Venice. A truly beautiful city, so picturesque it’s almost a little too much at times – flooded with Western tourists (and the occasional Arabic oil sheik daddy in beautiful kendoras looking better than all the Americans and Europeans of the city combined). I’ll never go back, but I’m glad to have seen the city of the sea resting solely on oaken pillars. September in Italy was warm and all I wore were single layers of Rick Owens while running around drinking water and consuming disgusting amounts of pizza. The purpose of the visit was to experience the biannual Venice architecture exhibition which this year disappointed me greatly. It’s no government secret that I’m not a Rem Koolhaas fan, but his thematic focus on elements this year did not interest me at all. Highlights of the biennale: The Norwegian pavilion by Sverre Fehn (just the pavilion itself, the exhibition was just as embarrassing for me as a Norwegian as I had been told) – and the exhibition of the Danish pavilion – which had a poetic approach to an aesthetic, represented by the tactile and sensual feelings of the boreal forest, which I loved. Maybe it was the scent of fresh pine or the soft feeling of stepping on pine needles or a pathetic desire to see and feel something familiar.