By Jane Barrett - Fri Mar 10, 11:07 AM ET
Venice mask makers give old tradition a new twist
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[Masks adorn the walls of the shop of Venetian artisan Mario Belloni in Venice, Italy in this October 2, 2005 file photo. Belloni's shop, tucked in a narrow Venetian 'calle', is bursting with tourists trying on masks for the city's famous Carnival balls.]
VENICE, Italy (Reuters) - Come Carnival time, Mario Belloni is a busy man.
His shop, tucked away in a narrow Venetian street, is bursting with tourists trying on masks for the city's famous balls.
An extravagant sun-shaped shield or a mask inspired by Picasso's cubist paintings? Adults struggle to choose the perfect accessory for richly decorated costumes while children play with cat's-eyes masks sparkling with sequins.
The masks -- papier mache feats of imagination and design -- trace their roots back centuries to a time when Venetian nobles got up to not-so-noble behavior under the comforting cloak of anonymity. But the line is not unbroken.
Belloni, who has been making masks for a relatively short 25 years, says he is rediscovering the past, rather than continuing an ancient tradition.
"People expect us to be the 17th generation of mask makers working from the same shop and with the same techniques as our ancestors," he said. "It seems sad to shatter people's illusions but really we've just been making it up as we go along."
Today masks are a piquant part of Venice's pre-Lenten carnival extravaganza. But they used to be so integral to city life that specific rules were drawn up to govern their use.
Paintings by Venetian artists like Canaletto show people wearing the black cape and white mask that became something of a uniform in La Serenissima, as the Republic of Venice was known.
During the 16th and 17th centuries, Venetians could hide their faces and identities to gamble, flirt, party and beg for about eight months of the year.
The authorities would occasionally try to limit the use of masks but the tradition was only stamped out by the Austrians when they took control of Venice in the 18th century.
The mask was considered a license for licentiousness, a danger to society and an easy cover for spies acting against the city's new rulers. It was quickly outlawed.
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[A couple looks at masks in the shop window of Venetian artisan Mario Belloni in Venice in this Italy October 2, 2005 file photo. Belloni's shop, tucked in a narrow Venetian 'calle', is bursting with tourists trying on masks for the city's famous Carnival balls.]
VOLTE FACE
When Venice resurrected the carnival in 1979, Belloni dug out historical documents to resuscitate the art of masks.
"We were architecture students with a decent understanding of art so we started playing with papier mache and copying the old designs you see in paintings," he said.
The easiest mask to copy was the "bautta" -- the traditional white, hook-nosed mask that was worn under a black cape and held in place with a tricorn hat.
More fanciful was the mask based on the long, curved beak worn by the "Dottore della Peste" or plague doctor, who stuffed the nose full of herbs to kill off the smell of death.
"People will tell you it was a gas mask to keep out germs but actually they thought the plague was passed on by spirits so they scared them off by wearing this terrifying costume," Belloni said, ducking between masks in his shop Ca' Macana.
Today, traditional masks often lose out to more fanciful designs dreamt up by Venetian artisans, who provided masks for the orgy scene in Stanley Kubrick's film "Eyes Wide Shut."
Among new favorites are gold faces shaped like leaves, colorful court jesters or masks painted with scenes of Venice.
"This is the evolution of our art, serving tastes as they change," said Guerrino Lovato, surrounded by masks of famous composers and film stars in his Mondonovo shop.
Down the street at Casin dei Nobili, Stefano Oliani has merged masquerade and high fashion, selling masks encrusted with pearls and crystal and bearing no obvious price tags.
"We can only make 10 at a time and they take three days each so we keep busy in the slow season getting ready for Carnival."
QUALITY COSTS
While Lovato, who also produced all the papier mache decorations for the recently restored La Fenice opera house, is happy to cater for new tastes, he laments the fact that tourists often want quality work at bargain-basement prices.
"Tourists come to Venice and they want a mask but they complain that the real ones are too expensive," he said, carving a new face in his workroom-cum-showroom.
"Some shops are now outsourcing production to get the price down, mass-making masks elsewhere in Italy, Eastern Europe, even, I've heard, in Asia. Can you believe it?"
While some may be moving away from Venice's misty canals, Belloni is keeping the new tradition alive at home by teaching tourists how to make their own.
Clay moulds lie around his paint-spattered workshop near the Accademia Gallery. They will be coated in plaster to make a negative, which is then covered with absorbent paper and glue.
The finished product should be flexible enough to bend around the face without breaking. Less refined masks are sometimes covered in plaster to give them a smooth surface.
"Some of the ones you see in tourist shops are like china -- so uncomfortable and false," muttered Lovato, whose goods cost from about 50 euros ($60) for a Commedia dell'Arte theater mask to more than 1,500 euros for a gold-leaf Tutankhamun.
"If you want the real thing, you have to pay."
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