Postcard of the Day No. 37, Ship Hotel, Venice, California

When buildings take on the appearance of things they are not, architectural purists are appalled while the rest of us are silently rejoicing at the absurdity. Property developers are tempted to counterfeit appearances in hopes of maximising commercial opportunity by appealing to the public thirst for novelty. Tobacco baron and cosmopolitan, Abbot Kinney was one such individual. His inspiration was to recreate the splendour of Venice on the Pacific seashore near Santa Monica and he set about doing so with all the entrepreneurial vigour at his command. A Grand Lagoon and several miles of canals were excavated and filled with water from the ocean. Gondolas were imported from Italy and in no time, authentic looking gondoliers were navigating their way beneath the latest in ornamental footbridges. Meanwhile down by the ocean the Ship Hotel opened for business on the pier – just a few years too late for a visit from Mr John Ruskin. It seems that Mr Kinney overestimated the public appetite for Venetian culture as it became apparent that the freak shows and roller coasters at the amusement park were many times more profitable. Displaying the flexibility typical of moguls of commerce, Mr K switched the focus to the construction of bigger and better amusements and the Venetian dream died and Mr K prospered. The “Coney Island of the Pacific” was born.


The bonus card shows another maritime impostor. The Restaurant de la Réserve clings to the edge of the Mediterranean Sea at Nice. The conceit was to transform the outermost rocky outcrop into an approximation of an ocean going yacht. The restaurant is still there, as is the rock, but it now serves as the location for a multi-level diving platform. The watercolour below is from a book on the German artist Karl Hubbuch who visited in 1928. Hubbuch was a superb draftsman with a rare talent for wrapping a crisply flowing line around the most complex forms and making it all look easy.

Walking on Water

This ferrous vision of loveliness is Clevedon Pier, advancing nimbly into the silvery waters of the Bristol Channel. It’s a splendidly anachronistic structure that has survived into the present thanks to the efforts of dedicated preservationists over several decades. Commercial activity is confined to a compact souvenir shop through which visitors must enter the pier and a diminutive café on the upper level of the pagoda that operates in peak-season. The rest is pure architectural and engineering escapism. Like transporter bridges, piers can insinuate themselves into our affections by the simple business of elevating us into a place from where we can look down without fear on the chill and hostile waters below. The boardwalk on Clevedon Pier offers clear and frequent glimpses of the turbulence beneath our feet. The pagoda at the pier-head is a delight, resembling the kind of Victorian ornamental fantasy that seems to haunt the collective imagination of the Japanese animation fraternity. In the hands of these artists the pier would be instantly extended into the upper atmosphere in a rising sequence of baroque swirls, there to engage in mortal combat with a platinum plated super-sized puffer fish. Despite the engineering excellence, a pier is no match for the power of the sea on a long-term basis. Piers also seem suspiciously susceptible to fire damage. So visit and explore while you can – it won’t be here for ever.