gathered in a circle to say farewell. Marcella commanded the attention of the group, and started speaking with emotion. She said she had had a moving experience and wanted to say thank you to someone. And then she crossed the circle and she handed me a tiny, delicate wildflower with five red-orange petals, deep green leaves, and a crown of gold.
I was stunned. Marcella and I hugged each other, eyes glistening with joy. I wiped away tears that sprung deep, deep from the well of humanity.
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| Marcella's wildflower |
I can't wait to read Marcella's book.
You can visit the Vatican Pavilion With My Eyes until November 24, 2024. Go to La Biennale di Venezia Art for more information.
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| Marcella's dried wildflower |
