Winter Vistas: A Marin Photographer’s Journey Through Enchanted Venice

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In January 1999, with our bags in hand, we made our way through the radiant, bright Santa Lucia station toward the exit. As we proceeded, there was nothing to signify what was in store for us; then, we swung open the glass doors, and Venice was practically at our feet. I gazed down the broad stone steps to behold Venice in all of its splendor.

Before us, the brilliant morning sunlight illuminated the Grand Canal in such a manner that it seemed as though everything was engrained in my mind. The facades of the age-old structures lining the canal were adorned with a variety of unfamiliar patterns and features to which I would later become accustomed. However, at that moment, it felt as if I were caught in a dream.

The Grand Canal was bustling with water taxis and vaporettos filled with travelers. There were barges heavy with cargo from across the globe, and alongside gondolas and smaller vessels, they created an unforgettable tumultuous scene. The architecture and its reflections, the water, the incredibly busy movement, and the sounds emanating from various boats and workers shouting collectively formed a scene I could never hope to encapsulate in a single photograph.

Fortunately, we boarded the correct vaporetto, which was headed toward Piazza San Marco; the journey was simply breathtaking for me. I hadn’t visited Venice for approximately 20 years and had lost touch with its charm, allure, beauty, and enigma.

Each moment unveiled a new, captivating shape, a reflection, or a unique composition before my eyes. The entire experience was so inundating that Cindy and I communicated through smiles, gestures, and exclamations.

The vaporetto ride ended all too quickly; we disembarked at Piazza San Marco with our bags in hand. As we wandered through the Piazza, I felt as though we were traversing history. After all these years, I had finally come back to Venice.

We had one sizeable bridge to traverse that crossed a narrow canal on the Riva degli Schiavoni. We lugged our bags up one side, and upon reaching the top, we were rewarded with a view of the legendary Bridge of Sighs. We admired the sight of the bridge on one side, while to our right, we spotted the colossal ships moored along the Riva degli Schiavoni and the water traffic that would soon become second nature to us as time passed in Venice.

Going down the stone steps was significantly easier; shortly after, we strolled along the Riva degli Schiavoni to the narrow street where we would turn left — on Calle de la Pietà to locate the Hotel Bisanzio. The journey had commenced at the Gare de l’Est in Paris and culminated at this charming, small hotel on a tranquil street where Antonio Vivaldi once taught, composed, and performed his ageless music at Chiesa di Santa Maria della Pieta.

That visually stunning vaporetto journey would mark the beginning of my new winter adventures in Venice, which would encompass many days across three winter visits to La Serenissima, this tranquil, captivating city.

More than anything, it’s the illumination in Venice that draws me as a photographer. The light in Venice holds as much significance for me as the architecture, array of boats, water, and moving figures.

The light, in conjunction with the humidity in the atmosphere, imparts to each object it encounters a radiant, frequently glimmering quality. During the winter fog, the light delicately lands upon objects and figures, imparting an aura of intrigue to Venice.

In my experience, no other city in the world merges light and water in such a distinctive manner as Venice does.

Water is eternally present in Venice, perpetually shifting and altering its appearance with the tide, the breeze, and especially the light. The light dances on the water, continuously transforming shapes, hues, and patterns on its surface. The color of the water is ephemeral and ever-changing. It reflects the blues, whites, and grays of the sky, along with the nearby clouds and buildings. These colors and patterns constantly evolve with each passing vaporetto, gondola, or cloud.

Venice during the winter can be gray, painfully cold, damp, and often enveloped in fog — with winds blowing in from the sea. It can be thoroughly miserable! Yet, it remains my preferred time to be in Venice. At times, in January or February, Venice appears almost deserted and is generally tranquil; the fog dulls much of the sound that exists.

I frequently find my way to Piazza San Marco early one winter morning, ideally in the rain or fog, where I occasionally spot solitary figures to capture on film as they hurry to work or school.

Gondolas are undoubtedly the quintessential symbols of Venice. The Piazzetta San Marco during winter is a favored spot for me to discover an abundance of gondolas all lined up — often adorned with colorful protective covers, adding a burst of color to the polished black gondolas.

Even though it’s cold and damp in Venice during this season, I cherish the serenity of the often deserted streets and quays, as well as the chance to photograph the city in its atmospheric glow and romantic ambiance.

In my search for compositions, I often stroll over to admire the Rialto Bridge, completed in 1591, one of the most recognizable bridges globally, particularly on a foggy winter morning.

Don’t allow this depiction of winter in Venice to deter you from visiting; simply bring an extra coat, scarf, hat, and warm boots. You can capture many stunning photographs and enjoy marvelous Venetian experiences in a quieter, more leisurely Venice.

The illumination is just as extraordinary on clear winter days as it is amidst fog or mist.

After all, it’s Venice.