Venice: Behind the Mask

BEHIND THE MASK

Published in 1888 by Carl. F. Bucherer magazine, 2017

Venetian masks have been a big part of the city’s wild festivities since the 12th century. We meet the artisans bringing back a lost craft, and the woman who created the world’s most exclusive masked ball.

Words Mandi Keighran Photography Claudia Corrent

IT IS AN annual fantasy of masks, elaborate costumes, prosecco and fireworks, a fairytale world in which imagination wraps itself seductively around reality. For two weeks every February, the annual Carnevale di Venezia (Venice Carnival) transforms the city with extravagant, nightly balls, and a sense of hedonistic luxury fills the streets.

Among Carnevale’s myriad masquerade balls, there is one that is more exclusive and extravagant than any other: Il Ballo del Doge (The Duke’s Ball). Created by Venetian costumier and mascherara (maskmaker) Antonia Sautter in 1994, it has been held every year since in Palazzo Pisani Moretta, a 15th-century Venetian palace on the Grand Canal whose rooms are decorated by Baroque artists, including Tiepolo. “There are few occasions to live a dream with open eyes,” Sautter says. “Il Ballo del Doge is one of those rare opportunities, and the carnival is a world of extraordinary play.”

While the Queen of the Adriatic is now indelibly associated with its carnival costumes and masks – such as the bautta, used by the nobility to disguise their identities and mingle with the lower classes – that rich history fell into decline and owes its revival in part to mundane economics.

It is generally accepted that Carnevale began in 1162, when Venetians celebrated a victory over the city of Aquileia in Piazza San Marco. By the 13th century, it had become tradition for the citizens of Venice to hold decadent festivities for as long as two months up to Lent. Along with Ascension in May and another celebration held in the three months to Christmas, it meant Venetians spent much of the year clad in evocative disguises created by the city’s talented costumiers and mascherari.

By the end of the 18th century, however, under the rule of the King of Austria, Carnevale had fallen into decline. By 1797, the use of masks was forbidden and the city’s mascherari had disappeared.

The masks and the costumes remained forgotten for nearly two centuries until the late 1970s, when Venice found itself in the midst of an economic crisis. Local industry was in decline, and a push to increase tourism during the low, winter season was seen as the answer. So, the Italian government decided to revive Venice’s traditions – restoring the city’s architecture and, in 1979, reinstating Carnevale. Suddenly, there was a new market for the traditional masks.

It was the city’s students who resurrected the craft traditions of the mascherari, and among the first to do so were two architecture students. Carlos Brassesco and Mario Belloni had met at the Lido, the city’s long, sandy beach, where they were selling handmade puppets and mechanical birds to tourists. Neither was native to Venice – Brassesco had fled political repression in Argentina and Belloni had moved from Genoa after finishing his studies – but they soon found a shared passion for the city’s craft traditions, and founded in 1986 one of its first ateliers, Ca’Macana, with their wives, Carolina Brassesco and Antonella Belloni.

“I fell in love with Venice straight away,” says Mario Belloni. “There is an intangible mystery about this place, which sometimes seems to be about to reveal itself, but never allows us to grasp it. I believe that the ancient Venetians adopted the use of masks to be in harmony with the subtle game of revelation and concealment, with the adventure of discovery which one breathes in the very air of the city.”

The quartet taught themselves the old art, learning from historical paintings and drawings, and a growing body of research work driven by renewed interest in Venice’s traditions. “My father taught himself everything he knows,” says Filippo Brassesco, Carlos’ son, who also studied architecture and now works with his father. “He studied the history and learned to work with the traditional materials – papier mâché and leather.”

He also invented new ways to create the traditional masks. The comedia dell’arte masks first worn by actors in the 16th century, for example, are traditionally made from a single piece of leather, dampened and worked over a positive form with a small hammer, a laborious practice that takes weeks of work. Wanting to shorten the time needed to create these masks to make them more affordable, Brassesco invented a way of layering small pieces of leather with glue.

He still sells masks made in the traditional way – with their grotesque features and sweeping eyebrows made of horse hair – but says the more affordable ones are much more popular. “These days, the expensive masks are generally used only by professional actors,” he says. “My new technique is a contemporary interpretation of the tradition to keep it alive.”

Together, the four artisans became some of the most sought-after mascherari in Venice, even creating masks for Stanley Kubrick’s 1999 film Eyes Wide Shut. In 2006, however, the two couples went their separate ways. The Bellonis wanted to focus on making and decorating papier mâché masks – including contemporary twists on tradition, like the popular steampunk masks created by their son, Davide – and running workshops for visitors. The Brassescos, meanwhile, wanted to pursue their passion for building props, and creating sets and masks for some of the dozens of balls that take place during Carnevale.

Antonia Sautter, the queen of Il Ballo del Doge, chose the same path. Born during the month of Carnevale, costumes and masks have always been a part of her life. “When I was a little girl, I would help my mother make the costumes for the carnival for me and my friends,” she says. “Through the costumes, I entered many magical worlds – some historical, some fantasy. It was pure joy and happiness.”

When Sautter grew up, she refused to leave the fantastical world of costumes and masks behind. At the age of 30, she left a job in foreign sales for a Venetian glass company to open a small shop selling her costume jewellery, hats, masks and costumes. “When something is inside of your heart, it has to come out,” she says, explaining her decision to follow her dream.

Thirty years on, her original store has grown into three boutiques on Frezzeria San Marco, and workshops and ateliers that employ dozens of seamstresses and artisans making masks, costumes and more. While she’s protective of her practice – “The glassmakers on Murano have their secrets and I have mine,” she says – she’s proud to show the 1,500-plus costumes she’s designed and created over the decades, many of which are on display in her atelier and available to hire.

It’s impossible, Sautter says, to determine how many hours of work go into each mask or costume. “The ideas don’t come easily,” she says. “It is like a happiness and suffering at the same time. When you want perfection, you have to put all your energy into it. Then, hopefully, a result comes out, like an illumination.”

Yet, each year, she continues to create elaborate costumes and masks for more than 400 performers and dozens of guests (other guests choose to hire existing costumes).

It might seem like the mascherari have returned to Venice for good, and with tourism increasing every year that the market for their work has never been larger. Sadly, however, the growth of tourism in Venice – and the associated demand for cheaper masks – is threatening the craft this time round.

“Mass production has killed our art,” says Sautter, referring to the ubiquitous cheap plastic masks that have overwhelmed the city in recent years. “It’s sad to see these masks – they have no personality. I believe that the art of mask-making in Venice is in danger, but my hope is that there are still some young people who want to use their hands to create these beautiful objects.” antoniasautter.it, camacana.com, facebook.com/camacanaatelier