While it may seem inappropriate to compare the 2024 Venice Art Biennale to a 19th-century Universal Exhibition in Paris, I still find the association fascinating.
Thinking of the astonishment of visitors to the Paris Universal Exhibition of 1878, when they entered the Machinery Gallery at the Champ de Mars and on June 30th saw for the first time the completed head of the Statue of Liberty dominating the garden of the Trocadéro Palace. And again, what excitement or scepticism must have been aroused in the 1900 edition by the introduction of electricity and the cinematograph, the latest scientific and technical discoveries of the time.
Who knows how many of the artworks presented at this Biennale edition will influence society’s development.
The Universal Exhibitions of 1878 and 1889 in Paris, besides presenting engineering works and exotic architectures, also featured human zoos, a practice that continued until the 1950s. During the 1878 Exhibition, an entire African village was reconstructed where Senegalese settlers were exhibited, while in the Dutch pavilion, visitors could witness displays of pagan rituals and dances by natives from Indonesia and Cambodia. At the 1889 Expo in Paris, eleven indigenous people from a Chilean village were brought in, and John Burke led a delegation of Sioux from Buffalo Bill’s circus on a visit to the Eiffel Tower.

Peepshow

The Biennale curated by Adriano Pedrosa deserves credit for proposing a radically different perspective, finally placing the Southern Hemisphere at the centre as a geographical and revolutionary space. The resurgence of ethnic, indigenous, gender, and identity minorities, and all those historically excluded from classical Caucasian hegemony, has finally reached its peak. Whether this alternative will be integrated into the system, only time will tell.
Contamination games, facilitated by globalisation and migration flows, have highlighted the merits and flaws of the old system of national pavilions, which instead remain important orientation points in navigating the Venetian exhibition.
On the other hand, like the idea of pure art, it is evident how much of a nostalgic naiveté it is today, queer art, now “institutionalised,” has lost its initial subversive and provocative energy to settle down as a codified genre.

Ballet Mécanique

As much as the Biennale devotes a large annual space to educational projects for children, very few accreditations are granted to them during the pre-opening. For the youngest children, who were nevertheless welcomed everywhere with joy, at least the following should be noted: the Children Everywhere project curated by Alexander Novikov and Elena Karpilova, which involved kids in a host of games without borders near the official spaces; the Egypt pavilion with Drama 1882 by Wael Shawky, who has confirmed his narrative sensibility for children by constructing modern fairy tales inspired by historical events. Also not to be missed is the interactive and tactile game-guide available at Punta della Dogana for Pierre Huyghe’s Liminal exhibition: a foldable square with overlapping shapes, holes, tabs, little doors and writing – it can also be played – with which the not-so-easy theme of the relationship between human and non-human is explained

Temù 

Returning to the theme of queer redemption and its supposed avant-garde, let’s examine the case of the Swiss Pavilion with Super Superior Civilisations by Swiss-Brazilian artist Guerreiro do Divino Amor. Miracle of Helvetia and Roma Talisman, the two acts of the seventh and final chapter of the global cartographic project Superfictional World Atlas, are a triumph of engaging lights and colours.  LED or neon depictions of pagan saints, lenticular prints in a kitschy, spectacular slash reminiscent of LaChapelle artworks, and some alleged technological innovations like a hologram of a transgender deity mixing Graeco-Roman mythology and the Hindu pantheon are all present. These stereotypes, if their aim is to denounce other socio-political stereotypes, are not very effective. Another hologram was sold to the press as an absolute innovation in the first anthology of Federico Solmi at Palazzo Donà delle Rose, which by chance resembles that of the Swiss pavilion. Both propose an imaginary goddess, demonstrating how technology is often used more as an artifice to seek sensationalism than as a real innovation tool.

Toga Parties 

In the context of the Biennale, other artists have resorted to Graeco-Roman mythology, while a month later, Francis Ford Coppola presented at Cannes his hypertrophic and controversial Metropolis, inspired by Hellenistic Rome. At the Biennale, two other works deserve mention for their mythological references. One of these is the gigantic LED screen at the entrance to the French multisensory pavilion by artist Julien Creuzet, entitled, rather long-windedly, Attila cataract your source at the feet of the green peaks will end up in the great sea blue abyss we drowned in the tidal tears of the moon. Here, statues depicting deities dance in a fountain under a suspended globe. The other, in a more unsettling key, is represented by the maids’ dance in Yael Bartana’s work Farewell in the German pavilion. The artist continues her personal research by reinterpreting rituals, collective ceremonies, and social movements.

Temporary Museum of Sciences 

The German pavilion, the only one with a queue for access, certainly deserves a chapter of its own. Outside, stands the work A Monument to an Unknown Human by Ersan Mondtag: a mound of earth, transported from Anatolia to commemorate the history of the immigrant grandfather, symbolises territorial conflicts and disputes. Inside, Yael Bartana has created an experience reminiscent of 2001: A Space Odyssey. The Earth’s inhabitants, on the brink of ecological and political destruction, embark on a journey in a spaceship heading towards deep unknown space. In the pavilion, visitors are also given the opportunity to experience the gravitational force of a future spaceship. This multimedia installation is perhaps the most engaging of the entire exhibit, garnering great success also for its topicality. However, it reminded me of those temporary science museums, fashionable in major cities around the world, which often offer more infotainment than genuine artistic experience.
Another compelling work in the field of immersivity that deserves mention is Swell of Spaec(i)es by Josefa Ntiam at the Academy. It is a multimedia installation with sound sculptures where a huge convex screen projects the life of the cosmos. Primitive marine beings float in the universe, intertwining stories of indigenous mythologies with science and generative technology. The result is fascinating and absolutely not to be missed.

Traversality and Other Passepartouts

It is more than justified to define the German pavilion Thresholds as immersive. However, it should be noted that this term tends to be overused. There are words that suddenly become fashionable and are uttered in discussions to seem current. I remember my projects under the category of “contamination” or “hybridisation” or “interdisciplinarity” were rejected at the Fine Art Academy. When I realised that using the term “transversal” would change the outcome of requests, everything in my life became “super transversal.” Over the past few years, the term “immersive” seems to have become the “open Sesame” of many artistic proposals. Everything labelled as immersive promises to be up-to-date and to capture the attention of contemporary audiences. Beware of those who use it as a mere slogan.

Odorama 

Many artists have focused on neuroscience and sensory aspects of experiences. One example is the above-mentioned JulienCreuzet, originally from Martinique, who has used basins resembling holy water fonts to spread scents of spices throughout the pavilions. The Japanese pavilion emitted a scent of decaying flowers and fruits, while the more minimalist Korean pavilion diffused essences of sacred hinoki pine and gotu kola (known in the West as Centella Asiatica), which have hints of woody, herbaceous, and minty aromas. Special mention goes to the Benin Pavilion at the Arsenal, where the installation Everything Precious Is Fragile, an igloo made from petrol cans, diffuses an indefinably pleasant aroma of orange blossoms and camphor. Later, we discovered it was a unique quality basil balm, sourced only from that region. The artist gave us some as a souvenir, though we hesitated to use it… The work draws inspiration from the Gẹlẹdẹ traditions of the Yoruba, addressing the fragility of the contemporary world marked by ecological challenges, conflicts, and social inequalities. In particular, the spiritual work of acclaimed Beninese artist Romuald Hazoumè explores Vodun religion and the sacred role of women in its rituals, leaving an indelible impression, which we prefer not to be affected by!

Beyond the Biennale 

The first mandatory stop after meticulously visiting all the pavilions of the Gardens and the Arsenal was Punta della Dogana for the grandiose presentation of Pierre Huygues’ Liminal. However, the exhibition felt like a retrospective of the already seen. The aquariums were too reminiscent of Damien Hirst’s Treasures from the Wreck of the Unbelievable, exhibited at Palazzo Grassi and Punta della Dogana. The videos in small rooms resembled Matthew Barney’s Drawing Restraint 15, the video installations echoed Francis Bacon’s paintings, and the performances with spaceships and aliens were akin to Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind, just to name a few. Instead, it was delightful to rediscover Jean Cocteau at the comprehensive exhibition at the Guggenheim Museum. The Juggler’s Revenge showcases 150 works ranging from sculptures to drawings and excerpts from films that have inspired generations of intellectuals and directors, starting with the Nouvelle Vague.
At Palazzo Fortuny, Eva Jospin engages with Mariano, bringing her intricate naturalistic scenographies, landscapes, and architectures carved from multilayered cardboard that merges with the alchemical history of spaces. Intricate forests and mechanically animated panoramas akin to those of Louis Carrogis de Carmontelle. Engraved views on canvas that rotate on rollers. Theatre and wonder.

Madeleine de Proust 

Returning to the initial question: what happens to all this human production when the fair ends?
I write this while looking at the vial The Sea Water of Venice with serial number 616 received from He Yunchang during the 2013 Biennale, the significance of such an object in my possession I have often wondered about. Christoph Buchel came to my aid with Monte di Pietà just at the end of the Venetian journey.
Palazzo Ca’ Corner della Regina from 1834 to 1969 was indeed a pawnshop, and within those walls, the artist constructed an encyclopaedical installation on the theme of debt and human failure. A hypertrophic project spread over three floors, with an apparently chaotic order, staged with Flemish care for detail.
The day we arrived, after the delayed opening due to one of the disputes with curators for which Buchel is well known, he was there finishing moving and labelling pebbles, pins, and detergents, disguised among the palace’s clerks (clerks? impiegati? assistenti?). He moved things by millimetres.
Around him, an accumulation of the most disparate objects, as absurd as in Jacques Carelman’s catalogues: from rusty gates to ship oars, lifeboats, unexploded bombs, pushchairs, clothes, trinkets. I feared finding a breathing mummy like in Fanny and Alexander’s Jewish emporium. Because in the discarded catalogue of objects of all humanity, there is the magic of memory. From stones used in the Neolithic for the first forms of trade to a crypto-currency creation and management system that will disappear with the closure of the exhibition, every pin is filled with over three levels and is relevant to the psychological and cognitive economy of the visitors. In literature and cinema, objects have been studied as indicators of negativity, repression and trauma or as contradictions of progress (see John Huston’s The Treasure of the Sierra Madre).

Time Travellers

What struck me at the end of my Biennale journey is a further reversal of perspective, compared to the contemporary art market, altered by the collectors themselves, to the memory of fetish objects with which we surround ourselves and fill with a sense they do not have. Objects produced in excess by a greedy society and destined to accumulate as inert material in warehouses, deposits, heaps of rubbish scattered in deserts in all the four corners of the world. Our physical extensions, definitions of a status quo, even manifestations of our own inner dimension, objects become media of memory, as well as emotional activators connected to the past.

I close the circle of this long odeporic diary by going back to the very beginning. The 1878 Universal Exhibition in Paris recorded 16 million attendances out of 1 billion and 300 thousand people on earth, the one in 1889 received 32.3 million visitors, and the 1900 one was close to 50 million tickets sold. In that period, the world population settled at about 1 billion and 600 million people. It is premature to talk about data for the 2024 Art Biennale, but during the previous one, more than 800,000 attendances were calculated, with the highest public turnout in the 127-year history of the Venice Biennale (the inhabitants of the earth are about 8 billion). Live events, meetings, and confrontations with others in a digitised society are increasingly rare yet necessary occasions. They are a diplomatic and strategic tool; they are above all a moment of socialisation and osmosis of knowledge.
Grand Tour by the Portuguese director Michel Gomez, presented at the last Cannes Film Festival, is an oriental and postmodern fantasy where a Babylon of languages clashes cacophonously and where time contracts and expands with an overflowing into the extra diegetic.
The leading characters for the entire duration of the film fail to meet. In the end, they have only lived for the journey.