Columnist Muriel Stevens: Woodworking magic of De Marchi

Wednesday, March 8, 2000 | 9:01 a.m.

Muriel Stevens' shopping column appears Wednesdays. Her dining column appears Fridays. Reach her at muriel@vegas.com or 259-4080.

There is in the Canal Shoppes at the Venetian a most enchanting gift gallery, Ripa de Monti.

Owned by Italian entrepreneur Stefano Ripamonti, Ripa de Monti showcases a peerless collection of Venetian Murano glass in every form -- museum quality art glass, moderately-priced glass pieces, costume jewelry and inexpensive small gifts and collectibles. Ripa de Monti is the first store in the United States to feature, almost entirely, the millenarian (1,000-year-old) glass art of Venice's small island of Murano. Murano glass is still made using the methods developed so many centuries ago.

The design of the Ripa de Monti shop is itself a captivating, colorful work of art providing the ideal background for the diverse works exhibited.

While Venetian glass takes up most of the shop's space, one extraordinary Venetian artist, Livio De Marchi, works in wood rather than glass. But De Marchi is no ordinary woodworker. His realistic wood sculptures replicate ordinary everyday objects with artistry that is anything but ordinary.

Imagine a coat made entirely of wood. The "fabric" falls in gentle folds from the hook upon which it is placed in the shop. Fingers of a glove poke out from one pocket. So real is the effect that I watch as a customer touches the coat, then steps back startled, as his fingers confirm that this soft-appearing garment is indeed made of solid wood. My own response was pretty much the same the first time I visited Ripa de Monti.

What kind of artist dreams up suitcases, furled umbrellas, desks made of stacked books, fedoras with softly-bent brims and other articles, all magically carved from wood? I would soon find out. The artist was making a personal appearance at the store to sign his work and to personalize the signatures for those who bought pieces while he was in the store. It had already been a good day. One of the desks ($14,500) and a chair had just been sold. The buyer was ecstatic to meet the artist.

I would interview him during lunch at Valentino. (One of the coats hangs in the restaurant.)

Tall and attractive, with a mustache twirled a la Dali, De Marchi is an instant friend. He speaks little English, but Stefano is there to interpret. With him is his Japanese wife, Mieko Baan. They met in an airport some years ago. She was vacationing in Europe; he was coming home to Italy after exhibiting his work in Japan. Says De Marchi, "We met in an airplane and she cut off my wings."

Not likely; no one could clip the wings of this high flyer. He sparkles like the Italian wine, Prosecco. He regales me with stories of his childhood, and of a mother who worried about this 4-year-old boy who only wanted to play with the pieces of wood his father brought home for the fireplace.

Finally accepting his yearning to work with wood, she took him to the village woodworker, who accepted the boy as a student only if he would go to school at night. Recounting the story to me, he remembers vividly those early days. Later he would study art and drawing at the Accedemia de Belle Arti in Venice.

Like the child he once was, he still dreams. Most of his very playful ideas come, he says, from "fooling around in the studio," only now all of his dreams come true. Through the years he has worked in bronze and marble, but he responds most to wood. "It's alive," he says. His most wonderful experience in America was "meeting" California's giant redwood trees.

Since he lives in Venice, De Marchi gets his wood from the forests between Italy and Austria.

Lunch is a spirited event. We met as strangers, departed as friends. It is time to return to the store. A number of admirers are waiting to meet the artist. I watch as he answers questions and gives autographs: always gracious, always responsive. Strangely enough, he tells me, his work is accepted more in America than anyplace else.

"So what kind of work will you be doing in years to come?" I ask.

"I ask myself that all the time," he responds. "Perhaps projects with architects (he would like to make houses of wood), but I can't yet tell you."

When pressed he admits that he has already started new things made of wood and glass. He is, after all, a Venetian.

Asked to describe his work, he says: "There's no pretense, there's whimsy and irony."

The selection of De Marchi's work changes frequently. Sometimes the store has a difficult time keeping up with the demand, but new pieces arrive regularly.

Visiting Ripa de Monti on a regular basis has become a habit with many customers, said store manager Merri Scott. It's easy to know why. Ripa de Monti is a feast for the eyes.