by Hundreds of geed up, high-flying international art players, the odd culture minister and a few Ciao-barking celebrities bumping into a sinking island… what could go wrong?
That film premiered last week when the Venice Biennale — now in its 60th year and the world’s longest-running contemporary art festival — opened after a spritz-soaked preview round, complete with stunning art (and the mandatory trash).
This way, picture the Venice Carnival but the masks are hand-painted on their faces, the fancy dress code is a billionaire pin and the trainers and festivals are f-hour fashion parties that make the heads look tame in Paris. It all plays out in the shadow of the superyachts that hit the lemon sherbet postcard of the Gothic buildings of Italy, and by the fourth night it all goes back to an episode of Love Island, as the dealers tackle anyone who can meet knows who I am?” fighting for a spot on the boat with party after party.
Every two years, these art Olympics see the nations of the world (this year 85, from Great Britain to North Macedonia) hosting mini-exhibitions in separate pavilions riffing on the Biennale’s overarching theme (‘Foreigners everywhere’, for 2024) as well as a central one. an exhibition curated by Adriano Pedrosa, director of the São Paulo Museum of Art.
The pavilions are divided into two parts of the eastern sector of Venice, Castello — at the Arsenale, in the Renaissance boatyards set up as tiered white cube galleries, and the Giardini, in Napoleonic gardens, which more sharply (if. a striking exercise in soft power) made up of singular, independent architectural buildings. Several others (highlights including the Ethiopian Pavilion, hosted by London gallery Saatchi Yates, and the Nigerian Pavilion, curated by London-based Andrea Emelife) are dotted around various empty mansions and palazzos around the city, which connects collateral exhibitions (from the impressive Zeng Fanzhi: Near and Far/Now and Back to the recoveries for Willem de Kooning, at the Gallerie dell’Accademia, and Jean Cocteau, at the Peggy Guggenheim Collection).
It made for a great playground with the sparkling openings of each country’s location starting on Tuesday (“go through Saudi Arabia – Luxembourg has prosecco opposite Peru,” read Whatsapps) and before you could tote a Hauser & Wirth filled with press releases, people squeezed into a shoe sat for a Chanel dinner in honor of the French. By Wednesday, Salma Hayek was rocking a cobalt blue jacquard ball gown and the city was rightly abuzz with galeritas and critics getting their first glimpse of the 2024 offering.
“If you want to take the pulse of the world, come to the Biennale,” an art insider told me. It was no surprise, then, that the political atmosphere was febrile. The war between Israel/Gaza was inevitable, and the most famous part was in the Giardini where the Israeli pavilion is locked and guarded by armed guards, some in combat uniform. A poster on the window read: “An artist and curators of the Israeli pavilion will open the exhibition when a ceasefire and hostage release agreement is reached.” Whether this was enough was hotly debated. Some joined organized protests; many made a quieter statement by wearing their Keffiyeh scarves.
Given the theme, political statements are also made inside many of the pavilions; The impact of the Ukraine war on Poland doubled down, Brazil declared “you can’t breathe money” in a last ditch effort to stop the destruction of the Amazon, and Senegal sought to ” future migration phenomena of climate change”. Egypt was the hot ticket, with a Thorpe Park-style queue outside, and Australian artist Archie Moore took home the Golden Lion for his moving chalk family tree as he reached 65,000 years of ancestry. native
All of this has been commented on by the arts community in lobster tongues in sunglasses with lenses that matched their Aperols, at “networking” events, and at smart parties lined up with a rolodex of top fashion brands. who pile in to fund their home country. output.
Burberry took care of Britain, where artist John Akomfrah joined the London art brigade (V&A Director Tristram Hunt, TalkArt podcasters Russell Tovey and Robert Diament, and Justine Simons, Deputy Mayor for Culture and Creative Industries) for Bollinger and artichokes at Harry’s Bar on Thursday evenings. Singaporean artist Robert Zhao Renhui, who looked at reforesting the country including sending out hunting debris for sturdy sculptures, was supported by shoe label Charles & Keith and became a complement with a swanky VIP lunch; and Tod’s, Italy’s official 1% leather goods suppliers, flexed its muscle with a bacchanalian canal-side red carpet cocktail bash. Actors Adrien Brody and Hayley Atwell were there, along with artisans making classic driving shoes in Murano glass.
In a quiet corner, Antique Roadshow expert Steven Moore, turned 382K-follower Instagram sensation living part-time in Venice, ponders the ways of Venetian high society (“you have to be careful – you can come up fast , and fall faster”) by Atwell, herself no stranger to the city having filmed parts of Mission Impossible 7 here. On sartorial dos and don’ts: “I saw five or six women looking very smart in vintage lamé, which I predict will be the new trend of the evening. But too many people are trying neckerchiefs – that’s it already over.”
Avoid those who try to tell you that they feel “saved by art”, be patient with endless and unparalleled art text and run from anyone who claimed “I can’t wait for the Biennale this year to us” and the whole business is a passionate one. celebrating diversity and unlocking the usually closed doors – all aided, of course, by the impossible levels of Venice set in films.
Previewers have now boarded water taxis to the airport; the Biennale opened to the public on Saturday and will now run until November 24. Nonnas across the city will heave a collective sigh of relief. They are used to tourists, not so much the first or as many Rick Owens club kids who packed out his vaporetto early in the morning after his rave (for his wife, Michèle Lamy’s 80th birthday, no less) at the airport Lido night Wednesday. .
You’d be damned if the scruffy looks of the locals could put a smile on anyone’s face though – all the bright young things, as well as plenty of more weathered folk, were racing around in a frenzy to be seen. . Venice will do that.
