Venice is motionless, static.

Venice is motionless, static. Venice is a natural element; an earth and water shaped sculpture. Venice is a postcard Venice is alive an dead at the same time. Venice is a creature that needs to evolve, to leave her old vestigial structures. Venice is now perfect and unfit. A stong heat, an explosive strenght, press the heart of Venice push her to go beyond. The water became vapour and lightly flyes. The Earth try to hold her down. A new dimension creates a new evolutive space. The future force his way trough the perfection and revitalizes the city. Rings of past soar over Venice sky, witheld by thin wires that simultaneously link an free them.

A fertile ground is prepared for a viral infection. Venice can finally grow. Energy, House Sharing, Agriculture…

Every single vital function can plant herself and join the others. It’s the end of bi-dimensional city.

Old Venice rises, pushed by the New Venice of the sky. Airships, flying cars, cableways, jetpacks…

Nothing is precluded. Evolution and technolgy completely took possession of present and future.

A new city is possible and it’s upon your heads.

After a seven day’s march through woodland, the traveler directed toward Baucis cannot see the city and yet he has arrived. The slender stilts that rise from the ground at a great distance from one another and are lost above the clouds support the city.

You climb them with ladders. On the ground the inhabitants rarely show themselves: having already everything they need up there, they prefer not to come down.

Nothing of the city touches the earth except those long flamingo legs on which it rests and, when the days are sunny, a pierced, angular shadow that falls on the foliage.

There are three hypotheses about the inhabitants of Baucis:

that they hate the earth; that they respect it so much they avoid all contact; that they love it as it was before they existed and with spyglasses and telescopes aimed downward they never tire of examining it,

leaf by leaf, stone by stone, ant by ant, contemplating with fascination their own absence.

Italo Calvino, “Invisible Cities”