Each February, as winter loosens its grip on the lagoon, Carnevale returns like a bizarre dream. Masks bloom in the mist. Silk and velvet sweep across stone. Laughter echoes off water that has seen a thousand years of secrets. For a brief, delirious spell, the city forgets itself - and yet it becomes more fully itself than ever.

This is not merely a festival. It is theatre without a stage, a masquerade without a script; the eighteenth century brushes shoulders with the present. The living flirt with ghosts. Venice, already improbable, tips joyfully into madness and chaos.
That madness has rules, of course: rituals, costumes and traditions older than memory. But it is a chosen madness - a collective agreement to suspend the ordinary. Think unpredictability, mischief, even a sense of unease.
This project, shot over just five days, enters that shimmering disorder, embracing the absurdity, the beauty and the excess.