Carnaval

Every day, Venetians roam across the Canal Grande and its innumerable meandering byways, patiently crafting a delicate collage. Venice is a city against all odds of nature, according to Chateaubriand, the hard candy of the Adriatic, gradually losing its sweetness in the voracious palate of the acqua alta. Its history is rich, its splendour, fascinating. Carnival celebrations display the Venetians’ unconditional attachment to an architectural miracle, such as the Mardi Gras Saturnalia has shown ever since the 10th century. That is, until the masks came off in 1797, upon the Republic's defeat. La Serenissima would then have to wait over two hundred years for its Carnival to unfurl once again under the skies.

Nicolas Ruel owes his most extravagant photographic dreams to this flamboyant return. Passionate about theatre, dance and costumes, the photographer had long desired to take part in the incomparable spectacle. Believing in an osmosis between the city and its people, Ruel wanted, with utmost respect, to permeate silk and stone. Silent, discrete and intent, he constrained his camera work to mid-waist shots, as one would exchange half-hushed words. His minute, rigorous, then cutting gestures, akin to gazes exchanged under cover of the maschera, have captured the multiple roles of the commedia dell'arte in a style at once cinematic, theatrical and choreographic.

Midnight tolls. Nicolas Ruel buttons up the cuffs on his coat. He hides his camera, and slips into an unforgettable ball. A night bird, enraptured by silky motion and troubling light, slipping between walls, under bridges, he feels Venice dilating and contracting, an organ afloat. Ball dancers occupy three tiers: Paradise, Purgatory, Inferno. In Purgatory, red shadows coalesce with forbidden alcoves; in Hell, gowns and heavy cloaks mimic The Divine comedy; in Paradise, the night melts into laughter and tears. Everywhere masks cover layered faces, feathers reveal more flesh than they hide, and silhouettes coalesce into one blinding glitter. Sonorous filaments escape from cellos, brush over a shoulder, where a glove gently comes to rest; only interlaced, unlaced, rethreaded fields of chiaroscuro appear. Nocturnal tracings. In reverence, shutters close upon the commedia while the photographer walks, half-masked, into the burning cavalcade of the sun.

Translated from the French by Daniel Canty / Copyediting Angela Carr