Morning coffee at the hotel - it tasted as it looks - suspicion was it was made with Laguna water because we could not conceive how otherwise it could taste so badVenice – oh my god.
Venice is a tourist play-town. I am not sure how many pigeons live in Venice, but I am sure there are more pigeons than Venetians around.
Venice is a romantic weekend destination, destined to leave your pockets turned about and around. In the end, you may well ask yourself "Why?" as you pay exorbitant prices for an un-appetising dinner, and chew on dry bready sandwiches that are costing you a small patrimony.
As the Biennale opened its doors to the many "few" privileged that received an invitation to the Private View – Venice pumped up its already over-muscular prices. Hotels were difficult to get by even a few months ago.
The Biennale is one event that makes visiting Venice a must, and I have no idea what to suggest to you, except go in your own boat. However, a smart move would be visiting the Biennale in October or the first weeks of November, just before it closes. In fact, I’m thinking of going back then too.
The Private View was not very private, as hundreds of artists, gallerists, curators, collectors, art-lovers, and press peoples mingled to look, to see, and be seen. Crowds crowded the pavilions as they inaugurated their exhibitions; crowds jammed the tables offering wine, snacks; crowds grabbed freebies – from fans to bags. We too joined in the queue for the Yellow Bag – Australian Pavilion, and we visited the Swiss pavilion for the champagne (Martin said the Swiss would have champagne, and they did.)
In some way, this perhaps was the freebie opening, as everyone was handing out something.
"Untitled" (Perfect Lovers) - Felix Gonzalez-Torres
US Pavilion, Giardini, 52nd Venice Biennale
US Pavilion, Giardini, 52nd Venice Biennale
The US Pavilion presented works by the late Felix Gonzalez-Torres, serene and beautiful, the light bulbs handing down from the ceiling, and the two round marble pools “Untitled” (Perfect Lovers) at the entrance inviting to contemplation and, yes, why not, reflection – giving if possible an even more poetic approach to Narcissistic notions that linger deep down in each Very Important Human Being. Somehow, for me, those marble pools invite one to stop to re-consider the legend of Narcissus and the meaning of disappearance while observing ones own image. Conceived during the artists lifetime, the pools were made only recently and delivered for the exhibition in Venice – carrying with them the gentle touch of love.
Inside the pavilion, the artists works were offered to the viewers, not only to vision, but to take home as well. Beautiful large posters – one depicting water, the other a large version of the typical frame surrounding death announcement “Untitled” (Republican Years), were placed on the floor – ensuring a mad scramble as a hungry crowd grabbed at them – even though the labels on the wall assured that the number of the works was “unlimited”. Somehow it is sad that an intimacy with an artists work and with an artists process that goes on well after the artists passing, continuing to produce and to touch lives, can be overshadowed by the Maddening Crowds. Somehow, maybe only after the passage of maddening crowds can one stop to think how much effort it takes to bend down and pick up a pebble from a beach, a dry leaf from the floor of a forest, a poster from a pavilion floor, with care and elegance due to both the object being picked up, and to the person who is doing the picking up.
I could say the same of the multiple paper freebies – newspapers, maps, guides, invites to visit the pavilions that are not in the famous Giardini (Gardens) – picked up, thrown down a few meters after. Sometimes in rubbish bins, sometimes free floating in an already floating Venice. Even sandwich-munching VIP’s (for we shall consider everybody who was at the opening as a VIP) would leave their rubbish – serviettes, empty water bottles - lying around. Caught by the seeing eye of Martin, a few of the VIPs were reminded/reprimanded to accompany their leftovers to the bin just on the corner.
Three days are lamentably not enough to visit the whole Biennale, yet the days after are very important. That’s when the sand settles, and when the multiple artworks seen start either disappearing from mind or getting clear in the mind, as for each one of us who creates, the information received starts to resonate.
I need to go back and stand at the Giardini at dusk, or take a vaporetto (water boat) to the Lido at night, as I missed the installation by Joseph Kosuth, on the island of San Lazzaro, The Language of Equilibrium.
In the mean time, I must also write of all the other crazy things I’ve seen, if it is of any interest, as that certainly will get blown away by the wind, as cobwebs swept clean. Here, I am mainly talking about the shoes worn by some VIPs during the opening… Even with the most comfortable shoes on, visiting the Venice Biennale inevitably results in sore feet, and as I sat to rest my toesies, my eyes travelled over other peoples foot wear – high-heeled boots? Not my line! Platform sandals? How can you walk in those? It’s very interesting observing people at openings. Guaranteed that anybody who was not an artist was dressing as they thought artists dress. From tight gold pants to fuchsia pink robes blowing in the sea breeze. And feather hats. And torturous foot wear. Brrrrrrrrrr.
Sandra in the very nice relaxation zone at the Biennale Press Room
So far from me, that’s the tip of the iceberg on this years Venice Biennial. My head is still floating, and my compliments go to all the professional journalists who can sit down and write clearly about something, without taking in consideration what other people are wearing, and how they can walk in that… I’m just an artist, after all. And one who’s refusing to put on any shoes right now.
Inside the pavilion, the artists works were offered to the viewers, not only to vision, but to take home as well. Beautiful large posters – one depicting water, the other a large version of the typical frame surrounding death announcement “Untitled” (Republican Years), were placed on the floor – ensuring a mad scramble as a hungry crowd grabbed at them – even though the labels on the wall assured that the number of the works was “unlimited”. Somehow it is sad that an intimacy with an artists work and with an artists process that goes on well after the artists passing, continuing to produce and to touch lives, can be overshadowed by the Maddening Crowds. Somehow, maybe only after the passage of maddening crowds can one stop to think how much effort it takes to bend down and pick up a pebble from a beach, a dry leaf from the floor of a forest, a poster from a pavilion floor, with care and elegance due to both the object being picked up, and to the person who is doing the picking up.
I could say the same of the multiple paper freebies – newspapers, maps, guides, invites to visit the pavilions that are not in the famous Giardini (Gardens) – picked up, thrown down a few meters after. Sometimes in rubbish bins, sometimes free floating in an already floating Venice. Even sandwich-munching VIP’s (for we shall consider everybody who was at the opening as a VIP) would leave their rubbish – serviettes, empty water bottles - lying around. Caught by the seeing eye of Martin, a few of the VIPs were reminded/reprimanded to accompany their leftovers to the bin just on the corner.
Three days are lamentably not enough to visit the whole Biennale, yet the days after are very important. That’s when the sand settles, and when the multiple artworks seen start either disappearing from mind or getting clear in the mind, as for each one of us who creates, the information received starts to resonate.
I need to go back and stand at the Giardini at dusk, or take a vaporetto (water boat) to the Lido at night, as I missed the installation by Joseph Kosuth, on the island of San Lazzaro, The Language of Equilibrium.
In the mean time, I must also write of all the other crazy things I’ve seen, if it is of any interest, as that certainly will get blown away by the wind, as cobwebs swept clean. Here, I am mainly talking about the shoes worn by some VIPs during the opening… Even with the most comfortable shoes on, visiting the Venice Biennale inevitably results in sore feet, and as I sat to rest my toesies, my eyes travelled over other peoples foot wear – high-heeled boots? Not my line! Platform sandals? How can you walk in those? It’s very interesting observing people at openings. Guaranteed that anybody who was not an artist was dressing as they thought artists dress. From tight gold pants to fuchsia pink robes blowing in the sea breeze. And feather hats. And torturous foot wear. Brrrrrrrrrr.
Sandra in the very nice relaxation zone at the Biennale Press Room So far from me, that’s the tip of the iceberg on this years Venice Biennial. My head is still floating, and my compliments go to all the professional journalists who can sit down and write clearly about something, without taking in consideration what other people are wearing, and how they can walk in that… I’m just an artist, after all. And one who’s refusing to put on any shoes right now.
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