The Meditative Way: Floating Minds vs Floating City. La Biennale di Venezia 57th International Art

The word “vacuum” in the Oxford English Dictionary is identified as a space entirely devoid of matter. Walking in Art Rhythm has been immersed in that state of deep and dark absence, for the past few months, for which I sincerely apologise. We were under construction, yes, we have changed the interface of the blog, yes. But, frankly speaking, I was never and perhaps never will be into a cute picture or a strong visual, call me old-fashioned, but I am really a humble pro-content human being. Thus, the main reason for my long lasting silence was the fact that I went to be a student again. After spending a lot of time in the commercial part of this beautiful art universe, I felt like I needed a vocation. I might sound a little too poetic or a little too naïve (feel free to synonymize with ‘fool’ in this case) to a skeptical public, but when involving myself in this whole business of art back in 2007, I did look at it as at something completely profound and divine, detached from the toxic and destructive. It didn’t take me long to understand the trajectory of this world’s culture and its identity. However, as most of my readers know, I have also worked as a curator, which I totally admired and eventually have decided to enhance my knowledge in this direction enrolling myself in the MA Culture Curation and Criticism course at University of the Arts London: Central Saint Martin’s College. Studying at this great institution takes a lot of my time, but I will never give up on my offspring, aka my blog.

Kenny Schachter, a prominent collector and a charming dealer I fell for immediately after being introduced to at the Opening Gala Dinner of the Heydar Aliyev Cultural Centre built by late Zaha Hadid in Baku, later sent me some of his articles to read, and I fell a little bit more for his thought, especially when he said: “the art world is like the film Groundhog Day, where every day is an endless time loop (or fair…).”

Art Basel, Art Basel Miami, Frieze London, TEFAF Maastricht, Manifesta, all other biennials, you don’t even get to miss Documenta anymore, the end of one is connected to the beginning of another. And it was okay if only these events were only about art and artists, but some of them are highly party-centered or partially party-centered, which provokes some disturbing feelings within me.

Speaking of ONLY…An exhibition “for artists, by artists and with artists”, the line I read on the walls of Giardini’s main pavilion during the preview week at Venice Biennale that was curated by Christine Macel, does project itself as purely artistic. While uncomfortably standing there in front of the wall text, it continued surprising me by saying “the heart of the exhibition is the artist and the artwork”. I am not necessarily pro intentionally complicated sentences and definitely enjoy the simplicity of language, but that sounded too flat for me (even if it was made intentionally?). So, tuned up in a skeptical mood and now completely mean spirited I entered the pavilion. The show reflected the writing; it was simply not impressive, not because it was not as provocative and apprehensive as Okwui Enwezor’s previous Biennale, which aggressively underlined the chaos and uneasiness of the modern social climate, but because it tried to be something it cannot be. Art cannot be only about art, it is always highly political, social and environmental. Yet, my mood gradually amended as I was visiting it all, and I will come to that later.

You all know by now that Anne Imhof and her colourless agonizing exhibition entitled “Faust,” in the German pavilion, won the Golden Lion for best national participation, which “involves a dark, fractured five-hour performance piece accompanied by abrasive music”, referring to artnews.com. We were queuing a lot, but the encaged Dobermans outside the pavilion kept us tight and concentrated, in a way reflecting the whole hypnotizing mood of the pavilion. It is pretty clear what the artist wants to say, the good old Big Brother concept has been totally refined and presented in the best possible way. Gloomy, robotlike, selfless or immersed deeply within themselves performers and their lost expressionless gazes reflect the glassy atmosphere and indoor setting of the pavilion. The glasshouse they live in is being watched and judged by the viewers; they sing, move, dance and express themselves in a rather extravagant way, being trapped inside the crystal clear cage, just like the Dobermans. The work represents an imitation of freedom, shut in a window-like, mirror-like, “transparent” world. It’s all about boarders. You don’t feel claustrophobic when you first enter the space; it’s the content that makes you feel confined in the end. The lies that lie behind the windows.

The U.S pavilion, represented by Mark Bradford, the new Pollock of nowadays, a gay black artist whose installation, sculpture, painting and the video art just felt completely right as opposed to some other shows shown at the Biennale, for instance Damien Hirst’s simply unbeautiful appearance at Punta della Dogana and Palazzo Grassi, which were executed in a disastrous way with no sense of neither quality nor aesthetic. I felt like Bradford brought the “traditional” back, he sounded deep and strong, critical and intimate, there is a lot of message in his work, which I am not going into right now, as he himself says “People like to make it more narrative than it is”.

If Hirst felt a need to go for the scale, he should have consulted Phillida Barlow, who was representing the British pavilion. The artist’s “folly” show displays monumental beautifully exaggerated creatures that rise from the ground reminiscent of Gulliver in Giantland. Other pavilions worth queuing for were Japan with Hiroshima-born Takahiro Iwasaki’s intricate and clever exhibition “Turned Upside Down, It’s a Forest”, ironic and banal yet profound and buoyant, just like only Japanese can do it; as well as ‘happy’ Korea, euphonic France and interactive Austria.

When I finally headed towards Arsenale and entered the main pavilion, Macel’s new-shamanistic moods and dreamy concepts somehow hit me (maybe because I was high on art by then, after the 30 000 steps I have taken at Giardini in one day, according to my colleague's iPhone). Her hippie like Coachellaesque approach insisting on self-expression has been more readable here. The magical, the primitive, the self-spiritual, the psychic and even meditational works delivered the idea of Macel’s “art for artists”. This year’s Biennial is about THE artist and his/her inner journeys, and not the outer world he/she constantly satisfies. I even started to like it!

One of the highlights of Arsenale in my opinion was the South African pavilion representing two artists. Candice Breitz, from Johannesburg, tells us a story about the refugee crisis by means of six interviewees sharing their life experience, told by Hollywood actors Alec Baldwin and Juliana Moore behind the green screen with no makeup, no costumes, no props. This room takes you to another one where you finally meet the real protagonists telling their complex stories about migration and identity. Soweto-born Mohau Modisakeng’s work "Passage" took my breath away, an absolutely hypnotizing video representing the sinking boat and the dance of a sinker within it, underlining slavery’s dismemberment of African identity and the erasure of personal histories.

Another must see at Arsenale is a gigantic Italian pavilion, where magic happens by means of illusionistic work by Giorgio Andreotta Calò and his large-scale installation transforming the architectural fragment of the pavilion into absolute mystical symbolism.

An existential pavilion by Georgia among others seemed as always very poetic, almost Brodsky-like depressive and Nabokovesque naïve. A “Don’t blame the rain he simply doesn’t know how to fall upwards” kind of pavilion. It is a touching scene to see an old cottage and the pouring rain cruelly invading the romantic environment destroying its existence.

The real star of this grand event in my opinion was the absolutely breathtaking setting of the Palazzo Contarini Polignac which hosted The Future Generation Art Prize by Pinchuk Art Foundation. I take my hat off to the curators of the show who skillfully incorporated the work of 21 artists from 66 countries to form a single homogeneous, with a touch of decadence, artwork. I couldn’t even think of each work within the palace separately, it merged as a beautiful unity, each detail of which was speaking about humanity, tradition, symbolism, mixing the matters of small and grand, creating a perfect congruence. Again the South African artist Dineo Seshee Bopape’s and Kenyan/British artist Phoebe Boswell’s silently and loudly screaming works were spectacular.

I can’t conclude my article without mentioning and encouraging you to attend the Azerbaijani pavilion, located so very centrally that I’m sure you will be passing by it many times a day, located at Palazzo Lezze this exhibition emphasizes the matters of multiculturalism and tolerance that constitute the foundation of the country by means of video-mapping projects by ‘Hypnotica’ performance group and a nostalgic leviaphanesque installation of 44 pieces of saz, an Azeri national instrument, reminiscent of the sea monster’s skeleton by Elvin Nabizade; its absolute neighbor (only here in Venice) a very evocative and as ever romantic Cuba is definitely worth attending as well.

The culmination of my visit to this year’s Biennale was nothing but Piazza San Marco, where water surged up through the drains in the square, covering the whole surface. With this phenomenon, known as acqua alta, the city's intimate relationship with water looked perfectly in balance with the installation by Italian sculptor Lorenzo Quinn, whose giant pair of hands reach out of the Grand Canal and appear to hold up the walls of the historic Ca' Sagredo Hotel, almost gently and carefully supporting and protecting the powerful yet vulnerable city of Venice from sinking.