Two Degrees of Separation

The last time I was in Venice I was an intern at the Peggy Guggenheim Collection - a wonderful museum filled with significant pieces of 20^th century art housed in an unfinished palazzo on the Grand Canal.  As the only New Zealander amongst a group of about 20 interns from all over the world, my accent and colloquialisms were met by laughter and I was badgered constantly with questions about sheep, whether we had electricity and our “close” physical proximity to Australia.  Thus it is a great contrast to work at the New Zealand pavilion at the Biennale di Venezia – visitors to the Palazzo Loredan dall’Ambasciatore often lighten up when they realise I am a New Zealander (“Oh, we just love New Zealand!”; “I loved visiting New Zealand in ‘83”; “Kia ora!”; “Go the All Blacks!”) and enjoy dishing all their memories and feelings towards our small country.  Sitting at the entrance to the exhibition while Ariana plays beautiful tunes on il pianoforte, sometimes in battle with the ringing church bells, it is tricky to gauge the nationalities of visitors – whether to greet them with ‘Buon giorno!’ or a ‘Hello!’ My technique now is to start with italiano and hear their response – often a rather disjointed ‘Bon-gi-orno’ rather than a purring ‘Buongiorrrno’ – and then introduce the exhibition in the appropriate language. The same goes for Kiwi visitors, who relish the opportunity to announce they are from New Zealand and go on to talk about where they’re from and what has brought them to the lagoon.  All visiting New Zealanders have gushed at how fabulous the exhibition is and burst with pride when they tell me that this is the best pavilion they’ve been to in the Biennale.  Recently we had a visit from a group of Kiwis which included Ron Alcorn, who was once a restaurant pianist in Wellington.  One evening it transpired the Hungarian-born pianist Lili Kraus (see picture) was amongst the diners – the same Lili Kraus who purchased the Steinway piano which is on display in the exhibition in a different form as He Korero Purakau mo Te Awanui o Te Motu, with Māori carvings and paua inlays.  As the story goes, Ron was playing a piece and Kraus herself stood up and said something along the lines of 'I think you'll find it goes like this' and sat down at the piano and completed the tune.  Ron is pictured above playing Bach’s Partita No. 1. Coincidentally, another pair of Kiwis came in yesterday and talked about how Kraus had once performed at Hamilton Girls' School (Kraus had become a New Zealand citizen following World War II).  Much like in New Zealand where everyone is connected by two degrees of separation it is incredible to have such a link occur at this exhibition. This palazzo has certainly turned into a meeting house, of sorts. 

Poetic Doggy Tales

Rose Campbell, our final piano attendant, blogs as she prepares to leave Wellington for Venice.

On Friday the 16 September I will be leaving Wellington for Venice to play the piano in the final shift at the biennale exhibition.

This morning Jake (the Muss) and I took our usual dawn walk round the Wellington waterfront rugged up against an icy southerly. As  we loitered around the tree area Jake did  his usual sniff around - checked his  pee-mails and 'Liked' some other dogs’ messages. We also had time to take in the poetry along the way…Bruce Mason outside Circa…Robyn Hyde in front of the Te Papa garden…We like to stop on the wooden planking as the sky lightens over the harbour and read the James K  Baxter lines which sit partly submerged in the reflecting pond beside Te Papa.

I saw the Maori Jesus
Walking on Wellington Harbour.
He wore blue dungarees.
His beard and hair were long.
His breath smelt of mussels and paroa.
When he smiled it looked like the dawn.

For a moment I was reminded of Lilburn’s ‘Seascapes’ work that I’ll be playing in Venice next week, of  Keats’ poem and of Michael Parekowhai in his overalls.  This time next week I hope to be sharing some early morning poetic reflections with Socrates - the Palazzo house dog.

Ariana Odermatt blogs about experiencing a little bit of the South Pacific in Venice

From Ariana Odermatt – piano attendant

The last thing I expected to experience while I was in Venice was attending a film premiere at the Venice Film Festival especially a screening of the Samoan film “O Le Tulafale” (The Orator).  Taking the vaporetto to Lido, where the film was being premiered, our surroundings were transformed on arrival by the sounds and images of Samoa  - temporarily whisking us back to the South Pacific after being surrounded by 17^th/18^th century Venetian architecture and Italian, French, German and English languages all day. 

The story is about a villager who has to defend his land and family in a powerful tale of honour, courage, love and redemption and was beautifully shot (by Leon Narbey) on the island of Upolu, Samoa.  You could pick out the Kiwis and Samoans in the audience as their laughter was distinctly identifiable in the funnier moments, collectively identifying with our South Pacific thumbprint which seems so far away from this floating city of Venice.  A particular highlight was watching the rugby coach encouraging his team, pumping the knapsack that was on his back and spraying weeds, while talking about his time playing rugby in Auckland! 

Director, Tusi Tamasese received a standing ovation from the audience at the end of the film and we left with stunning imagery of green islands and a little taste of home as we rode back down the Grand Canal to our own little piece of the South Pacific at the NZ Pavilion. Tofa ia soifua

Read an interview with Tusi Tamasese from Venice
Read an Italian review of The Orator

Watch the official movie trailer for The Orator

Background

This is the first time that Samoa was represented at the Venice Film Festival and saw a return for New Zealand after a 4 year absence (the last film shown at the festival was Cargo). The film was entirely shot in Samoa, in the Samoan language, with a Samoan cast and story.  Congratulations to writer/director Tusi Tamasese,  Producer  Catherine Fitzgerald ('Rain of the Children', 'Two Cars One Night'),Cinematographer Leon Narby ('Dean Spanley', 'No 2', 'Whale Rider') and Associate Producers Maiava Nathaniel Lees and Michael Eldred.

Dusty Projects

 Welcome to our final art attendant, Sophie Keyse blogging for the first time from the Pavilion.

It is a bit surreal returning to Venice in late summer after leaving its water-filled streets in early 2010 during a very high acqua alta (high water) with piles of old snow clustered in the corners of the tiny streets.  What has truly captured my eye during this stint in Venice is the constant presence of dust in La Serenissima.  Everywhere you go the streets are covered with a thin powder coating: the crumbs of disintegrating walls and walkways whipped up into clumps of ochre and burgundy in the crooks of the narrow calle.

It reminds you that this is a very old city, with the streets and bridges constructed over hundreds of years since the early fifth century. Unlike New Zealand’s constantly re-tar sealed roads and repaved pathways, these cobbles have weathered many a foot over the decades.  It is this aging dust which consistently coats the sculptures situated in the palazzo and il giardino– a light layering of history which manages to burrow its way into the tiniest of crevices. 

As a Venue Attendant part of my job is to ensure the artworks are well cared for and damage-free, so every morning Ariana and I lovingly dust and clean the bronze sculptures and carved piano with specialist conservation tools.  As a result one gets to know the sculptures quite intimately – brushing away the cobwebs from inside the delicate nostrils of a bull or sweeping away the dust from the collar of Kapa Haka. 

It brings to mind Walter Benjamin’s Arcades Project (c.1939) where dust is used as a metaphor for the lack of dreams in the ‘modern’ world – no longer intangible but instead so banal and obsolete they resemble the greyness of this inevitable by-product of society. In Benjamin's opinion, dust invades in-between spaces and coats supposedly redundant objects, thus condemning them to stillness and decay.  However, Parekowhai manages to halt this disintegration and instead encourages constant movement – the fatal enemy of dust – by welcoming pianists to play the carved piano and allowing visitors to get up close and personal with the bronze bulls.

These sculptures, particularly He Korero Purakau mo Te Awanui o Te Motu, are the manifestations of dreams – a challenge to European art history with their use of traditional materials and reference to historical concepts but profoundly Kiwi subject matter.  On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer is not composed of static artwork despite their obvious palpability and weight but rather come alive by the touch of the pianist’s hand or the footsteps and shadows of captivated visitors.  This dust is not a death sentence but rather a pleasant reminder to visitors of this city’s incredible history.