A few days later, I headed to Venice — a city that had always been a dream of my grandmother’s. Now, because of her age, she can no longer travel long distances, so I promised to capture Venice for her through lens — to bring back fragments of the city in the form of artistic photographs, which we would later print as posters at home.
Venice turned out to be both exactly as I had imagined and yet entirely surprising. The maze of alleys seemed endless, opening up suddenly onto quiet piazzas with laundry swaying in the wind, or onto canals where the water reflected the facades like a trembling mirror. The city had its own rhythm — slow, almost weightless.
By coincidence, my colleague Dima was also in Italy at the same time, and we decided to meet in Venice — a lucky accident that made the city feel even more special. We stayed near St Mark’s Square, and each evening we wandered through the streets to discover hidden corners. We drank espresso standing at crowded counters, crossed bridges countless times, and silently admired the golden mosaics of the Basilica at dusk.
On the final evening, we climbed to the terrace of our hotel. With a glass of dry white wine in hand, we watched the sun sink into the horizon, convincing ourselves it wasn’t a dream but a moment that would stay with us forever.