Photography by Lee Pellegrini

An 18th-Century lithograph shows two female figures, one in flowing robes and the other half-naked with seaweed in her hair. They stand wrestling on a beach, each striving for advantage. At any moment, it seems, the combatants will topple into the water. The low, steepled skyline of Venice is beyond them, faint in the distance, and above the figures is a banner. Translated it reads, 鈥淎n element opposes another element.鈥 The scene projects the centuries-long struggle of a city that rose improbably out of the Adriatic Sea to become one of the most celebrated in the world. 鈥淰enice was born in the water and out of the water,鈥 says Boston College associate professor of art history Stephanie Leone. That fact 鈥渋s the essence of what Venice is.鈥

The clash on the shore captures the persistent danger that has ever plagued the city called La Serenissima (loosely, her serene highness)鈥攖he fear that the water might one day swallow the city again. This past October, Venice Marathon runners contended with ankle-deep water as they slogged through the streets, just one instance of the 鈥渁cqua alta鈥 (high water) that inundates the city some 50 times a year. The water levels can rise by as much as five feet, sending shopkeepers scrambling to keep canals from flooding their stores and tourists sloshing across the Piazza San Marco in their wellies.

鈥淰enice is just the perfect example of how inspiring the environment can be to a city, but also how challenging,鈥 says coastal oceanographer Gail Kineke, a professor in the University鈥檚 earth and environmental sciences department. While Venice might have gotten an earlier taste than most cities of water鈥檚 unrelenting physics, a projected sea-level rise of anywhere from two to five feet over the next century means more cities will follow. 鈥淓very coastal city is going to face those same challenges,鈥 Kineke says, 鈥渁nd those challenges will emerge in commerce and architecture, and whatever makes the soul of the city what it is.鈥

Leone and Kineke teach a pair of conjoined courses under the overarching title 鈥淟iving on the Water.鈥 Students who sign up for Kineke鈥檚 鈥淐oasts, Development, and Sea Level Change from Venice to Boston鈥 must enroll simultaneously in Leone鈥檚 鈥淰enetian Art, Architecture, and the Environment鈥 and vice versa. The classes meet separately鈥擫eone鈥檚 in the morning and Kineke鈥檚 in the afternoon, on Tuesdays and Thursdays鈥攂ut on four evenings a semester the students gather with both professors, for a 鈥渞eflection session鈥 that may introduce a guest speaker. There are also field trips.

Gail Kineke with class

Earth and environmental sciences professor Gail Kineke and students consulting a satellite map before heading to Nauset Beach.

The professors reserve these courses for freshmen, specifically for 19 freshmen in total, as part of the Enduring Questions series that the University launched during its renewal of the Core Curriculum in 2015. This fall, 19 Enduring Questions pairings were offered by professors in economics, law, education, and theater, to name a few. They included 鈥淔inding the Animal鈥 and 鈥淗ow Animals Made the World,鈥 taught by associate professors Robert Stanton (English) and Zachary Matus (history), respectively, their question being, 鈥淲hat is a human, and who is an animal?鈥 Biologist Michelle Meyer and theologian Jeffrey Cooley鈥檚 courses were both titled 鈥淚n the Beginning,鈥 and the questions on the table were, 鈥淲here did we come from, how did the world come to be?鈥 The aim of such tandem investigations is to draw first-year students into intellectual explorations that take them beyond the classroom鈥攖o foster intellectual growth as well as a maturing citizenship around 鈥渟ubjects crucial to the human experience,鈥 in the words of the program鈥檚 founding document.

That sea-level rise is a crucial subject is apparent. One need look no further than the 鈥渂omb cyclone鈥濃攖he tidal surge coupled with a nor鈥檈aster that hit downtown Boston this past January, leaving dumpsters floating down streets and cars frozen in several feet of ice, in the city鈥檚 worst flooding in history. Or the storm surge in the coastal Carolinas in September from Hurricane Florence, which, combined with as much as 36 inches of rain, left areas flooded for more than two weeks.


By any right, Venice shouldn鈥檛 have been a city at all鈥攏ever mind one of humankind鈥檚 鈥渕asterpiece[s],鈥 as UNESCO declared in 1987. It started as an archipelago of marshy islands in a lagoon off the Italian coast, protected from the sea by a narrow spit of barrier islands. The area鈥檚 first settlers around 400 CE were refugees fleeing the invasions of Germanic tribes after the fall of the Roman Empire, who rightly surmised that the barbarians wouldn鈥檛 swim across the lagoon for such thin spoils.

鈥淔rom the beginning, the environment shaped Venice鈥檚 history,鈥 Leone says. The residents鈥 first challenge was to create solid ground out of a marshy muck, which gave early Venetians a sense of purpose and identity. 鈥淚n order to create the land, they had to create a sense of community different from the other cities forming at the time,鈥 she says. 鈥淔rom the eighth to the 18th centuries, Venetians thought of themselves as being very unique, and different from the rest of the Italian peninsula.鈥 As the city grew, its inhabitants cut down thousands of trees across the sea in Istria, in modern-day Croatia, bringing them home and driving their trunks like piles into the marshy earth; overtop was layered Istrian marble to form the foundations for small islands.

Students at Nauset Beach

The return climb from Nauset Beach.

Leone鈥檚 own love affair with Venice started one year out of college, when she interned at the Peggy Guggenheim Collection museum, situated on the Grand Canal. Since arriving at Boston College in 2001, she has taught courses on the Italian Renaissance and Baroque. In 2016, she introduced a course devoted to Venetian art and architecture.

When the Core Renewal Committee was looking for topics for Enduring Questions courses, Leone attended an event to match up potential faculty partners. 鈥淚t was like speed dating for teaching,鈥 she says. As soon as she heard Kineke say she studied coastal oceanography, 鈥淚 made a beeline for her.鈥 For her part, Kineke has studied estuaries and coastal sediment transport from San Francisco Bay to the Amazon River. In 2002, she participated in a project in the Adriatic to look at how sediment from rivers travelled along the Italian coast, called the Po and Apennine Sediment Transport and Accumulation project. 鈥淚t had the best acronym鈥擯ASTA,鈥 Kineke says.

In effect, the two professors were looking at the same area from different directions. 鈥淧rofessor Leone was looking at Venice as located on the northeast coast of Italy, I was thinking of Venice as being on the northwest coast of the Adriatic Sea,鈥 Kineke told the assembled class of freshmen during their first meeting in September. That wasn鈥檛 the only difference in their viewpoints, Kineke admitted. While Leone dealt in the subjective language of cultural expression and brushstrokes, Kineke has focused on the hard science of wave formations and climate patterns.

鈥淲e are just sort of this oddball pair,鈥 Kineke told the students. 鈥淏ut we found some way to make it work, and we both learned a lot.鈥 Connecting the two disciplines, she said, is an emphasis on place鈥攁nd how we make sense of the places we are in. 鈥淗ow do the natural processes impact where we live and the structures we might build?鈥 Kineke asked. 鈥淎nd then how do we respond to the changing environment鈥攐ne of the greatest challenges of which is sea-level rise?鈥

From the beginning, the Venetians struggled against the sea, even as the sea would come to be their lifeblood. 鈥淭here was a constant need to maintain the city,鈥 Leone lectured in class in September. Houses were built up with heavy brick and stone, which were less sensitive to water than wood, and seawalls were erected to protect against the waves and divert sediment away from the lagoon鈥攁 measure necessary to ensure access to ships. At the same time, the heavy buildings and lack of natural soil replenishment caused the city to sink over time.

Venice鈥檚 coastal location made it a main pass-through point for religious pilgrims to the Holy Land, and eventually a jumping off point for the Silk Road to the East. The city became a shipbuilding nation, its inhabitants setting sail to trade with, and eventually to conquer parts of, the eastern Mediterranean, bringing home influences from the Arab world.

鈥淭he earliest Islamic pieces in Venice were聽spoglia,鈥 Leone told the class in another session鈥攖hat is, spoils of war that were repurposed for a Christian context; for example, an enameled glass bowl used to hold holy water. By the mid-14th century, Venetians were creating their own glass and metalwork designs based on Islamic practices鈥攕ometimes covering pieces in pseudo-Arabic inscriptions鈥攆or export throughout Europe. As the city became richer, it plowed its wealth into monumental churches and鈥攊ts crowning artistic achievement鈥擱enaissance paintings, in which the sea also played a major role.


The interior courtyard at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, on the edge of Boston鈥檚 Fens, is beautiful any time of day, but it is especially lovely at night. Soft moonlight filters from above into the dimly lit museum, illuminating a mosaic centerpiece and bubbling fountain surrounded by spindly palm trees and chrysanthemum flowers. The students of 鈥淟iving on the Water鈥 have gathered here on an October evening to see a bit of Venice. Gardner was a fan of the Floating City, spending every other summer in a palazzo on the Grand Canal鈥攁nd she brought back her own spoglia, including the Venetian stone medallions set into the inner walls of the museum courtyard.

In the Gardner Museum, gazing up at The Coronation of Hebe. Leone is at center in scarf.

Gardner was living in this palatial home when she opened it in 1903 as a museum. 鈥淢y desk is right where her bedroom was,鈥 says Molly Phelps 鈥14, a cataloguer and administrator who is giving the class a special tour. Phelps leads the way up stone stairways to the Veronese room, named for the Venetian Renaissance artist Paolo Veronese (1528鈥88). 鈥淎ll of the works in this room are connected to Venice in some way,鈥 Phelps says, pointing out the opulent leather wall coverings and lace borders meant to convey the luxury goods of Venice鈥檚 Golden Age.

The real attraction, however, is on the ceiling鈥攁n enormous, 12-foot square painting by Veronese鈥檚 studio titled聽The Coronation of Hebe. It depicts a lush cloudscape, with gods ascending into the sky in colorful robes to welcome Zeus鈥檚 daughter, the goddess of youth. 鈥淭his is an excellent time to admire the range of colors and brush strokes,鈥 says Leone, as students crane their heads upward to get a better look. An even more impressive piece is located in the room next door,聽The Rape of Europa聽by Venetian artist Titian, a 1562 painting depicting Zeus in the form of a white bull carrying off the virgin in a sweep of motion and color.

The fact that these paintings are here is because of Venice鈥檚 relationship to the sea, says Leone. During the Renaissance in Rome and Florence, the epitome of an artist鈥檚 talent was his ability to draw directly onto the surface of walls or ceilings鈥攈ence the beautiful frescoes by Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel. In Venice, however, the ever-present moisture from the watery environment caused paint applied directly to walls to crack within a few years. So instead, Venetian artists adopted a new technique, painting with oil on the canvas that was readily available from sailmakers.

That practice changed the course of Western art, making the use of color and the texture of brush strokes the main signatures of an artist rather than drawn lines. 鈥淭hey created a tradition in which the individual hand of the artist can be seen through the way they paint,鈥 Leone says. Those canvases also had the virtue of being portable, and so in addition to filling the walls of Venetian churches and social halls, the great paintings of Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese, and Carpaccio made their way across Europe鈥攁nd some eventually to America.

Phelps (left), with Titian鈥檚 "The Rape of Europa" on the wall to her left.

After admiring the paintings, the students are set loose to select a work of art relating to Venice that they will analyze on their own. 鈥淚 live for this,鈥 enthuses Katherine Jeszenszky 鈥22. She chose聽The Birth of Caterina Cornaro, a 16th-century work of oil on a maple panel by an anonymous artist. A slight 16 x 20 inches, it is populated by upward of a hundred figures鈥攊ncluding nymphs, children, pets, ladies-in-waiting, a Moorish prince, and a Native American chieftain. 鈥淯sually,鈥 she says of the works the class has been studying, 鈥渢here is an underlying meaning to be uncovered by the viewer. With this piece, there seems to be more than one story at play, and my senses are almost overwhelmed.鈥

The art in the Gardner Museum is not the only thing Boston has in common with Venice. Boston also reached its prominence through maritime trade, when its clipper ships sailed to the Far East in the early 1800s. Boston, like Venice, is built on landfill鈥攊ncluding the Back Bay neighborhood a few blocks east of where Mrs. Gardner鈥檚 museum stands. And like Venice, Boston is protected by a barrier island of sorts鈥攖he long arm of Cape Cod.

The class visited Cape Cod on a brilliantly sunny Saturday in September, to see the pristine 40 miles of outer beach set aside as the Cape Cod National Seashore in 1961. 鈥淚t could never happen today鈥攊t was a real gift,鈥 Kineke says. Just because the coastline is unspoiled, however, doesn鈥檛 mean it has stayed put. The beach is constantly vying with the ocean, as winter storms born by strong northeast winds slam into the dunes, sometimes creating breaks in the shore that last for years. Eventually the breaks heal, or they migrate down the beach as the sand reforms in their wake. 鈥淭he natural system will accommodate it if it can,鈥 Kineke says.

While they鈥檇 looked at pictures of the Outer Cape in class, says Wisconsin native Christopher Rizzo 鈥22, that was no substitute for seeing it in person鈥斺漢ow the beach had evolved, how the lagoon behind the barrier had filled in, and how it had been breached by nor鈥檈asters.鈥

That dynamic action stood in contrast to the more built-up area of the Cape near Falmouth, where Kineke has lived for the last 16 years and where the class went next. There, the beach is fixed by jetties and seawalls, and houses are built on stilts in an effort to survive the ocean鈥檚 desire to punch holes in the coast. As Kineke explained in class, the size of waves during a storm surge are directly related to the speed of the winds and the depth of the body of water out of which they grow. As sea-level rises, and as climate change causes storms to become more powerful, the size of storm surges increases, and the damage worsens in vulnerable populated areas on the coast.

For Venice, it鈥檚 not nor鈥檈asters that threaten the coast in winter, but the Sirocco, a dry wind that blows up the sea from North Africa, and the Bura, a strong wind from the east that zooms down from the cold mountains of Croatia鈥攂oth of which push sea water northwestward toward the city. Sergio Fagherazzi should know鈥攈e grew up on Lido, the narrow barrier island (population 20,000) that separates the Venetian lagoon from the Adriatic. Now a professor of marine geology at Boston University, he told students during a reflection session in October about finding storm-tossed trees washed up on the beach, carried down from rivers further north. As Venetians created jetties and seawalls to protect the lagoon from sedimentation, Lido鈥檚 beach eroded and storms surged through the channel into the lagoon, or washed over the island entirely.

When the Core Renewal Committee was looking for topics for Enduring Questions courses, Leone attended an event to match up potential faculty partners. "It was like speed dating for teaching," she says.


The first major warning was in 1966, when, in an unprecedented acqua alta, the water rose more than six feet, causing catastrophic flooding throughout the city. 鈥淰enetians knew about sea-level rise in the 1960s,鈥 Fagherazzi said. 鈥淭hat is why we were more advanced in understanding the tragedy of the shoreline.鈥

Venice鈥檚 current response to the threat of sea-level rise is a proposal called MOSE, which stands for Modulo Sperimentale Elettromeccanico (and also evokes Moses鈥檚 biblical parting of the Red Sea). Put simply, it would consist of a massive underwater jetty鈥攃onstructed as a series of hollow plates鈥攖hat could be raised to completely block the channel entering the lagoon in the event of a storm surge. Partially completed, the project, which has already cost more than $5.7 billion, was supposed to be implemented in 2011鈥攂ut after a series of complications, including fouling of the hinges by mussels and other sea life, it is planned for operation in 2022. 鈥淭hey are still waiting for funding from the government,鈥 Fagherazzi sighed.

Even if MOSE is implemented, however, the project may not be adequate to save the city as sea level continues to rise. New emphasis is being placed on restoration of the marshes along the edges of the lagoon, which have historically served as a natural buffer, absorbing water from storm surges and reducing the overall size of floods. As scientists and engineers confront the full force of sea-level rise around the world, they will have to consider a range of solutions that go beyond building bigger walls, Kineke says.

鈥淏uilding big seawalls will protect what鈥檚 behind them, so you save the house, but you completely lose the beach,鈥 she says. And once the beach is gone, waves strike with more power, putting buildings, roads, and property at greater risk, especially as sea level rises. Accommodating the ocean鈥檚 destructive force in coming decades will require working with natural processes as much as against them. 鈥淭he way Venice developed was so tightly coupled to the kind of environment it has; and the environmental problems it is facing today are directly coupled to the choice of how it developed,鈥 Kineke says. 鈥淯nderstanding that as it relates to Venice can help make those connections as they relate to other coastlines too.鈥

Though Christopher Rizzo is still planning on being a history and classics major, he鈥檚 been surprised at how fascinating he鈥檚 found the scientific aspects. 鈥淢y grandparents live in North Carolina on Ocracoke Island, so the coastal geology and how that鈥檚 been changing is really applicable to them,鈥 he says. The subject matter has hit even closer to home for Magisha Thohir 鈥22, who is from Jakarta, Indonesia. Like Venice, her city has been sinking, due to fresh water pumped out of the earth from private wells. 鈥淥ur coastline has significantly started to erode,鈥 she says. 鈥淧eople have lost their homes鈥攑rimarily fishermen but I know it鈥檚 something that could affect me in the future.鈥

A student in the Carroll School of Management, Thohir has always been interested in architecture and rural development, and taking the course about Venice has given her a deeper awareness of the issues facing her own archipelago. 鈥淲e take a lot of things for granted,鈥 she says. 鈥淚t opened my mind to being more aware of my surroundings and the relationship we have to our environment.鈥 She is thinking about a career in planning and development.

鈥淎n element opposes another element,鈥 engraving by Venetian-born Andrea Zucchi (1679鈥1740). Image: Getty Research Institute, Los Angeles (1379-080)

Whether or not any of these first-year students choose art history or environmental science as their path, Kineke and Leone hope that the experience causes them to look differently at their relationship鈥攁nd responsibility鈥攖o the environment, wherever they end up living. 鈥淭he Enduring Questions we were trying to answer, are really, How do humans affect the environment, and How does the environment impact humans,鈥 says Kineke, 鈥渂oth in indirect ways like art and architecture and direct ways like, if we want to live here, we have to build differently.鈥

Although it鈥檚 not discussed in class, the environment of the Enduring Questions courses, with their intensive Tuesdays and Thursdays and occasional evenings and excursions, has an effect on the students. 鈥淭he chemistry of the class is different,鈥 says Kineke. 鈥淲ith all of them being freshmen, they are all in the same place, and it鈥檚 clear they got to know each other as a group very early. When I come into class, they are usually quite animated,鈥 she says. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e talking across the room, and everyone is in on the conversation. I believe they are more willing to speak up in class because they are more comfortable with each other as a community.鈥 Students share her observation. 鈥淲e know each other better, and I think we all know how we think,鈥 says Rizzo. 鈥淲e all hang out together to get work done, and it鈥檚 really nice,鈥 puts in Leah Gerrish, who hails from southwest of Boston.

As a final project, Kineke asks students to consider how cities should respond to sea-level rise, looking at specific examples, from Venice to Boston鈥攚hile Leone asks what makes Venice even worth saving. 鈥淰enice is something that shouldn鈥檛 exist,鈥 Leone says: a cultural and artistic jewel created out of the sea. 鈥淵ou could think of it as overcoming the challenge of nature or, better yet, working with what nature has presented,鈥 she says, to build a place that expresses 鈥渢he heights of humanity鈥檚 creative and intellectual capabilities.鈥

Boston-based writer Michael Blanding鈥檚 most recent book is聽The Map Thief聽(2014).