Denial in Venice

Paolo Lughi is the coordinator of the press office of la Biennale di Venezia, and was rather surprised when he was told his office is wrong. It probably wasn’t his fault.

His office had issued a release announcing that one of ‘the countries present for the first time’ in the upcoming Venice art fest (number 53, from June 7 to November 22, 2009) is South Africa. (Together with Andorra, Gabon, Montenegro, Pakistan, Monaco, and the United Arab Emirates, by the way.)

Dearly-departed and very-alive South African artists surely sat up in stunned disbelieve at such misinformation.

Before the cultural boycott kicked in, South Africa regularly had artists at the biennale. And, since the early 1990s, quite a number have managed to get there and flaunt their skills in the Giardini di Castello or somewhere in the halls of the Arsenale.

Of course, one can easily dismiss this bit of nonsense as a faux-pas by lesser-informed, hyped-up media personnel. (The record was set straight via e-mail from Cape Town.) Those who have been tracing the history of South Africa’s relationship with the arcane establishment and system that makes la Biennale, however, will suspect this ‘misspeak’ the result of yet another bureaucratic entanglement.

The first thing that sets one thinking, reading between the lines of that press statement which reported that “the president ... Paolo Baratta, along with the director .... Daniel Birnbaum, met today ... the representatives of the nations participating ...”, is that word ‘representatives’.

Who, from our mission in Italy (surely a diplomat), was that representative - clearly clueless to the fact that South Africa has been represented at the Venice biennale for yonks?

Since 1993, when South Africa, on the cusp of democracy, had a hastily-arranged presence, the link between South African art and
the world’s oldest showcase of its contemporary production has been a gothic maze. Blame it on the bureaucracy; both sides.

That year, South Africa’s small, eye-catching show Affinities in the palazzo Giustinian Lolin, seemed a cheerful prelude to the fact that the country would, the following year, for the first time, get a national department of arts and culture. Fat lot of good that did for a formal relationship between Venice and SA, 14 years down the line.

In 1993, with DAC and the national arts council still just a good idea in Madiba’s head, one expected some fumbling to hastily arrange things for such a very public international show. We had been out of that picture so long, no-one knew what to do. But we did it.

Those with memories of the business of art and politics will recall how during the dawn of democracy ‘consultation’ and ‘representation’ were the guilty buzz-words. Participating in anything arty meant organisers had to egg walk every step of the process. (How this stymied some careers and promoted others, is worthy of a future art history doctorate.)

Nevertheless, the Venetians were as excited as the rest of the world of South Africa’s (artistic) liberation, and their invitation was warm and wide open. The problem was how to ‘facilitate’ it. (Another buzz-word in those heady days.)

The ‘old countries’ embedded in the 113-year history of the Venice biennale traditionally had (still have) ‘national pavilions’. In those colonial days, such an individual showcase for an anointed artist was, of course, a bold, competitive demonstration of the state and power of nations.

By the late 20th century these pompous buildings cluttered up the gardens. As a far-flung colony in the early days, South Africa wasn’t in the game, and by the time we were invited as a liberated nation, space had become an issue.

Yet new spaces have been opened up elsewhere in the city and the organisers too had become award that even art history had moved beyond the confines of the national. So the invitation to South Africa has, since 1994, been open and welcoming. The problem was - and clearly remains - on the South African side. It’s mostly one of will, money and commitment.

Bearing in mind that the 53rd Venice Biennale is six months away, South African artists shouldn’t hold their collective breath. At the time of writing, Paolo Lughi had nothing to report to expectant South African art fans. As could be expected, no information was forthcoming from the DAC.