A Slowbrow Guide to the 60th Venice Biennale
PART THREE - THE NATIONAL PAVILIONS
Conversations through time
Arguably, the national pavilions are the lifeblood of the Biennale. Participating countries with permanent structures in the Giardini della Biennale are responsible for the upkeep and production costs of their pavilions during and in between exhibition cycles, some of which have been around since the early 20th century. Therefore, the edifices themselves are monuments to their historical context and changes made by their guardian governments over time. This provides fertile ground for artists to address (or ignore) the connotations of the space that is temporarily theirs. Before we enter, let’s take a look at a few of the buildings from the outside, and listen in on the dialogue between past and present, artist and architect.
See for example John Akomfrah’s Listening All Night to the Rain (2024). The British pavilion is one of the few remaining original buildings in the Giardini - a neoclassical, colonial-era structure designed by E.A. Rickards. This year, screens displaying Akomfrah’s films which explore themes of racial injustice, migration and ecology hang proudly between the white columns of the pavilion’s facade and throughout its interior. The confrontation is inescapable. Access is also only possible through the back door, and the non functionality of the building’s main entrance undermines the grandeur of the building itself.
Or take the German pavilion, an Ernst Haiger-designed relic of the Nazi era, now obscured by a giant pile of dirt as part of Ersan Mondtag’s spine-tingling Monument eines unbekannten Menschen. Past years have seen various attempts at staring down the Nazi regime which sponsored the construction of the building in 1938, such as Maria Eichhorn’s removal of sections of the building’s marble floor at the last Biennale. Mondtag’s pile of dirt, however, sends a simple and painfully effective message. We have more digging to do.
Kapwani Kiwanga’s Trinket, which covers the facade and interior of the Canadian pavilion with literally millions of hand-strung seed beads, is another brilliant site-specific piece. These murano beads (conterie) once held significant economic and ritual significance across transoceanic trade routes, particularly around the 16th century. They embody the seismic shift in our understanding of value that took hold in the early colonial period, covering the modernist structure of the Canadian pavilion in a gossamer, gently billowing curtain borne of laborious craftsmanship and history.
Inside
Albania, Arsenale: Love as a glass of water (Iva Lulashi). I was instantly obsessed by Lulashi’s series of oil paintings. They are both energetically and graphically explicit - hazy but incredibly vital. A soft sfumato makes it seem that you are viewing scenes through a thick pane of glass - secretive and voyeuristic. Lulashi’s work often centres around themes of impulsivity and eroticism, and I admire her ability to portray the natural essence of sexuality without vulgarity1. A quote from the artist: “Everything is allowed because everything is natural. Indeed, everything simply is.”
Austria, Giardini. The decision of BMKÖDS to select Leningrad-born Anna Jermolaewa to represent Austria was a pleasant surprise2. The works displayed draw on the artist’s experience as a political refugee around the decline of the USSR. Jermolaewa brilliantly addressed the delicate and euphemistic dance that is woven into the social fabric of crumbling dictatorial regimes. I particularly love Jermolaewa’s focus on micro-rebellions and small moments of beauty in the face of control, such as Ribs. Bootleg records, copied onto discarded X-ray sheets scavenged from hospital bins hang, glowing, on the gallery wall. A Soviet music-lover’s technique for avoiding the censors.
Serbia, Giardini: Exposition Coloniale (Aleksandar Denić). I was blown away by this one. Entering the Serbian pavilion is like visiting the prop department of the 20th Century theatre of dictatorship3. Entire reconstructed rooms - including a late 90s public bath complete with steam - stand side by side with fragments of 1960s Cuba. Telephone masts, plastic chairs, neon signs, a butcher’s shop, all embedded in the dreamy pitch-black of the pavilion’s cavernous space. Visitors fell silent without being hushed.
Germany, Giardini & La Certosa: Thresholds. Six artists4 took on the German pavilion this year. Addressing my home country’s history is often a painful and uncomfortable experience at best, and difficult to achieve without appearing trite or self-flagellating. I only had time to visit the Giardini pavilion, which was a total bulls-eye. Ersan Mondtag5’s centrepiece was another immersive room-within-a-room6, a tender and devastating monument to his grandfather, a Turkish ‘guest worker’7 who died of complications from decades-long labour in an Asbestos factory. Although the dust has settled, the wounds remain.
Poland, Giardini: Repeat After Me II (Yuriy Biley, Pavlo Kovach & Anton Varga of OPEN GROUP). Similarly uncomfortable to witness (and therefore effective) was the video installation in the Polish pavilion. The premise is simple: a karaoke of war sounds. Needless to say, nobody was willing to take the mic first.
Netherlands, Giardini: The International Celebration of Blasphemy and the Sacred (Cercle d’Art des Travailleurs de Plantation Congolaise/CATPC). An overwhelming smell of chocolate greets visitors of the Dutch pavilion, sickly sweet in the heat of the Italian summer. Its origin? A series of intricately carved sculptures crafted from cacao and palm fat. It’s a comment on the colonial history of the Netherlands and France in DR Congo, with a satirical twist. The artist collective CATPC, formed on a plantation formerly run by Unilever, uses the money made from art sales to repurchase ancestral land from the companies that have historically exploited them. The exhibition, and their work in general, draws much-deserved attention to the deep well of dirty money that fuels major art institutions to this day.
The International Celebration of Blasphemy and the Sacred, CATPC (2024)
Egypt, Giardini: Drama 1882 (Wael Shawky). This theatrical retelling of the 1879-1882 Urabi Revolution was hypnotic to say the least. Impeccable production and costume design, beautifully vocalised storytelling and a deeply detailed play-by-play of a period of intense political upheaval and diplomatic intrigue come together to form this revisionist masterpiece. Watch an extract here.
Uzbekistan, Giardini: Don’t miss the cue (Aziza Kadyri). Another theatrical piece, this is a delightfully interactive experience that coaxes the viewer through various phases of ‘accidental performance’, blissfully immersed in swathes of fabric embellished with traditional Uzbek Suzani embroidery. We are unaware of being observed, finally emerging onto a makeshift stage in open space. Worth visiting for the tactility alone. Yes, you may touch.8
Republic of Korea, Giardini: Odorama Cities (Koo Jeong A). I’m a strong believer in smell being the most emotionally salient sense. A whiff of mowed grass, petrichor or exhaust fumes on a winter’s day can catapult me into a time or place, so I loved the idea that Koo chose perfume to paint a ‘scent portrait of the Korean peninsula’. Super minimalist and genius in its directness. What better way to capture the essence of a place than through a levitating, alien-esque figure (above) breathing a gorgeous (and purchasable) perfume by master nose Dominique Ropion down upon its viewers?
Seychelles, Arsenale: PALA. Small but mighty, my favourite part of the Seychelloise exhibition was getting to speak with Danielle Freakly, one of the four9 participating artists. In the past, her work has consistently explored ways to challenge how we speak to each other, turning the rules of civil dialogue inside out. As part of the Seychelloise pavilion, Freakly distributes green ribbons to visitors. These can be affixed to clothing as a sign that one is open to engaging in conversation. The twist? You can ask anyone with the ribbon to say something of your choosing. The result of such conversation says as much about you as the other person.
And there we have it. Once again, I urge you to go and experience this year’s Biennale for yourself, if you can. The works that resonated most with me were the ones addressing Europe’s history of political dictatorship and censorship; of home, migration, labour. The ones that made me, and those who share my family’s past, feel seen. Whether these works strike a chord with you or not, I can guarantee that there’s something in the Biennale for your own personal history. That’s the beauty of it.10
This may also be because a woman has made these paintings. It’s so validating to see.
Following previous encounters with the Austrian arts sector, I’ve developed a view of its arts institutions as primarily focussed on preserving a rich, national, cultural heritage rather than looking beyond its borders or addressing more complex intersectionalities. The theme of this year’s Biennale may have pushed the needle in a new direction.
After some research into the artist, it turns out he is indeed also a film production designer. Thank god - a talent not to be wasted.
Yael Bartana, Ersan Mondtag, Michael Akstaller, Nicole L'Huillier, Robert Lippok, Jan St. Werner.
Like Denić, Mondtag is also a theatre production designer. I’m loving this interdisciplinary representation!
Part of Monument eines unbekannten Menschen as mentioned earlier in this article.
Between the 1950s - 1970s, millions of ‘guest workers’ from Turkey, Italy and Tunisia amongst others migrated to West Germany on ‘temporary’ contracts in the industrial sector. This was a common practice in post-war Europe, in an attempt to solve labour shortages in the North and high unemployment rates in the South. The social impact of these programmes, after which many migrant workers eventually settled in their ‘host’ countries, are complex. The programmes, including the naïivity and simultaneous exploitative motivations with which they were set into motion, have been much contested.
And you also get a poster at the end!
Jude Ally, Ryan Chetty, Danielle Freakley, Juliette Zelime (aka Jadez).
Only until November 24th, though. Run, don’t walk!