Tourism 2009

I wonder if there is a part of Venice which hasn't been photographed? It seems unlikely. Every day the city is consumed by thousands of tourists capturing and re-capturing the city in photos, like flocks of hungry birds pecking away. I have spoken with the Venetian attendants that we work with about how they feel about the tourists. They are mostly resigned to their presence in their city. Indeed, 50% of the workforce in Venice work to support the tourist trade, so there is a symbiosis occurring in this crumbling city. However, after 5 weeks in Venice, considering myself somewhat of a local, I sometimes just want to tell them, 'Go and look at your own city! And stop looking at this one!'

San Marco Piazza is a web of people taking pictures of every part of the square. Seeing this activity on a daily basis makes one kind of allergic to taking photos, except of other people taking them:

 

 

 

Here's Boris Groys on the effects of contemporary tourism on the modern city:

"Tourism monumentalizes a city. The gaze of the passing tourist transforms relentlessly fluid, incessantly changing urban life into a monumental image of eternity. The growing volume of tourism speeds up this process of monumentalization. We are now witnesses to a sheer explosion of eternity in our cities. Even when you go, for example, to New York and visit the South Bronx and see drug dealers shooting each other (or at least looking as if they are about to), such scenes are imbued with the dignified aura of monumentality. The first thing that strikes you is yes, that’s how things always have been here, and that’s how they will stay—all these colorful personalities, picturesque ruins and danger looming at every corner. Later, you might read in the papers that this district is due to be “gentrified,” and your reaction would be one of shock and sadness, similar to what you would feel upon hearing that the Kölner Dom or the Eiffel Tower were to be demolished to make way for a department store."

What is especially monumental in Venice at the moment is the advertising which is currently covering the Doge's Palace and Bridge of Sighs. Huge swathes of advertising are smothered across the facade of the building, apparently contributing to the costs of the restoration work which is being undertaken. These costs is easily accounted for by the innumerable photographs which are taken of these giant billboards every day and sent all around the world. I think they are advertising sunglasses or necklaces? Evidently the Commune di Venezia's strict rules about preserving the picturesque views of Venice are able to be swayed when there is a bit of capital involved.

I risked my life amongst the tourists for these pictures:

 

 

Biennale within a Biennale within a Biennale

On a free day recently I set off for Giudecca, a small island in the Venetian lagoon, in search of the Palestinian and Welsh pavilions. Because Giudecca it is not connected directly to the main areas of the Venice it is much quieter and less covered in tourists. When I went there on a Sunday there were Venetians doing normal things, like going to church and doing their shopping. Sometimes Venice feels a bit like a theme park so it was nice to see these normal activities taking place.

2009 is the first time Palestine has had official representation at Venice, and the exhibition is one of the ‘collateral events’ which operate alongside the national pavilions. The show, 'Palestine c/o Venice', includes a mixture of established and younger Palestinian artists and is housed in an ex-convent down a series of narrow alleyways in Guidecca. I spent over an hour there, finding the work not only rigorous and challenging but also intent on dismantling the epistemology of the Venice Biennale and the power relations it seeks to support.

Emily Jacir’s project, Stazione, brings into focus the fraught relationship between Venice and the Arab world. Jacir has translated the names of the numerous vaporetto stops on the Grand Canal into Arabic and written these alongside the Italian names. The influence of Byzantium and the Arab world is everywhere in Venice, from small architectural influences in the windows of Palazzi to the grand, fading Byzantine opulence of the San Marco’s Basilica.

Jacir’s obvious intervention into the public transport system, and suggestion of an alternative urban design, seems to have been too much for the Commune de Venezia. When I visited this show there was a sign stating that the work had ‘been cancelled’. There were some language difficulties with the venue attendant, so I was unable to ascertain the reasons why, but it seems likely given the stringent rules of public signage in Venice that Jacir’s suggestions of cultural exchange, both past and present, weren’t taken to enthusiastically by the local authorities.

Khalil Rabah’s project 3rd Riwaq Biennale 2009, A Geography: 50 Villages took the form of the press information for a supposed Palestinian Biennale, to take place in 50 villages scattered across the fragmented country of Palestine. Each site, Rabah writes, ‘will be in partnership with local institutions and communities…and will not feature any large-scale, central exhibitions.’ Rabah hijacked the Palestinian pavilion at the Venice Biennale as a space to promote the 3rd Riwaq Biennale. Set up in the exhibition space is a pile of flyers, postcards from each site, and set up of chairs and some video footage.

Images of Khalil Rabah's project 3rd Riwaq Biennale 2009, A Geography: 50 Villages:

I am still trying to ascertain whether or not this proposed Palestinian Biennale is actually taking place, or whether or not this is a propositional gesture by Rabah. I’m am beginning to suspect the latter. A Geography: 50 Villages highlights the power structure of the contemporary Biennale, which necessitates a centralized city to house such an event. How does one hold a Biennale is a country with such a complicated geographic and political situation as Palestine?

This work got me thinking of a future where all countries used other Biennales solely as an opportunity to advertise their own nation’s Biennale. It would be like a traveling sideshow, each site simply being an advertisement for another curatorial concept, or list of big name artists, which would never eventuate because the participating countries would co-opt the site for their own promotional purposes. This Borges’ library-like arrangement is not entirely unlike the present, where nation states jostle for artistic supremacy and exposure in an increasingly crowded global exhibition schedule of Biennales and events.

One conception of Borges' infinite library:

 

More information about Palestine's representation at Venice can be found here.

Regata Storica

Sunday was an exciting day in Venice. Not only is the La Mostra Internationzale D’Arte Cinematografica (Film Festival) currently running and filling the Lido up with glamorous people, but the Grand Canal was lit up with colour by the Regata Storica.

Held on the first Sunday of September every year, the Regata Storica begins with a procession of ornate boats ferrying locals dressed in sixteenth century costume. Francis Upritchard’s venue, the Fondazione Claudio Buziol, afforded a good view of the watery pageant as made its way from San Marco Bay down the Grand Canal.

What most of the locals come for though is the rowing races which begin soon afterwards. Packs of Venetians cluster around the banks of the Canal to cheer on their favourite team. As far as I could tell, these were divided up into teams from different regions of Venice – Cannaregio, Dorsoduro, San Polo etc, as well as different age groups. 

 

The origins of the Regata Storica purportedly date from the thirteenth century, when the great maritime empire of Venezia would train up armies of men to be skilled and strong rowers. These days it is a less war-like affair, but the Venetians still show a lot of passion for rowing; an extremely appropriate pass time in this lagoon city.

Public address

Days in Venice are divided up by the regular chiming of the bells across the city. It is a giant public address system attempting to keep everyone on time. They are so much a part of life here, Anna, one of the Venetian attendants at Judy Millar’s show, was completely incredulous when I told her the other day that Wellington doesn’t have bells.

When I first arrived I kept trying to figure out how the system worked – what bells rung when and how long for. I have long since stopped trying to hear some sort of pattern. All the different bells towers in the many churches across the city seem to like to have a good ol’ ring on the hour, or the half hour, or on the quarter hour, for an indeterminate amount of time. And on domenica, Sunday, they enthusiastically work overtime.

The mother of all bells in Venice has its own name, Marangona. This hangs in the Campanile, the bell tower, in Piazza San Marco. When the Campanile was completed in its current form in 1515, Marangona was one of its five bells used to mark different aspects of the day. Marangona rang to mark the beginning and end of the work day, Maleficio was ominously rung if someone was to be executed, La Trottiera called the magistrates to the Palazzo Ducale, Nona rang at midday, Mezza Terza announced a session of the senate.

In 1902 the whole Campanile collapsed, and Marangona is the only bell that survived the fall. I found this photograph, which later turned out to be doctored, of the Campanile in the process of collapsing:

The Venetians faithfully rebuilt the Campanile, using many of the original materials. There are some good images here. However, the bell tower in Palazzo San Marco is again under construction/restoration once again because apparently it is going to collapse. But Marangona still chimes resonantly at midday and midnight every day. Our apartment is very close to San Marco so we can hear it loud and clear telling us to go to bed.

Goodies

Shoppers at the Rialto Markets

There are many ways to get to know a city, some like to sniff through second-hand bookshops, others like to find the tallest building and get their bearings, many bury their noses in timeout or lonely planet, or cruise through night-spots talking to locals. I never quite feel properly introduced to a place until I make visiting the produce markets a regular habit. In Wellington, I used to drag my flat-mates out of bed on a Sunday morning for collective bonding at the Willis Street markets, in Mumbai, kitchen less, I would still stall-browse my way home from the local train station, and my travels around Europe are peppered with experiences of the amazing markets in Rotterdam, Brussels and Barcelona.

 
Plums, grapes and peaches

After arriving in Venice, I think it took me two days before I had sniffed out the Rialto markets. Apparently, the Rialto area (around the famous Rialto Bridge) was one of the first parts of the city to be developed, and has been a centre for trade since the end of the eleventh century. The names of the squares and streets around the bridge still refer directly to the products that were unloaded from boats and sold there—Erberia (fruit and vegetable market), Naranzeria (oranges), Speziali (spices) and Pescaria (fish).

 
Artichoke hearts, herbs and chillies

The market today is divided into two separate sections, Erberia (fruit and vegetables), and Pescaria (fish), and trading starts early, with stallholders packing up just before lunch. As well as being a pretty fantastic visual experience, produce markets generally focus mainly on what is in season, local, and fresh, and you often find varieties of fruit, vegetables and herbs not common to large, chain supermarkets. The Rialto Markets wear provenance proudly; along with price, the produce labels also tell you where in Italy the particular item comes from, so you can choose, for example, between tomatoes from Erasmus (the island Robyn posted on recently) or Sicily.

 
Tomatoes, peppers, chillies and zucchini

Apologies for those of you emerging from a New Zealand winter (I have heard that the kowhai on the parliament grounds are starting to flower!), but summer treats such as white peaches, nectarines, eggplant, zucchini, huge bunches of fresh basil, and sweet tomatoes have been migrating from the Rialto Markets to our apartment at an alarming rate. Last week Thomasin and I brought some small, round eggplant from Sicily. About the size of an egg and lemon yellow in colour, we were advised by the stallholder to roast them, and mix them into a salad with parsley, tomatoes, oregano, olive oil and lemon juice. After we figured out that there was post-roasting skin peeling required, the eggplant became sweet and soft with a tomato texture. This week there are cheese stuffed, fried zucchini flowers on the menu, and a trip to the Pescaria markets…

 
Cherries, plums, figs, berries

Zucchini flowers, tomatoes

Art Fatigue

Art fatigue is a specific type of pain. It starts in the base of your feet and then slowly spreads upwards through your legs until you are desperately searching around for a long video work with an accompanying seat so you are able to rest. Art fatigue can come on quickly for the rushed gallery goer who only has three days in Venice and has to pack in the Giardini, Arsenale, off-site Pavilions, collateral events and other artistic and historical delights Venice has to offer. All of this whilst contending with the push and shove of thousands of tourists and the sweltering Venetian heat.

The sheer excess of artwork in the Venice Biennale is one of the qualms voiced in a recent suite of reviews of this year’s Biennale in Frieze magazine:

Jennifer Higgie, co-editor of Frieze, writes, ‘The sheer visual cacophony of seeing so much art in a short space of time (most visitors I spoke to were in Venice for about three days) can flatten difference, suck enthusiasm from the viewer and drown out work that is nuanced, quiet or difficult.’

In some ways I would agree with this assessment. Packing the Venice Biennale into three days is akin to an art version of the Amazing Race. But whilst the model of the international art Biennale remains a dominant paradigm, perhaps one way to contend with the pressures of visiting such an event would be to be cautiously selective, not harangue yourself about those works that you missed, and allow for impromptu encounters.

Working as a Venue Attendant luckily allows for a leisurely viewing of the Biennale. Yesterday, with a free afternoon, I sought out a couple of off-site pavilions. After spending a solid hour lost in the Castello (a pleasant, generally quieter region of Venice), I managed to find Australia’s off-site pavilion, a show curated by Felicity Fenner.

Australia has not only brought over Shaun Gladwell’s (melodramatic) work for their pavilion in the Giardini, but have also organized this exhibition of younger artists in The Ludoteca, a former convent. Claire Healy and Sean Cordeiro’s work, Lifespan, is a huge tower of old VHS tapes dominating the space of the old chapel in the convent. Resembling an oversized rubik's cube, this monolith of antiquated technology faces off with the altar of the chapel, suggesting the similar antiquity of this set of religious beliefs.

Beyond its obvious foregrounding of the speed of technology production and the subsequent environmental waste, Life Span’s meaning shifts as the visitor walks around the object. Two sides display the spines of the VHS tapes. Purchased videos, ‘Terminator’, ‘Madonna Live’ and ‘Hot Shots’, are interspersed with personal tapes that have been used and reused by families, ‘Robin Hood’ or ‘Family Weekend’. As such, these tapes hold a collection of both societal and personal memory – images and memory now inaccessible on their obsolete film. Further, two sides of the cube are solid black, interrupted only with small flecks of colour. These sleek surfaces, which resemble austere modernist paintings are positioned so that the viewer sees them first as they enter the chapel. This cube confronts the viewer with impassive walls of pseudo-geometric abstraction, but its meaning completely shifts when you realize its internal organs are composed of the detritus of Western entertainment from the 1990s and handycam footage of family reunions.