Annabel DeChant

Earlier this summer, I studied abroad in Venice, taking classes on art history. One of the classes focused on the Venice Biennale, and a major part of the course was visiting the 2024 Venice Biennale, which is currently going on. The Biennale featured a wide range of contemporary artwork, arranged in the group shows at the Giardini and Arsenale as well as the many national pavilions and collateral events. There was lots of gorgeous and exciting artwork, but something that really stood out to me was the fact that anywhere I looked, I saw politics. 

This year’s Biennale, titled “Foreigners Everywhere,” focused on how “we are all strangers.” The Venice Biennale, however, is no stranger to politics. Over the years, it’s seen protests, historical events, and many big changes. In the 1930s, Hitler and Mussolini visited the Biennale together, and the fascist government in Italy issued orders for what artwork should show. Following the war, the 1948 Biennale included Peggy Guggenheim’s collection of Cubist, Surrealist, and Futurist works, styles that the Nazis had shunned. In 1968, protests by students in Italy “managed to occupy some national pavilions and turn the art to face the wall” and resulted in institutional reforms in the Biennale.

This year, the intersection of art and politics that the Biennale can play host to can be seen in a number of ways. The clearest way might be in the artwork that engaged in political themes. These are certainly too numerous for a single article to discuss them all, but a few stood out to me during my time at the Biennale. One of those was the Austrian pavilion, which featured Anna Jermolaewa as the lead artist. Jermolaewa collaborated with Oksana Serheieva, a Ukrainian choreographer, on the work “Rehearsal for Swan Lake,” which references Soviet use of the ballet as a distraction and the way that it became “code for a change in power.” In the work, which brings viewers into a ballet studio where they can see the rehearsal performed, “the dancers rehearse for regime change in Russia.” Additionally, “The Penultimate,” which featured flowers symbolic of regime change movements in other countries, put the exhibition in a broader context. 

“Rehearsal for Swan Lake” and “The Penultimate” in the Austrian pavilion.

Colonialism and decolonization were some of the major issues on which artists commented in their works. An example is Portugal’s pavilion, which featured works such as “Creole Garden” and “Transplant” that crafted narratives surrounding Portugal’s colonial legacy and highlighted the experiences of those who lived under Portuguese colonial rule. The interweaving of motifs such as light/shadow and soil throughout various works in the pavilion was immersive and effective. 

Portugal’s exhibition, titled “Greenhouse.”

Another pavilion that dealt with colonialism was “The Museum of the Old Colony” by Pablo Delano, which was featured in the Central Pavilion. It features lots of different objects, documents, and photographs that tell the story of Puerto Rico’s experience as an unincorporated territory of the United States. One that stood out was a photograph of people selling promotional materials for Kennedy’s campaign, which went along with the exhibition’s exploration of “an idea of citizenship without the right to vote in US presidential elections.” The irony in this photo, put in conversation with a wide variety of black-and-white and color photographs and artifacts, was powerful.

One of the photographs in “The Museum of the Old Colony.”

In connection to the theme of “Foreigners Everywhere,” many of the works, especially in the group shows, dealt with immigration and borders. One of the strong works that did this was “The Mapping Journey Project” by Bouchra Khalili, which is in the Arsenale. Projections of videos of people tracing their own migration journeys showed the difficulty of migration, and prints of the tracings taken off the maps and placed in the back of the room showed just how illogical these journeys seem without the context of political borders and immigration policies. 

One of the video screens in “The Mapping Journey Project.”

Other works commented on environmental issues. In Singapore’s pavilion, artist Robert Zhao Renhui presented “Seeing Forest.” The work features two large video screens. It shows viewers “secondary forests,” which are areas that were previously occupied by human structures but have been reclaimed by plant life. In doing so, it highlights the need for co-existence and how “transitional spaces” can be important for sustainability and environmental preservation. 

A view of “Seeing Forests,” in Singapore’s pavilion.

I also found myself very interested in “Anatomy of a Friendship,” a video work by Alessandra Ferini, which was featured in the Central Pavilion. Utilizing an unsettling but intriguing rhythm of narration put over historical photographs, the video examined the relationship between Italy and Libya and between Berlusconi and Gaddafi. In doing so, it critiqued the ways that the EU and its member states have intervened in African states, and described the “Eur-African dream” as a “nightmare.”

A shot from the video work “Anatomy of a Friendship.”

Another interesting aspect of politics at the Biennale took place outside of the works and instead surrounded the Biennale and the pavilions themselves. Israel’s pavilion saw calls for it to be banned and protests, and ended up being closed by the creative team, who posted a sign that called for a hostage release and cease-fire in Gaza. There have been soldiers stationed outside of the pavilion, and protests have continued to occur. On April 19th, one protestor wrote “Free Palestine” on the wall in water-soluble marker, before being led away to speak with officials. The Biennale stated that it was not its policy to detain protestors, but that police were in charge of how they handle situations. The artist, Ruth Patir, whose work dealt with the pressure for motherhood that’s placed on women, said that she was disappointed not to be showing her work but that she felt that closing the pavilion was the right decision.

The view of the exterior of Israel’s pavilion.

Meanwhile, Russia lent its pavilion to Bolivia for its exhibition “looking to the futurepast, we are treading forward.” Reviewers have raised concern over this, pointing to the strong thanks for Russia included in the wall text, the connection to lithium agreements between Russia and Bolivia, and the apparent effort by Russia to improve its own international reputation as the conflict in Ukraine continues by positioning itself as a partner to the artist’s efforts and ideas.

Russia’s pavilion, housing Bolivia’s exhibition.

The Biennale itself isn’t immune to political interventions. In 2023, a right-wing journalist was appointed as the Venice Biennale’s president, a move seen by the ruling coalition as a necessary step to take the Biennale out of “a left wing stranglehold” and by left-leaning politicians as a troubling step by the right to assert control over culture. The Biennale this year has received accusations that it “plays into the hands of Italy’s right-wing government,” in particular from Anish Kapoor, a UK artist who said the intentions of the lead curator may have been righteous, but that the title and theme were reflective of nationalist rhetoric. 

Overall, politics and art came together once more at the 2024 Venice Biennale, which made for a highly interesting contemporary art exhibition. I thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to merge my interests in political science and art history in such a new, exciting context. The work at this year’s Biennale offered some valuable ways for reflecting on current politics around the world.