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Venice Biennale
Venice, Italy
June 10-November 4, 2001
by David Bonetti
Vernissaggio: A Letter from Venice
I've been to a half dozen Venice Biennales over
the past 15 years but I'd never gone to an opening – a "vernissaggio''
in bad Italian – before this year. And from what I experienced during
those three days in early June, I'll never go to one again. Not that I
didn't expect it to be exactly the way it was – that's why I'd avoided
them before. The time I was there in '84 shortly after the opening and
had my shoulder tapped as I was talking on the pay telephone outside the
Palazzo Grassi by Richard Flood, who asked me to please hurry up because
"we'' had a very important call to make, while Barbara Gladstone did her
"I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Mapplethorpe'' pose in the near distance,
had alerted me to the kind of art world behavior that must be rampant
at the full-fledged opening. (Cell phones have, at least, spared us such
awkward experiences.)
But, by all means, do go to a vernissaggio if typical art world behavior
appeals to you. You know what I mean, name-dropping, jockeying for position,
feigning lack of interest in the parties you didn't get invited to, posing,
kissing up to those with more power and influence while cutting those
beneath you in the pecking order, all the while sporting an infectious
smile and breaking out into laughter just this side of hysteria to show
what a good time you're having even if you're miserable.
All on a massive scale.
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At the entrance to the main exhibition
photo by David Bonetti |
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What did the New York Times' Carol Vogel
report? That 30,000 arts journalists were registered? As you approach
the gate, your invitation in hand, you hear the angry mob without credentials
demanding entrance. One tall and bellicose gentleman roars, "But I'm with
the British Council, we paid for this thing, you have to let me in.''
Of course, most of the "art journalists'' are curators, collectors and
dealers. It's the one time of the year that being a critic carries any
weight and everybody gets to crash - even the boor from the British Council.
Do, do go to the vernissaggio, if you want to be told, fifth-hand, by
some art world tyro that a well known Midwest museum director says that
you can walk through the Arsenale at a trot turning your head slowly from
one side to the other without missing a thing. Too bad, because even though
the Arsenale held more dross than gold – hey, what contemporary art
survey doesn't? – there were a few things even this jaded art world
insider would have missed trotting through to the Richard Serra sculptures
that were the reward for those who only look at what they already know.
For instance, there was a little sculpture, a truncated obelisk, made
of ivy seeds, all of 9 inches tall, that sat on a shelf amid the hurly-burly.
It was by a 36 year old German named Christiane Lohr, a name I had never
heard before and a name I didn't hear mentioned by anyone delivering their
"you've got to see'' litanies of all the expected names, Richard Serra's
heading the list. It was magical in its own quiet way, if a little too
indebted to Wolfgang Laib. But then, the story told me was at least fifth
hand, so maybe it was never said, and my disappointment in a museum director
whose professionalism I admire is misplaced. (I did see the name-dropped
director dining at La Corte Sconta, probably the most difficult to get
into restaurant in Venice during the opening, with – you guessed
it – Barbara Gladstone!)
Do, do, do go to the vernissaggio if you want to see old friends and enemies
all together at one time in one place. At the Guggenheim party, I think
I saw half of everyone I've ever known professionally. Of course, half
of them you never wanted to see again, but, unfortunately, some of the
people you were happy to see didn't seem so happy to see you.
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Inside the main exhibition.
photo by David Bonetti
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I have to admit I didn't get invited to any swell
parties. Being an art critic on an afternoon paper that no one ever read
in San Francisco after learning the trade in Boston at an alternative
weekly doesn't make you important to anyone's career. Nothing you write
will ever cause a sale. I'm resigned to my level of unimportance and have
grown comfortable with it. I've never liked kissing up to the rich and
powerful, and I've generally preferred the company of artists and other
journalists to collectors and dealers.
I had a good time in Venice. I had dinner one night with a San Francisco
dealer, another night with a Texas-based curator and a New York artist,
both of whom I like and respect, and the third night with a friend from
Oakland who leads art and architecture tours in Italy six months of the
year. He was blessedly outside the contemporary art world loop, and we
had a great time. I could have crashed any number of parties or gone along
with those invited, but aside from the Japanese bash, I didn't. Believe
it or not, I preferred it that way.
Again, I had a good time in Venice - how could you not, it's Venice, after
all, and your favorite painting in the world, Bellini's Madonna and Child
with Saints at the Church of the Frari is there.
And do, do, do, do go to the vernissaggio if you want to have a good time
with old friends and acquaintances. You'll also get a quick reading of
your standing among those who set the standards, whether you're ready
for such a clocking or not. (Actually, I did okay. Gary Garrels spoke
to me. Larry Rinder spoke to me twice!)
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Crowds outside the French, German and Canadian
pavilions.
photo by David Bonetti
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But don't go to the vernissaggio if you want to
see art. There's a reunion of some sort or another every step of the way,
often taking in place of art works that deserve some quiet and respect.
And sometimes you are part of that reunion, torn between socializing and
looking. Everywhere there are lines. The lines to the French, German and
Canadian pavilions – the hot shows – got tangled at the top
of the hill they share.
Despite the problems, I saw an awful lot of good
stuff – Maurizio Cattelan's famous effigy of the Pope hit by a meteor;
a terrific homage to Venice painting by that great contemporary master
Cy Twombly; Ron Mueck's disconcerting super-realistic men, small, medium
and large; Chantal Akerman's reworking of her great film Jeanne Dielman;
Estonian artist Ene-Liis Semper's disturbing videos of suicide and self-mutilation;
Finnish artist Salla Tykka's video of a girl watching a boy lasso dance;
Bill Viola's slow motion group portrait video; Robert Gober's touching
but inscrutable installation at the American pavilion; Mark Wallinger's
meditations on the contemporary meaning of Christianity at the British
pavilion; the touching and elusive retrospective of Alighiero Boetti ;
and the simultaneously disturbing and amusing micro-people by Do-Ho Suh
in the main show and at the Korean pavilion, etc.
But I didn't get to see everything I wanted. I never got in the French,
German and Canadian pavilions, all of which won prizes this year, so in
a way, I didn't really experience the Biennale at all.
The best time I had at the Biennale was in 1997. I arrived the night the
official openings finished. The next morning the show opened to the public.
No one was there. The press office was still open, the installations were
still fresh, and you could go in any pavilion whenever you wanted and
stay for as long as you wished. The restaurant at the entrance that you
wasted an hour at during the opening just to get to the bar to order a
glass of acqua minerale was empty, and you could sit directly on the Grand
Canal at any table you chose. Civilized. A few art world sightings - David
Ross in a Borsalino, Julian Schnabel and his entourage of 12 at the next
table one night at dinner, the ubiquitous Orlan – reminded you that
something special had just happened. You had missed it, but now you could
see the art – and isn't that what it's all about?
Vernissagio took place June 6-7 from 10am to 8pm, June 8 from 10 am to
2pm. The Venice Biennale is on view from June 10-November 4, 2001. For
more information Contact Visual Arts San Marco, 1364 Ca' Giustinian 30124
Venice - Italy; Phone+39 041 5218906, www.labiennale.org
or e-mail: dae@labiennale.com
This article originally appeared, in a slightly different form in Maverick
Arts, Boston’s Visual Artsletter To subscribe, contact Charles.Giuliano@gte.net
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