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Venice Biennale
Venice, Italy
June 10-November 4, 2001
reviewed by Fred Hammerquist
Occasionally I have
found myself in the fortunate position of being treated to a Sunday brunch
buffet in a distinguished hotel. My initial reaction to such an invitation,
of course, is to accept, then panic. It's not that I don't get enough
to eat on a daily basis, but rather that the vastness of the offerings
at this type of feeding is a true and rare luxury. Here, in a single locale,
one can enjoy a comprehensive repast that spans two meals (breakfast and
lunch,) and may include one or more of the following: exotic delicacies,
carved meats, oysters on the half shell, delectable desserts, and savory
and sweet libations. In order to take full advantage of such a spread,
having a plan of attack is imperative.
Equipped with this knowledge, I relied on these strategies when I embarked
on a five hour visit to the Venice Biennale, the contemporary art world
equivalent of the grandest hotel buffet. In much the same way that the
stomach can only contain so much food and drink, the human mind has limits
to the amount of stimulus it can experience and process. At a massive
art show such as the Venice Biennale, which has the ambitious goal of
providing viewers with a sweeping international view of this moment, only
so many works can register.
The notion of an artwork's stickiness, its ability to adhere to one's
consciousness, becomes extremely prevalent in an exhibition featuring
63 participating countries and 130 artists. Harold Szeeman, Visual Arts
Director of the Biennale, refers to the idea that there is something for
everyone in this year's exhibition The Plateau of Humankind. The
show, he writes, "observes and gathers feelings, stories about social
problems, ecological themes, the rhythms of daily life, the new technologies,
work, sport, happiness and tragedy." The following is a brief sampling
of Biennale works that have been lingering in my mind much in the same
way that a thoughtful and delicious culinary effort does.
Lucinda Devlin's (American) photographs (1999) are immediately inviting
with their deadpan lighting and austere composition. Aesthetically, these
images, a suite of 30 19 x 19 inch chromogenic prints, fit squarely within
the visual vernacular of much of today's photographs of interiors. It
is not urban live/work spaces or suburban living rooms we are gazing at,
however, it is a cross-country survey of American prison execution chambers.
After viewing ten or so images, I began to only see color and line. The
function of these spaces was momentarily negated as I found myself visually
tracing the lines in the photographs and connecting them to the lines
on the stone tiled floor beneath my feet. When I realized that I had managed
to lose sight of the subject matter, the grave implications of these images
and the questions they raise resounded with tremendous volume.
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A Life (Black & White)
(1999-2000) Nedko Solakov
photo by by Fred Hammerquist |
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Taking his cue from Sol LeWitt, Bulgarian conceptualist
Nedko Solakov left a set of instructions to be followed throughout the
duration of the exhibition in A Life (Black & White) (1999-2000.)
His directives follow: "A painter starts from the left hand side of a
singled-out room, painting the walls black, clockwise. The first painter
is to be followed, at some distance, by a second painter, painting the
walls white, clockwise.'" Viewers were clearly confused by what appeared
to be an installation in progress, but for those who took the time to
read the explanatory wall text, this piece was a biting commentary. Unlike
LeWitt, Solakov's instructions do not result in a finished aesthetic product,
but rather references the futility of both art and humankind.
Ron Mueck, an Australian born artist, is almost guaranteed to make a lasting
impression with both the location and the scale of his piece, Untitled
(boy) (1999.) Mueck's 'Boy,' a humongous realistic sculpture of a
crouching pubescent child, is situated just inside the entrance of the
Arsenale (one of the two primary spaces in the Biennale which houses works
by over 50 artists.)
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Untitled (boy)
(1999) Ron Mueck
photo by Fred Hammerquist
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The placement of this piece is fitting as it reminds
viewers of the sheer magnitude of the exhibition itself. In a gallery
just beyond, Boy, Mueck showcases the depth of his model-making
talents (he had a successful career as a model maker for film and advertising)
in his piece, Untitled (Shaved Head) (1998.) This three-quarter
sized model of a crouching naked man with a shaved head encased in a plexiglass
vitrine, is so fastidiously rendered that I spent a good five minutes
examining him to see if he was real. Minute details such as dry skin between
toes and tiny thread like-veins add to the confusion. Though instantly
captivated by the size of Boy, I found the intricate detail of
Shaved Head to be more eerily impacting.
One thing is for certain: It is nearly impossible to leave a buffet or
a biennale without feeling completely stuffed. But full – physically
or intellectually – does not necessarily mean satisfied, and it is
in this state that one must assess whether the number of tasty dishes
measures up to the lofty expectations placed upon such an experience.
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
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