Boxo got to the Arsenale right at opening time and was able to enjoy being ahead of the crowds for most of the morning. The luxurious length of high, barreled brickwork stretched on for what appeared to be miles. The dimness and cool humidity felt good after the growing heat of the Venetian Day. The Arsenale was a rich and dense offering - the following are merely some highlights.
The first piece, an installation by Anya Zholud, was a wonderful web of criss-crossing brass or gold strands that created an ephemeral presence lit dimly in the height of the darkness. Lygia Pape. In stark contrast of tone, the next room featured several works by Pistoletto, large framed mirrors smashed in a performative act that left a fragmented reflection for the viewer. Bright and literally in your face. In another turn of contrast, were the paintings by Simone Berti. Delicate and slightly mysterious constructions combining organic and engineered influences.
Then through a portal and into an installation that appealed to all the senses. A reconstruction of the idea of a Cameroon village by Pascal Martine Thayou. The entire ecosystem of an African village presented in wooden structures, video projections, clever sculptures and even smell. Invigorating. Further on, a personal favorite Paul Chan. Or in this case, naughty Paul Chan. The familiar haunting shadow projections, this time depicting man's fall from grace in the guise of Sade. Lots of buggery, fellatio and the like. This made for some fun theater watching spectators glancing at each other.
Next up, a fellow country man Moshekwa Langa. The work is a large installation of yarn, empty wine bottles, toy vehicles and balls of various sizes and textures. A mapping of connections and disconnections. Placement and displacement. Boxo found the work intriguing and interestingly devoid of any reference to its South African origins (no cape wine bottles). Nearby, an installation by a recent discovery and new favorite of Boxo - Cildo Meireles. A passage of several rooms, each saturated in a single color. The borders between the rooms yielded dynamic contract and sharp edges and the experience was a true learning in the effects of color on sight.
Next, a new discovery - Gonkar Gyatso, a contemporary artist from Tibet. Traditional Tibetan painting forms that reveal canny references to contemporary culture. Enlightening ;) A huge projection of a bonsai tree (!!), marked the end of the first section, and signalled a turn straight into the world of Joan Jonas. A dual screen video installation depicting Jonas' personal take on Dante's Divine Comedy. Boxo enjoyed a divine respite on a well designed bench, although the question of contemporary context reared it's insistent head yet again.
Noon again and time for that food and caffeine break. Another well designed cafe, another great cappucino - viva Italia. Now it was time for a chat with Paul Chan in the misnamed Teatro Piccolo. Boxo joined a large queue, surprised at the turn out. Ends up the line was for Yoko On, Paul having explained his naughty bits the day before.
And so, into the fray. And what a fray it was. Sean and Kyoko playing chess upstage as Yoko writhed and moaned her way around the stage, and then smashed a chair to bits with a sledgehammer. Lights down for a tedious film about Yoko's origins during which she sat on stage murmuring bits of commentary. Fade to video about Yoko's Light Tower project and lots of angles on her project to have everyone signal their love to everyone else in Morse code with flashlights. I love you. Then an interview of sorts with a curator which ended with the two of them in a large fabric bag flailing around. Boxo finally fond some interest in the closing segment which featured the smashing of a clay pot, the collection of pieces by the audience and a promise to be back in the Teatro in 10 years to reconstruct the pot. Boxo already has his reservations.
Following lunch, Boxo hit the Chinese Pavilion which housed a commentary on the commercialism and homogenization of art. Vending machines and found frame over color saturated canvases. Oddly uninteresting given the proliferation of strong political and performance art coming out of China these days. Next, a large section of more Italian art that lacked any real impact or entry point. Lots of well finished work that could have benefited from a little less spit and polish. A lush painting depicting James Dean as a religious figure did catch Boxo's eye (painter undocumented with apologies).
From here, outdoors for a series of installations set along a meandering path. Some Dietch inspired naughtiness by Miranda July, a giant web of dominoes and a bog by Lara Favoretto. Tucked behind these was one of the jewels of the Biennale - William Forsythe's The Fact of Matter/Choreographic Object. Two hundred gymnastic rings hung at varying heights through in a small space. Passage through the room meant swinging and clacking the rings and some folks took to walking their way through by inserting their feet in the rings. Forsythe's light touch and choreography of an unknown troupe (the public) was a joy to behold.
Next door, a more cynical offering from Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster. A gate entrance to an unkempt area with the descriptive tag crossed out line by line. The catalogue describes this as Gonzalez-Foerster's fifth attempt to be included in the Biennale. Pity she took herself out yet again. She always makes Boxo long for the work of Felix Gonzalex-Torres...
Another long line beckoned for the short shuttle to the Arsenale Novissimo. Boxo had heard a lot about the Jean Fabre exhibition and giant signs beckoned. Giant signs for giant work. A giant flayed skull, a giant pile of human bones made of glass, a giant pile of gravestones with an erect artist on top. A giant budget, a giant? Admittedly flagging, Boxo popped out the back for a respite in a quiet garden only to find another hidden gem. A wooden maze of crafted slats by Marco Bagnoli, with soft chants luring one in to reveal a tree growing in the center. Ahhhh.
A long stroll down a back dock and through a window into another large exhibition entitled Unconditional Love. Boxo didn't feel the love, especially in another large budget production. Slick video in the round by AES&F that claimed to update the Feat of Trymalchio. Yawn - time for a nap.
While resting for a few minutes back in the hotel room, Boxo was startled by a series of loud sirens. Fire? Conflict? Cocktail hour? No - on emerging to take a vaporetto to a performance in the Campo Santa Margherita, Boxo found San Marco square entirely underwater and several connecting streets starting to fill up to. A full moon and some strong winds reminded one that Venice is indeed sinking. The sight of art world folks clutching expensive shoes and hem lines as they attempted to negotiate paths to private parties was amusing to behold.
Boxo was off to see The Dance of the Bees, a mysterious performance taking place in the distant Campo. Alas, dinner ran over the appointed hour and the performance was, as described by the person in charge, "over in a flash". A hive of live bees, strange music and a crew of bystanders was all that was left. So off for a cone of gelato, a soggy walk to the vaporetto and another fine day was done.
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