The Milk of Dreams

Venice Biennale 2022

It seems as if I’ve known about the Venice Biennale since forever. But somehow I always thought that it was like other art festivals, on for a few days, then gone. Then my friend’s daughter, returning to Australia from Paris with a stopover in Venice in May asked me if I was going to check out the Biennale in July. A quick google search confirmed that the Venice Biennale doesn’t open and close within a few days, it’s on for a few months, actually seven months.

I can finally say that I’ve been to a Biennale. The 59th (Figure 1) to be exact, delayed a year because of Covid. Before I tell you about what I saw at the fair, I want to tell you a bit about the Biennale and how it differs from other fairs.

Figure 1. *To See The Earth Before the End of the World,* Precious Okoyomon, 59th Venice Biennale, 2022.

The Biennale was conceived in 1893. The first one was held two years later. (Figure 2) It was the brainchild of Venice’s mayor, ostensibly to celebrate the silver anniversary of the then King and Queen of Italy. It may seem a bit over the top to celebrate an anniversary with an art fair, but it was the age of world fairs. They were being held every year and everywhere from San Francisco to London, Chicago to Paris.

The first Venice Biennale, held one year before the Greek Olympics were revived, was heralded as the Olympics of Art. The Biennale may have been international in intent but the home team was favored. Of the 516 works of art on display, one third were by Italian artists. A quarter of a million people visited the Biennale that year, a nice source of revenue. A decade later, the number of art works on display had doubled and the original venue was no longer adequate. The ‘Rue des Nations’ at the 1900 Paris Exposition Universelle offered one solution. (Figure 3) Nations were invited to build pavilions to display works by artists from their own countries. Belgium was the first to build a pavilion in 1907. Other nations followed Belgium’s lead but then each began operating like a self governing embassy. Nationalism replaced internationalism. After the trauma of World War II and 10 years of Mussolini, it was time to take a break. That was 1942.

Figure 3. Rue des Nations, Exposition Universelle, Paris, 1900

The Biennale returned with panache in 1948. Works by Georges Braque, Marc Chagall, James Ensor and Paul Klee were displayed. There was a Picasso retrospective. It was a stroke of genius when the Biennale’s organizers invited Peggy Guggenheim to display her personal collection of contemporary art (Figure 4) in the Greek Pavilion because Greece, too exhausted after the war, was unable to present their own. Which convinced her to choose Venice as the permanent home of her growing collection. (Figure 5)

Figure 4. Peggy Guggenheim getting ready to show her personal art collection at Venice Biennale, 1948

Figure 5. Peggy Guggenheim Museum, Venice

If you go to the Venice Biennale now, you will find, “a wild, freewheeling festival composed of numerous elements—a smorgasbord of art that not even the most voracious glutton could hope to consume.” Maybe not in one go, but there is method in all this madness.

Firstly, there are the two big exhibition spaces, curated by a different person each year. One is held in the Central Pavilion of the Giardini (garden, Figure 5a) and the other, since 1980, in the Arsenale (shipyard Figure 6). Since 1976, a central theme organizes the whole. By having a theme, according to Tim Smith-Laing writing for Frieze, the Biennale has become “an institution that values responsiveness to the times in artistic production and research.”

Figure 5a. Giardini (garden) Venice Biennale venue

Figure 6. Arsenale, (former shipyard) Venice Biennale venue

Secondly, there are this various national pavilions in the Giardini, which now number 29. And they are joined each year by temporary pavilions.

Third and finally but almost impossible to contain or even count, are the collateral exhibitions and events, some officially sanctioned, some not related in any way to the Biennale. Some held in the Giardini or the Arsenale. Some in or in conjunction with city museums or foundations or private galleries (Figures 7, 8).

Figure 7. ‘Building Bridges,' Lorenzo Quinn, sponsored by Halcyon Gallery, outside Arsenale, Venice Biennale .

Figure 8. ‘Support,’ Lorenzo Quinn, originally for 2017 Venice Biennale, at Ca’Sagredo Hotel

The main difference between the Biennale and the other art fairs which are held throughout the year, throughout the world, is that the Biennale claims not to be commercial while that is the raison d’être for the other fairs.

The Biennale originally did have a sales office. That came to an end in 1973, too much "commercialization of art”. But as Olav Velthuis, a University of Amsterdam economic sociologist, says, “There’s this saying, ‘See it in Venice, buy it in Basel,’” which refers to Art Basel, of course. The relationship is symbiotic not parasitic, the health of one enhances, rather than harms, the health of the other. Nothing as nefarious as shopping at Barneys or FAO Schwarz and then buying on Net-a-porter or Amazon, which is why Barneys is no more and FAO Schwarz is a shadow of its former self. But wait, this isn’t about me apologizing for destroying Barneys by my bargain hunting!

When dealers learn which of the artists they represent will have works on display at the Biennale, they make sure that those artists’ works are available for sale at Art Basel. Being in the Biennale increases the value of an artist’s work. As Laura Shin notes, “success in the art market is not measured through sales, but on prices.”

The reason is simple,“(w)hile beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, when money is involved, it helps to know what other beholders think.”

Dealers are useful in other ways. At the Biennale, artists receive very little compensation for their art installations, which can sometimes be prohibitively expensive. Dealers pay for them. It’s a legitimate business expense and maybe even helps explain their commission. So, the relationship between the Venice Biennale and Art Basel benefits both entities. And artists, too.

The 59th Biennale, the one I gorged on, overate at, consumed too much of, was curated by Cecilia Alemani, (Figure 9) who is these three things: female, Italian and the director and chief curator of New York City’s High Line Art. Her area of expertise is public art. The perfect expertise for an exhibition that covers so much space.

Figure 9. Cecilia Alemani, Curator of 59th Venice Biennale, her ‘day job’ is curator of art at High Line, NYC

This exhibition was delayed for a year. Which, as Jason Farago, the amazing art critic at the New York Times, notes, gave the curator and her team more time to explore the Biennale archives. Which Alemani had already done as the co-curator of the 2020 exhibition on the history of the Biennale from Fascism to Globalization.

The theme Alemani chose for this year’s Biennale “The Milk of Dreams,” is taken from the title of a children’s book written by the surrealist artist, Leonora Carrington, (Figure 10) a wealthy English woman who lived in New York and then Paris, from which she fled to Spain at the outset of World War II and from there to Mexico where she lived a long and productive personal and professional life (she died in 2011, aged 94).

Figure 10. The Milk of Dreams, Venice Biennale Poster

It was for her two sons, when they were children, that Carrington wrote “The Milk of Dreams. The book, according to the biennale catalogue, “describes a magical world where life is constantly re-envisioned through the prism of the imagination. It is a world where everyone can change, be transformed, become something or someone else, a world set free, brimming with possibilities.” (Figure 11)

Figure 11. Illustration from The Milk of Dreams, written & illustrated by Leonora Carrington

This year’s Biennale turned the entire enterprise upside down and inside out. Which might have been more of a nightmare than a dream for the fair’s traditional cohort. The majority of artists are female or non-gender conforming - 221 female artists and 21 men. The decision “was a deliberate rethinking of men’s centrality in the history of art and in contemporary culture.” Over half of the artists have never been in a Biennale before. And rather than celebrating mostly living artists, nearly half of the artists whose works are on display, are dead. Maybe because the emphasis was on Surrealism. Maybe because so many of the women whose work is on display now were not included in previous Biennales. Maybe this Biennale was a chance to rectify the errors and omissions of previous, male oriented, patriarch controlled biennales.

We spent two full days at the Biennale, one day at the Giardini, one day at the Arsenal. We could have spent a week at each, at least. When we got to the Central Pavilion of the Giardini, we saw orange telescopes scattered all over the lawn, all pointing up at the roof. (Figure 12) Toward the sea creatures that the sculptor Cosima von Bonin had put up there. It reminded me of the pigeons at the Bourse in Paris, (Figure 13) but these cavorting creatures were definitely not the swoop and poop type.

Figure 12. Orange telescopes looking at cavorting sea creatures, Cosima von Bonin, Venice Biennale, Giardini,

Figure 13. Pigeons waiting to swoop, Bource de la Commerce, Pinault Collection, Paris

One of the mini-shows at the Giardini was called “The Witch’s Cradle” and here is where the Surrealists Leonora Carrington, (Figure 14) Dorothea Tanning, Leonor Fini, Meret Oppenheim (Figures 15, 16) and Remedios Varo (who, like Carrington fled Paris for Mexico at the outbreak of WWII) are, along with the Italian Futurists and black American artists and performers, like Josephine Baker (Figure 17). The exhibition explains that all these female artists, “whether by evoking nature, escaping into fantasy, or by using their own bodies to model new possibilities, …employ self-metamorphosis as an answer to the male-dominated constructions (of) identity.”

Figure 14. Self Portrait, Leonora Carrington, 1937-38, on view at 59th Venice Biennale, 2022

Figure 15. Objet (fur cup, saucer, spoon) Meret Oppenheim, 1936 (not in exhibition but best known work)

Figure 16. ‘My Nurse,’ Meret Oppenheim, 1936-37, high heel shoes, rope, etc. shown at Venice Biennale, 2022

The Portuguese / British artist Paula Rego is here. She was initially on the list of living artists but she died a few months after the Biennale opened. I saw an exhibition of her work at the Orangerie a few years ago. There as here, Rego combines Portuguese fairy tales and Disney princesses with autobiographical elements. (Figure 18) Rego said, “My favourite themes are power games and hierarchies. I always want to turn things on their heads, to upset the established order, to change heroines and idiots”. The exhibition at the Orangerie included mannequins, dolls and masks which Rego used to create stage settings “where reality and fiction, dreams and nightmares merge.” Her Dog Woman series (Figure 19) at the Biennale depicts women in demeaning, sexualized positions.

Figure 18. *The Blue Fairy Whispering to Pinocchio*, Paula Rego, 1996, Venice Biennale, 2022

Figure 19. ‘Dog Women’ series, Paula Rego, 1994

Georgiana Houghton, the Victorian mystic who communicated with the dead is here, too. In the exhibition about Spiritualism at the Musée Maillol a few years ago, women were barely mentioned. Here it is the men who are missing but not missed.

In the Giardini are the national pavilions. I wanted to see them because I have heard about them for so many years. Gerrit Rietveld’s Dutch pavilion, from 1954 and Carla Scarpa’s pavilion for Venezuela, (Figure 20) from the same year. And of course, Alvar Aalto’s Finnish Pavilion from 1956. (Figure 21) Which was supposed to be temporary but in fine exposition tradition (think Eiffel Tower) is still here. These, along with 26 other permanent and several temporary pavilions had their own exhibitions. Overwhelming!

Figure 20. Venezuelan Pavilion, Carlo Scarpa, 1954, Giardini, Venice Biennale

Figure 21. Ginevra walking into Finnish Pavilion, Alvar Aalto, 1956, Giardini, Venice Biennale

Day Two of the Biennale and we were at the Arsenale. Which itself is a thing transformed. Like Fort Mason in San Francisco, it is a swords into plow shares or shipyard into arts center, kind of place.

The Arsenale begins with the American artist Simone Leigh’s giant bronze Brick House which the curator of this Biennale knows well, it was commissioned and installed on New York City’s High Line in 2019. (Figure 22) The sculpture’s head, a serene face with no eyes, is framed by two asymmetric cornrow braids. The torso of the sculpture combines the form of a skirt with a clay house based both on African and southern American architecture. Like Mammy’s Cupboard, (Figure 23) in Nachez, Mississippi, which is a restaurant in the shape of a woman’s skirt. Holding a serving tray, she confirms her role as laborer. Leigh’s sculpture is the opposite, her figure’s still, dignified pose demands respect. Leigh’s work was also in the Giardini, representing the United States. (Figure 24) I’ll tell you more about her work next time.

Figure 22. Brick House, Simone Leigh, 2019 for High Line NYC, Arsenale Venice Biennale, 2022

Figure 23. Mammy’s Cupboard Restaurant, Nachez, Mississippi

Figure 24. Simone Leigh at the American Pavilion, Giardini, Venice Biennale, 2022

The finale of the Arsenale exhibition is a huge piece made specifically for this Biennale and specifically for this space. It is by one of my all time favorite artists, Barbara Kruger. An American conceptual artist best known for her black-and-white photographs, overlaid with declarative captions. (Figure 25, 26) Captions that question power, identity, consumerism, and sexuality. Kruger’s installation for the Biennale is called Untitled (Beginning/Middle/End) (2022). Three videos run simultaneously. Each one has as its foundation a well known political or legal or historical American phrase. These phrases then morph into other phrases with completely different and sometimes opposing meaning. (Figures 27, 28) Barbara Kruger says, “My work is, at times, detonated by taking another breath, by the repetitions of the everyday and how that everyday is constructed by both the brutal hierarchies and punishments of global events and the more localized tenderness and kindnesses that are either offered or denied.…” I adore words and word play, I could have stayed here all day.

Figure 25. Your Body is a Battleground, Barbara Kruger, 1989

Figure 26. I Shop therefore I am, Barbara Kruger, 1987 (in the shape of a credit card)

Figure 27. Untitled (Beginning / Middle / End) Barbara Kruger, 2022, Venice Biennale

Figure 28. Untitled, Barbara Kruger, 2022, Venice Biennale

Video of the Barbara Kruger Installation

Jason Farago ends his review in the NYT on a cautionary note, writing in part, “I have serious misgivings about the escapism of this magical thinking, as if, with just a little more respect for the divine feminine, everything will be all right. You can’t take a break from modernity, not even in your dreams.”

Barbara Kruger’s installation doesn’t and doesn’t let us. People can be as malleable as words. We ignore that fact at our own peril.

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