Leaving Venice? (November, final week of Venice Biennale)

Now it looms
the End

Venice as a place of illusions, tensions, ideals. Leaving and arriving.Water versus stone.

It is a city of perpetual conflict.
A constant desire to know, absorb, consume, rationalise, obtain and collect fights an impulse to create, meditate, offload, wander aimlessly, forget and give over to sensation.

No reflections. Meaninglessness brought about by repetition and fatigue. Profundity created by slowly realised associations, and an understanding that only comes with time.
Modernist designs weathered, slowly bending out of function, become objects of art, displayed in a city that constantly restores the ancient. A sense of failed utopia. Failure softened by nostalgia. Romance heightened by gloom and early dusk.

All this with the awareness of leaving so soon, returning to normality.
A last thought... my mind is wandering away on it's own
I wonder if we constantly maintain: appearances, buildings, artworks, to create the illusion of time never passing, of being ever present? What constitutes this importance? Is 'the moment' the only time we touch eternity?

over for now