Venice Bienale: part one

I would like to present a collection of writing related to the 53rd International Art Exhibition, commonly referred to as "la Biennale di Venezia" or "the Venice Biennale", specifically devised to address particular work(s) or artists. This years exhibition was titled "Making Worlds", directed by Daniel Birnbaum. My personal attendance at the exhibition in it's multiple venues and stages throughout Venice, Italy (Arsenale, Giardini, among others) took place in early September of 2009.

Gilbert and George


For "Making Worlds", Birnbaum included in his directors statement, "When Fare Mondi Making Worlds brings back expressions from a recent past it is never for nostalgic reasons but in order to find tools for the future and the make possible new beginnings."

This "magazine sculpture", originally published in a Sunday Times color supplement in 1971 ("Two Text Pages Describing Our Position"), was featured among the curated works comprising the central exhibition at Giardini. Dated nearly thirty years ago, from a relatively early point in the collective career of the England based duo, this piece positions itself in a proactive, yet simultaneously inconspicuous, way among the works.

Displayed simply upon the wall behind a sheath of glass, a quality of aged, archive-defying paper is first evident upon immediate inspection. A crease assists in indicating that this document, this work, was originally folded, as do the staples in the paper's middle. "Gilbert and George, the sculptors say–," begins the left-page, followed by the bold statement in capitol letters, "'WE ARE ONLY HUMAN SCULPTORS".

This document created by the artists insists on two instances, in close succession, that Gilbert and George are in fact sculptors or, at least, would commonly refer to themselves as such and are intent on making this claim known.

Firstly, they address their two-man collective in a third-person narrative tone. Following is an emphasis on the statement, a proclamation regarded as the pinnacle of a larger quote made up of supposedly quantifiable evidence and validation in proof of the claim.

The question could justly be raised as to whether or not the art which lies in this piece, if any, could be found in the use of the linguistic components describing artistic activity. Language exists as an actualized material in this piece, printed and distributed, activating the work through textually-based information. A single sentence, organized by commas after short phrases or single words, alludes to the everyday, to activities that could rightly be attributed to a definition of personality. Possibly, the term "human sculptor" refers to a material followed by it's right of agency, a most direct and literal interpretation of the notion.

Perhaps the self-referential quality of the language is a result of the work. That the nature of Gilbert and George's sculptural practice is constantly turned in on itself becomes integral to recognizing it's intricacies, it's obstinate denial to admit or create any distinction between everyday experience and art. Also, a suggestion is inherent in this piece that one may play an active role and become a participant in this paradigm through a certain level of awareness, as the notion of localized responsibility can be paired with that of authoring and accounting for, or sculpting.

For this magazine advertisement to exist in it's preserved state as a glimpse into a moment past, an event occurring alongside the reading of the Sunday Paper, allows for it be appropriately disassociated with the present, that it is easily enough recognizable as historic, essentially a document of a larger action seen through by the two artists, though still supposedly with enough content of it's own to admit it into a predominately contemporary dialogue of art.

In this we can evidence a shift in meaning; not merely in it's decontextualization, but rather in it's reconstitution, an understood history and career proceeding the relic of '71 which speaks to a level of integrity and artistic practice calling for current examination.

Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset

The most impressive and memorable display among the national pavilions at Giardini did not come in a singular architectural space. Rather, a collaboration between Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset, a duo familiar with each other for over a decade, presented a marked first for the Venice Biennale–the pairing of two separate country pavilions in the cumulative effort towards one exhibition. The Danish and Nordic pavilions, side by side, feature the show titled "The Collectors". With an overarching theme of the domestic, both pavilions create something of a surreal space to enter into. "The curators will approach the topic of collecting, and the psychology behind the practice of expressing oneself through physical objects," reports the website specifically created for the project. Without any specific language or instructional assistance relating the two separate buildings, a first impression upon going from one to another is appropriately in identifying a similarity in aesthetics, an apparent theme of the inter-personal narrative, and a series of constituents resulting in a serenely unconventional approach to the presentation of art among the pavilions. Each space feels like an inhabitance, an elaborate piece of private scenery for inspection. In stepping into the Nordic Pavilion, one must first pass a small pool with a figure lying face down, floating. A pair of shoes rests on a the ledge of the pool, a pack of cigarettes and a dress watch remain on the floor underneath the water. The space is open, a large room composed of sections, it's divisions being contextual rather than physical. A looping score of polite-electronic beeping is amplified from a central part of the space, a large, square opening, below the lever of the floor, lined with cushions and outfitted with a large, black chimney in the center for a fire which is unlit. In this pavilion, there are not only places to sit, there are places to lay down, even nap. A bed in the corner, stocked with some books, a running TV with video, and a few stretched condoms, have a courteous sticky-note in hand-scrawled pen asking viewers to please take their shoes off before entering. This is a pavilion more active that most, as biennale attendants are actually partaking in the space in a way that could be considered somewhat removed from a traditional art experience. A glass-topped desk in an opposite corner collects dust, covered in used tissues used for questionable purposes and with some more hand-written notes, including one requesting to not have the desk cleaned. A circuitous type-written story on a single-sheet of paper describes a young novelists writing a novel about writing a novel. It's erotic tone coincides with the naked pictures of men also on the desk. Examination of the space requires the question to be asked of what exactly spectators are to be looking at - or for. A couch seemingly-crushed under the weight of a solid, leather covered column exists next to a bathroom, visible through a large pane of glass, with a ground of stoned and trees growing out through the actual roof of the building. On the wall is a framed series of mens underwear with names underneath each pair. A painting of two male cops having sex is near a table for two, while another two paintings exist on a different wall which seem to correspond more directly to the immediate surroundings. At a certain point, a realization could be made that what is being presented is not in fact the work of one artist in this space. Instead, the impression provided by the visual information present is not unlike one that may be given by the entrance into the home of eccentric bachelor with an interest in collecting. Rather than perceiving a singular work, one experiences a coherent space of domesticity lined with decorative pieces providing in narration. The Danish Pavilion has a similar affect, not nearly identical but strikingly similar in it's aura of the home. Comprised of different rooms, more like a household than a flat, a journey can be had from the different portions that make up the whole of a house. A mirror upon entering has written on it a heart-sick farewell in red lipstick. Past this room is a dining room with a long table equipped with place-settings. In the center is a large crack, going even through the ceramic plates and chairs. On the wall are framed pictures, signs commonly used by beggars, requests or please written in black marker on cardboard. The overarching themes in the Nordic Pavilion are present here as well, with the exception that this is possibly a different version, a more familial, melancholy story. Another wing is a common area with big, green couches and a bookcase which is accessible to attendants. Along the wall is a broken stair-case, inevitably dominating the visual presence of the room. A back room has a perplexing metal structure that could possibly be a version of a bed, entirely sprayed with black. A small door in the wall has an arrow pointing to it's exit, leading to a tiny, wooded area in the outdoors of Giardini. One can sit on the lawnchairs and, in cover, watch as people pass by. Truly, this is not to be considered a typical Biennale experience. In correlation with the unconventional, the exhibition curated by Elmgreen and Dragset features roughly thirty different contributing artists, unlimited to the two nations historically represented through the buildings. In a brilliant curatorial gesture, an international variety of works are featured as a symbiotic, unanimous whole, creating a context of art experience embracing subtleties and eliciting an examination unique from any such normative exercises commonly facilitated by an art audience. "In close collaboration with the participating artists and designers, they hope to circumvent all the usual competitive aspects of the larger art event," reads the project page on the Danish-Nordic website. The sharp and sensitive qualitative understanding of the massive operation that is the Venice Biennial significantly benefits Elmgreen and Dragset's execution, a fashionable rejection of Fine Art standards so present throughout the Giardini exhibitions. Basic notions of display and formality and conveying of linear information are shifted. In this exhibition an alternative mode of art is presented, uber-contemporary and complex; an audience is asked to ascertain something which is not immediately recognizable, yet which appears with hints of the oddly familiar. more images Further writings on this year's Venice Biennale to follow.