Contemporary art galleries in Rome and the new museum architecture

I’m so lucky.  I’m about to experience the Venice Biennale for a second time as I’ll be working there next month.  In the meantime, I’m studying Italian in Siena for a couple of weeks, and as the title of this post indicates, I just spent a couple of days in Rome.

Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Moderna

So, contemporary art in Rome… unfortunately, I didn’t find any small artist-run spaces (shout out if you know of any), but I visited the contemporary art space, Macro, and Rome’s new mega museum: MAXXI (as in art of the XXI century).  I also visited the smaller private gallery, Museo Carlo Bilotti Aranceria di Villa Borghese, and the city’s Modern art museum, Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna. I very much enjoyed seeing contemporary Italian art, and so I’ll write on the art contained within these museums in my next post, but in this post I’d like to talk about the architecture of contemporary art museums in relation to Macro and MAXXI.

MAXXI: the unassuming streetfront

Macro and MAXXI epitomise the new museum architecture: they showcase innovative architecture while retaining novel elements of the respective original site.  In the case of MAXXI, it’s really only the rather unremarkable (for Rome, at least) street front, but for Macro, it’s features of the gallery buildings’ past functions as slaughterhouse and Peroni brewery (don’t worry, they were separate factories).  I enjoyed both museums, but after visiting a number of galleries whose identity is very much connected to this new style of architecture, I’ve noticed that the declarations of ‘innovation’, ‘difference’ and in some cases ‘challenging the notion of the white cube’, are ironically very similar.

Here are some features of the new museum architecture:

[Update: Dec 2011. I have written a more thorough list at a later post here]

1. Angles. Not right angles, other angles.

National Gallery Victoria (NGV) Australia, Melbourne

Australian Centre for Contemporary Art (ACCA), Melbourne

MAXXI, Rome

2. Floating (or unlikely) staircases.

MAXXI, Rome

Macro, Rome

cage staircase, Istanbul Modern, Istanbul

3. The walls are mostly white, even if they’re self-aware of the white.  Sometimes they’ll have a few coloured walls just to show that they’re slightly subversive.

GOMA, Brisbane

Macro, Rome

The red to break up the white, Macro, Rome

4. (speaking of which...) A touch of red.

MAXXI, Rome

Ceiling, Istanbul Modern

5. Sexy concrete: polished for the floor; brutally raw or curved for the walls/exterior.

MAXXI, Rome

Istanbul Modern

Cer Modern, Ankara, Turkey

6. At least one ridiculously large room, which will often accommodate small objects.  You will look up at the skylights or beams on the roof (oh, so far, far away) like you would in a church.  The room will make you feel insignificant and humble. Art is god.

Macro, Rome

Macro, Rome

Olafur Eliasson, The Weather Project (2004), Tate Modern, in the turbine hall

7. They have toilets with weird sinks. You may or may not get them to function. (I wish I'd taken a photo of the Macro sinks, but it's a bit uncomfortable taking photos in bathrooms)

Gallery of Modern Art (GOMA), Brisbane

8. The building has a previous function as a slaughterhouse, factory or similar (usually) industrial structure:

Macro (ex-slaughterhouse, Peroni factory)

Istanbul Modern (ex-shipping warehouse)

 

Detached, Hobart (ex-Church)

Cer Modern, Ankara, Turkey (ex-railyards)

Tate Modern, London (ex-powerstation)

okay, it's not a gallery per se, but Cockatoo Island's a popular venue for the Sydney Biennale (ex-shipyards, gaol). It's similar to the Venice Biennale's arsenale in this way.  The use of industrial structures for temporary exhibitions is a whole other post...

9. Exposed plumbing or other functional parts of the gallery (also to show awareness of the white cube shiz) 

Pompidou, Paris

Istanbul Modern

MONA, Hobart

10. Rust fetish.  If the rust was not already part of the building prior to its current function as a gallery, ‘new’ rust is manufactured.  Rust fetish not only refers to literal rust, but also aged features in general - old machinery, crumbling bricks, old graffiti...

ACCA, Melbourne (new rust)

10. Site-specific art that responds to unusual or novel aspects of the architecture.

GOMA, Brisbane

Daniel Buren, Dance Between Triangles and Lozenges for Three Colours, Work in Situ (2010)

, Macro

11. A will to get visitors lost.

MAXXI

MONA

12. A funky gift shop, expensive restaurant, and similarly overpriced café.  It will have all three.

Cer Modern

Tate Modern (image credit: Splash Magazines)

Istanbul Modern (image credit: Tesker)

GOMA, Brisbane (with water dragon)

As I wrote earlier, my next post will be on the art contained within the respective museums, but I just had to get this ‘new museum architecture’ theory out there.

10 Days on the Island starts today

10 Days on the Island, Tassie's hyperactively-promoted biennial arts festival starts today. Well, unless you're a visual arts event, in which case you've been up and away for up to a week. 20 Days on the Island? I calculated yesterday that I'm personally 2584 days on the Island. You can probably tell I'm doing a PhD (or similar procrastination-rich study).

This is not a critiquing post, because I've been hibernating and haven't seen anything yet. It's more a 'this is what's on, and this is what I plan to see' post. The major constraint, as I've mentioned in other posts, to seeing 10 Days events is cost. I can't afford to attend most events. The one paid event I'm making my priority is Power Plant at the Botanic Gardens. It's $15 concess, $25 full, which is on the very low end of the paid scale. I'd love to see some of the music events and the theatre, but on a student wage, the cost is prohibitive. I think MONA FOMA has spoiled me! The cost structures are incredibly strange. Take one music event, DBR and DJ Scientific with Emeline Michel: It costs $25 in Hobart, but it's free in Launceston. If you have 5 people in the car, it's far cheaper to drive to Launceston from Hobart to see the show. If anyone can explain the reasoning behind this discrepancy, please do!

Anyhoo, I shouldn't really have a whine. There are free events, such as the visual art events (because visual artists aren't paid as much as other performers?). In the south, Reconstructing the Animal, curated by Yvette Watt, and held at the Plimsoll Gallery, and interestingly, the old Beaumaris Zoo site. Craig Walsh's Digital Odyssey is also at the top of the list. Rather than just be a 'gonna', I need to crack my cocoon and go see some of this stuff. Will post reviews soon....

MONA FOMA: twittering micro critic

Over the next week I'm acting as a MONA FOMA microcritic for ABC local radio (936).

As I've mentioned in previous posts, (which can be viewed here, here, and here)  MONA FOMA is a music, sound and art festival with an emphasis also on food and wine.  This year's MONA FOMA is also a lead up to the much anticipated opening of MONA, David Walsh's exciting new museum.

Four local tweeters and I have been chosen to critically tweet throughout the festival, which officially opened yesterday.  I'm already exhausted, as is my data allowance (I'm lucky enough to have my monthly cap refreshed tomorrow, however). I tweet under the name of @stealthpooch so if you're on twitter, please follow, whether you're local or not, and share the experience with me.  If you're not on twitter, I've also added my twitter feed on the sidebar of this blog, so you can read my tweets that way. Otherwise you can also subscribe via an RSS feed.

If you are local to Hobart, I strongly urge you to attend both the festival and the museum opening.  The festival is almost completely free, with the exception of a Philip Glass performance and the Grinderman concert.  At the festival, there are fantastic sound art exhibitions, performance art, bands, cooking demonstrations and great wine and beer, and the museum will blow your mind.

Just do it.

Sculpture by the Sea: regressive and irrelevant?

Sculpture by the Sea needs a rethink.  Every year in November, I make the pilgrimage to Sydney to see the annual outdoor sculpture exhibition, where sculptures are installed along the picturesque cliffs from Bondi to Tamarama.  However, after this last experience (2010) I don’t think I’ll bother anymore.  Sculpture by the Sea (SS) has become commercial, boring, sameish, and conservative.  None of these criticisms, particularly my concern with the commercial emphasis of the festival, are bad per se as I know that large scale exhibitions need to be funded from multiple sources. However, the combination of these critical issues is turning what was initially an innovative and interesting exhibition, into an event that is losing relevance to many contemporary practicing artists, and ignoring the site’s true benefit, that is, its potential for site-specific art.

One of the few truly site-specific artworks in 2010: recycled plastic bottle 'icicles'

 Stylistically, most of the sculptures bear few similarities to the sculptures shown in contemporary galleries or even at other popular outdoor exhibitions around the world.  One of the things I’ve noticed over the years is an increase in monumental cast or assembled metal works, often bronze, and either rigidly abstract or nauseatingly figurative.  This last exhibition, in fact, gave me a sense of deja vou – it seemed that they’d re-exhibited the works from 2009.  Now, I have no problem with abstract work, nor bronze as a material, however, the works were so Caroesque that I was reminded of Charles Green’s comments in his book Peripheral Vision.  Green describes the gulf between the ‘older welded-steel sculptors and the younger post-object artists’ at the significant Mildura Sculpture Triennial one year.  Apparently, this evident generational gap ‘led to the enclave of formalist works being labelled “Karo Korner”’ (Green, 1995 p. 17).  I want to highlight the date of the exhibition: it was 1973. I believe that contemporary art has well and truly moved on from these traditional styles, styles that were becoming quickly irrelevant 40 years ago.  Of course, such sculptures are interesting when considered in their historical context, however I fail to see the relevance of such heavy, masculine, and permanent works (and I emphasise the more negative connotations of the adjectives) to contemporary culture and society.  Evidently, most museums and artists agree, and it’s really only at SS that I’ve witnessed such a popularity in this conservative and traditional artform.  I should probably add at this point, that Sir Anthony Caro was actually invited to exhibit in the 2010 SS.  I laughed when I saw his work, because I came across the massive structure plonked on the grassy cliff just as I was explaining to my friends what I mean by ‘Caroesque’.  I also need to emphaise that I enjoy Anthony Caro’s work, and my objection to the SS’s ‘Karo Korner’ is merely concerned with its relevance to 21^st century art practice.

So why is SS so regressive in their choice of artwork?  I understand that the works have to be durable due to their windy outdoor site, yet the exhibition is only for a couple of weeks and there are plenty of other materials and styles that can withstand such weather.  Perhaps it’s because most of the entries embraced more traditional materials and subjects; although I doubt it, because not only do most practicing Australian artists work in more contemporary media (based on what I see in both commercial and public galleries, artist websites, and my friends and colleagues’ work), but I know of many excellent and high-profile artists being turned down for proposals that engage with the site in relevant and interesting ways.  I also know that in past SS exhibitions, there have many more site-specific works of art.  My guess is that such sculptures sell.  Site-specific installations, regardless of their merit, do not sell as well as stand-alone works, simply because they often require a dialogue with the site to work properly.  Additionally, in terms of materials, bronze is easier to sell (particularly to a conservative public) because of its associations with wealth, permanency and tradition.  These works are safe; they don’t challenge the definition of art or cause controversy.  Yet, the sheer number of them in the last few years of SS has made the exhibition just that: safe, traditional, boring and conservative.

Imagine how innovative and interesting SS could be if they had more works that actually interacted with the site.  The landscape is incredible and calls out for playful and relevant artworks.  The cliffs, the thrashing waves, the wind, the sand, the handrails, the plants gripping onto the cliffs, the dripping water, the salt, the tourists, the gentrification of the area’s housing, the caves…  I mean, the site wants to be in dialogue with the sculptures, and yet the majority of the sculptures are simply ‘plonked’ there.  While public artworks for the last 40-odd years have been moving towards interactivity and relevance to the historical, special or cultural aspects of their respective sites, SS is regressive, returning to a pre-1970s public art and ignoring the wonderful developments in outdoor art which have flourished since Christo wrapped Little Bay in 1969. 

Let’s be proud of our country’s outstanding contemporary artists and make sure that SS, as one of the most popular and high-profile outdoor exhibitions, does justice to our thriving art scene.  For if I was a tourist from another country and witnessed only Sculpture by the Sea as illustrative of 21^st century art in Australia, I’d think were stuck in 1968.

John Davis: Presence, NGV Australia

I’ve been an admirer of John Davis’ sculptures since I came across a dusty black and white book in my first year of art school, and until his survey show, Presence, at the National Gallery Victoria, my enthusiasm had been based on mostly black and white photographic documentation of his delicate works.  John Davis’ sculptures are surely a museum conservator’s nightmare – constructions of twigs, paper, cotton, tied loosely together or bonded with bitumen – which is probably the reason why I’d never seen more than one of his works in person before this show.

Evolution of a Fish: Traveller (1990)

Repetition and an emphasis on material and process are consistent themes across the exhibition.  With the dramatic exception of the few sculptures from the late 1960s, which are surprisingly hard-edged and made from metal and fibreglass, his works indicate an element of play in their careful construction. His later forms are made from predominantly organic materials, and embrace an earthy and limited colour scheme – a reflection of Davis’ consistent exploration of environmental themes that started in the early 1970s.  Most of the works are wall or floor-based, and the white walls of the gallery provide an interesting contrast to the crooked grid lines that occur in numerous works.  This tension between the imperfections of the natural materials and the enforced construction of geometry is what makes Davis’ works so engrossing, and is perhaps also illustrative of the contradictory way in which humans perceive and interact with the natural environment.

Serendipitously, I visited the exhibition just after viewing the Tim Burton show at ACMI, and as a result Davis’ fish sculptures, which I’ve always considered quite serious pieces, started to look quite comical and animated with a monstrous streak.  While I doubt Davis had similar intentions to Burton when creating his fish characters, I enjoy ‘seeing’ this very different side to the Evolution of the Fish series. 

Tree Piece (1973), Sculpturscape

The show is set out chronologically, although I enter at the ‘wrong’ end because the start is strangely accessed through another exhibition, not the foyer.  Nevertheless, like a resume, sometimes it’s better to start with more recent activity - such as Davis’ ubiquitous fish sculptures - and work back.  My personal interest in Davis’ sculptures is in this early period of his career when he participated in the Mildura Sculpture Triennials, making site-related environmental works in the scrubby floodplains surrounding the Mildura Gallery.  Unfortunately, the significance and influence of the site and events, in particular the 1973 ‘Sculpturscape’ exhibition, are not even mentioned in the exhibition’s didactic texts.  The photographic documentation of Tree Piece (1973), where Davis wrapped a number of gum trees with various materials, is not attributed to any specific exhibition, despite Sculpturscape’s influence on not only Davis’ practice but also on the early development of Australian environmental sculpture, Installation and Site-specific Art in general.  Nevertheless, Presence, is an excellent and inclusive survey of Davis’ three-decade practice, and a welcome opportunity to view such fragile works in person; and the colour catalogue that accompanies the exhibition will also be a welcome addition to the existing, predominantly black and white illustrated publications on his work.

John Davis: Presence is at the NGV Australia, 6 August - 26 October 2010

image sources: 

NGV Australia website

Catalano, Gary. An Intimate Australia: the landscape and recent Australian art. Sydney: Hale and Ironmonger, 1985

A Serendipitous Istanbul

Commercial Art Gallery, Istanbul

The Travertines, Pemukkale

My last post described the rather generic experience of the Cer Modern in Ankara, Turkey.  Following Ankara, I spent a week in Istanbul, a vastly different city to the rest of the country. I was hard pressed to find contemporary art galleries in the other Turkish cities I visited on the trip: Iznik (famous historical ceramic centre), Bursa (car broke down), Bergama (the living city next to the ancient city of Pergamom), Cesme (Genovese Castle), Ephesus (ancient city), Pemukkale (ancient city and unlikely travertine landscape, pictured left), Olympos (ancient city, more Genovese ruins, and the Chimnea), and Göreme (historic monastery carved into the bizarre rock formations, the town of Goreme pictured below).  However, in Istanbul it was hard to avoid contemporary art.
 

Göreme, Cappadocia

My friends and I dutifully headed off to the Istanbul Modern on our first day in the city.  Like many contemporary art galleries, it’s housed in an ex-industrial building; in this case, an old shipping warehouse.  They’ve retained part of the industrial aesthetic (which I affectionately term ‘rust fetish’), while fitting out the gallery with the obligatory white walls. 

'look up!' Istanbul Modern ceilings

I revisited the gallery when it hosted the Inclusive Museum Conference dinner a couple of nights later.  Someone from the conference asked me what the gallery was like earlier in the day, to which I replied “oh it’s a generic white cube gallery with a bit of rust fetish thrown in, but it’s got an emphasis on Turkish art which is great for international visitors”.  Interestingly, on the guided conference tour before the dinner, the director proudly told us that the Istanbul Modern is “not your usual white cube gallery,” referring to the fact that it’s in an ex-industrial building and it wasn’t in the shape of a cube.  She’d taken the notion of the ‘white cube’ very literally.  It was a strange moment, simply because I’d confidently described the gallery as such only a few hours earlier.  Rust fetish has become institutionalised; it’s the new ‘white cube’.

I took a couple of images of the library installation, which was pretty impressive: books suspended from the ceiling on the lower level, with a seamless transition from outside the glassed in library area to the inside.  The reading was of varying quality:

Book installation outside the library, Istanbul Modern

The staircase was also pretty memorable.  At first, I thought it was an artwork: bullet strewn glass walls, heavy chain casing, galvanised iron steps… it didn’t really encourage you to walk downstairs. 

The work that stood out for me at the gallery was Sener Ozmen and Erkan Ozgen’s video Tate Modern Yolu (Road to Tate Modern), 2003.  It’s an ironic and very amusing reference to Don Quixote’s novel of Cervantes, with the two besuited artists, one on a horse and one ridiculously perched upon a small tireless donkey, setting off from the mountains of Diyarbakir to the Tate Modern, London.  I watched a couple of loops of the video on my first visit, which is a rarity for me with video.  

The next day I came across a co-op art workshop, where practitioners were trying to maintain traditional Turkish arts and crafts, such as ceramics, marbling and miniature painting.  They had for sale a couple of handpainted copies of an historical painting of a man with an oversized turban sitting on a relatively fragile looking donkey (pictured left), and I bought it, simply because it reminded me of the video.  On my return visit to the Istanbul Modern, I was no less impressed with the video, with its over-the-top dialogue and mock seriousness.

I should point out that I returned to the Istanbul Modern a third time, but not for the art, it was for the food.  The conference dinner wasn’t that impressive, but the gallery restaurant's position on the waterfront, with a balcony looking over the Bosphorus to the Topkapi Palace and Eastern Shore, was the main reason why we opted to return on our last night.  At the conference dinner, there was a bloody cruise boat blocking the view (bringing back memories of my one and only visit to Quay, in Sydney), but on this last visit, not only was there an undisturbed view (left), but the food was really very good and relatively reasonable for the level service.

Warehouse art installation, Istanbul

Near the Istanbul Modern (but stupidly not signposted) was a warehouse full of a number of art exhibitions initiated as part of the city’s 2010 European Capital of Culture status.  It was the first time that the warehouse had been used for this purpose. Upstairs were a number of smaller exhibitions, all of which worth seeing, although I really only remember a couple of works clearly.  Downstairs was a topical exhibition about money, with a humorous work which invited concerned viewers to press the 'magic button', which would supposedly 'cure' the financial crisis.

We also stumbled across an interesting work in the Taksim square train station.  Two anthropomorphic orange machines with drumsticks attached to their hands were playing percussion instruments, dictated by monitors in the Bosphorus.  Not speaking Turkish, I wasn’t sure if it was measuring the pollution or waves, but it was an engaging work and exhibition location.  We’d actually gatecrashed the opening night, and I was interested to see that Turkish art openings (if this was representative) don’t serve alcohol (maybe not surprising in a predominantly Muslim nation).

I left Istanbul happy that at least one Turkish city had fulfilled my enjoyment of serendipitous exhibition encounters.

A Turkish Gallery experience?

I’ve just returned from a 3 week conference/ art research trip to Turkey, a country of ancient ruins, enthusiastic touts, lots of eggplant and meat, amazing fresh fruit and vegies, and a very cool city: Istanbul.  I travelled around with two other girls in a hire car for two weeks before hiring an apartment in Istanbul for a week near the ever-awake Taksim Square.  The conference I attended (and presented at) on the last five days was the International Conference on the Inclusive Museum, which was a topical end to my visit as I was quite unhappy with the (lack of) educational and money-grabbing approach of most of Turkey’s museums (more on that in a future post)

 The curious Seraphim figure with an 'uncovered' face, Aya Sofya, Istanbul

From my extensive prior research and experience, the contemporary art (in a Western Art sense) in Turkey seems confined to Istanbul, and to a lesser extent, Ankara.  It appeared strange to me coming from a country such as Australia, where every town above, approximately 3000 people, seems to have a contemporary art gallery (of varying quality and criticality, mind you).

Ankara’s Cer Modern was our first contemporary art gallery stop after two weeks of ancient ruins, traditional arts and crafts, Ottoman architecture and grimy interiors.  I was shocked at the relief and the ‘I’m home’ familiar feeling I experienced when entering the building, which could easily be an art institution anywhere in the world.  I truly understood what O’Doherty meant by his description of the modern ‘white cube’ art gallery:

A gallery is constructed along laws as rigorous as those for building a medieval church.  The outside world must not come in, so windows are usually sealed off.  Walls are painted white.  The ceiling becomes the source of light.  The wooden floor is polished so that you click along clinically, or carpeted so that you pad soundlessly, resting the feet while the eyes have at the wall.  The art is free, as the saying used to go, “to take on its own life.”(Inside the White Cube: The ideology of the Gallery Space, p.15)

 Entrance Couryard, Cer Modern, Ankara

True, the gallery was showcasing the art of a Turkish art collector, the majority of it by Turkish artists, but it still could have been a travelling show anywhere in the world.  The gallery shop displayed the ubiquitous acrylic laser-cut ‘birds on a wire’ brooches and branded pencils, the floors were polished concrete, the bathrooms sported the latest shiny European taps, and the building embraced the popular museum ‘rust fetish’ aesthetic by showing the old train tracks beneath an acrylic section of the floor, revealing the structure’s previous use as a train shed.  Perhaps the most ‘Turkish’ part of the gallery was its café.  I ordered a hamburger, and it came deliciously spiced like the kofta (meatballs) we’d eaten for the previous two weeks. 
  

Gallery Cafe, Cer Modern

The exhibition in the Cer Modern was interesting, even if painting dominated the exhibition  (there was only one new media work and only a handful of sculptures and photographs).  The premise of +Infinity: A selection from the Ebru Özdemir Collection, was, as the title suggests, a particular art collector’s collection.  However, the short blurb on the exhibition went a bit further and suggests that we can ‘read the history of art’ through the collections of people like Ebru Özdemir.  I thought the blurb, which you can read here, was interesting because in many art schools, the art market is often ignored or underplayed when teaching art history and/or theory, despite its significant role in shaping, or to a lesser extent (in my opinion), reflecting art history.

There were a lot of fairly banal works, but the ones that grabbed my attention were the surreal landscapes by painter Alaettin Aksoy, the tracing paper collage by Elvan Alpay, and the humorous Please Clear the Dance Floor by Gözde Iklin, which seemingly depicted the wedding from hell mixed in with some Devil Facial Tumour-esque forms.  I also enjoyed Inci Eviner’s Leg Animal, where the artist had created a half-man half-squirrel type creature by dripping paint on unstretched canvas, a figure that appealed particularly as one of our many car games - ‘hypotheticals’ - involved a similar proposal: ‘would you rather have a squirrel for a foot, or a shark for a hand?’  The digital photographs by Kezban Arca Batibeki, collectively titled the Burnt Palaces Series (2006), depicted ruined interiors, ironically framed in ornate gilt frames.  At the same time, the value adding effect of the frames was somewhat undermined by the ‘sameness’ of the frames – all of them the same size and dimensions – and the cluster-style hanging.

The show was an interesting introduction to a wide range of Modern and contemporary Turkish artists, some of which I recognised in our later visit to the Istanbul Modern.  As this post is blowing out, I’ll write about the galleries of Istanbul in my next post.

The Cer Modern can be found at Altinsoy Caddesi No.3, Sihhiye, Ankara. +Infinity: A selection from the Ebru Özdemir Collection  is on from the 2 April to the 5 July 2010

get Online at the Plimsoll Gallery

The third in the ‘on a…’ series, is showing at the Plimsoll Gallery.  Online follows the inaugural Onaroll, and last year’s Onalog, with all the exhibitions based on a particular material – fishing line, toilet paper, and logs, respectively.  The series, curated by John Vella, seems to be maturing somewhat, both in terms of a move away from what I saw as toilet humour, and in relation to the use of materials.  While the toilet paper and logs were used in a quite literal, descriptive manner; in Online, the works have somewhat transcended the material.  The standout work is Anne Mestitz’ intensely coloured installation, where she’s stretched a concentrated mass of polychromed fishing line between the ceiling and floor in the middle of her ‘booth’.  I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult that work would be to install.

Anne Mestitz, All that I am.  Courtesy of the artist.

I should disclose that I’m a committee member of the Plimsoll Gallery, and this is not intended to be an independent review of the exhibition.  I just believe that Online is the best in the series so far, and I hope that people will make the effort to go and see the exhibition.

Online showcases the work of Di Allison, Lynne Eastaway, Lou Hubbard, Anne Mestitz, and Terroir. Curated by John Vella.  Catch the exhibition at the Plimsoll Gallery, Centre for the Arts, Hunter St, Hobart.  Friday 21 May 2010 -  Friday 18 June 2010.  You can also join the Plimsoll Gallery Facebook group for ongoing exhibition updates.

The 2010 Biennale of Sydney: precarious beauty

It’s upon us again: [drum roll…] “The 17^th Biennale of Sydney: The Beauty of Distance, Songs of Survival in a Precarious Age.”  Does it promise to be bigger and better?  No, thank goodness.  However, the Biennale PR team are out with their twitter feeds, Facebook fan pages and other social media platforms still drumming up the hype; and the theme is definitely dramatic enough (‘survival in a precarious age.’).

To be honest, I love large exhibitions.  Until last year, when I was lucky enough to be given a grant to visit the Venice Biennale, I’d really only been to the relatively largish Australian Perspecta (which is unfortunately not running anymore), Asia Pacific Triennial and the Sydney Biennale; however I’ve always been aware of the special art exhibiting conditions created by these major projects.  It’s become obvious to me over the last couple of years, researching site-specific art in Australia’s Public Museums, that the availability of unusual sites even within regular exhibiting spaces (and subsequent funding and media coverage of the included works) is in fact widened during these events.  By ‘unusual sites’, I don’t just mean the highly spruiked Cockatoo Island – I’m also thinking of interventions into the Art Gallery of New South Wales’ entrance vestibule, for instance.  There was no vestibule-responsive work in this year’s Biennale, however, Cockatoo Island was well-populated with both site-specific and site-oblivious works, as well as a few special Biennale sites: Pier 2/3, the Botanic Gardens and the Opera House.

I was lucky enough to be invited to the vernissage (maybe it’s just the Aussie cultural cringe, but I wonder why they can’t just call it a preview?), and took advantage of the low crowds to ferry across to Cockatoo Island.  After the last Biennale [link to 2008 Biennale Catalogue on Amazon], I was eager to see the extent of the site-responsive work.  Two years ago, I wrote on this blog about the way in which the Biennale catalogue boasted of the 'over thirty' site-specific artworks, yet in reality only about seven works had a meaningful relationship with the site.

Again, I was disappointed.  I don’t understand how artists can be given such amazing spaces and then rather than make work in dialogue with the site, they make work that competes with the surrounding space, making the rusted sinks, archaic machinery, painted symbols, drawers, signs and cranes look decidedly more interesting in comparison.  A few works, such as the Mieskuoro Huutajat (Shouting Men’s Choir) video installation were subtly onto it (see left).  Roger Ballen’s eerie photographs also sat well within the crumbling building on the top of the island.  As a testament to the strength of a few of the works from the last Biennale, the spectre of Mike Parr’s installation MIRROR/ARSE still lingered as we passed the (this year unused) ex-Navy building, as did TV Moore’s work in the Dogleg Tunnel.  
 

Roger Ballen, Cockatoo Island

 Part of Aleks Danko's SOME CULTURAL MEDITATIONS, Cockatoo Island

Also on Cockatoo Island, was one of my favourite works from last year’s Venice Biennale, The Feast of Trimalchio by the Russian collective AES+F.  The massive work in projected onto three large screens which surround the viewer.  To a dramatic soundtrack, scenes of the ultimate holiday resort (a small tropical island with a ski resort at its peak), where guests are overly pampered to a creepy degree and stereotypes are threatened.

Serge Spitzer, Molecular (SYDNEY), the guard house, Cockatoo Island

We had a bit of a regressive bounce on the jumping castle, an artwork by Brook Andrew.  It was only later, when I read the artist statement for Jumping Castle War Memorial in the free booklet, that I realised that the meaning of the work was far removed from what I’d imagined jumping up and down on the pattered blow-up.

Cai Guo Qiang’s Inopportune: Stage One, which seems to be the showcase work for this year’s Biennale, wasn’t working (left).  Disappointed, I went next door and took a photo of the performance art next door, but they told me to go away.  Apparently, they were not actors hired to drink coffee, smoke and handle drills for 2 months; rather, the work was still being set up and the ‘actors’ were in fact installers.  This awkward moment was to be repeated throughout the day’s visit: we’d walk into rooms and there’d be a couple of people hanging from the ceiling, sweating, swearing and telling us that the projector wasn’t working but ‘come back tomorrow’. 

The following evening I visited the Art Gallery of New South Wales, where they were hosting artist talks.  I’m a massive proponent of the gallery’s after hours program, which occurs every Wednesday, and features things like artist talks, films and live music.  I dutifully trotted down to the Archibald, Wynne and Sulman prizes and paid to see some of the most underwhelming art I’ve seen in a long time.  The Biennale art at the AGNSW was not that much more engrossing unfortunately.  I headed to Chinatown instead.
 

My Friday afternoon involved traipsing thought the Botanical Gardens in search of the elusive Fiona Hall, Janet Lawrence and Choi Jeong Hwa works.  Fiona Hall’s Barbarians at the Gate was similar to the Breeding Ground, exhibited in the Port Arthur Project in 2007.  Hall’s usual themes of trade, colonialism and botany are well-suited to the gardens, yet the actual site chosen within the gardens was a little strange.  Painted army figures hung from the tree above a number of architectural beehives, painted with camouflage patterns.  

 Janet Lawrence, WAITING -A Medicinal Garden for Ailing Plants (detail)

Janet Lawrence’s work was equally as detailed, and while the tent structure that encloses the work initially struck me as quite strange and somewhat detracting, it did give the whole work the feel of a temporary pseudo-scientific experiment.  Choi’s giant inflatable lotus seemed to breathe, inflating and deflating every few minutes.  It was sweet but not all that poignant.  Finding the works in the bot gardens is almost as enjoyable as seeing them, as the Sydney botanical gardens are amazing, with views across the harbour and hundreds of bats hanging like small parcels from the trees.

 ....and deflated. Choi Jeon Hwa, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

As the sun went down, I made like a merdog to the opera house, where a second work by Choi is nestled between the ‘sails’ of the building (left).  I lingered until Jennifer Wen Ma’s performance New Adventures of Havoc in Heaven III started on the Opera House steps after sunset.  Shadows were projected onto smoke, an elusive substance which preferred to be bossed around by the wind rather than the twirling dancer distributing the smoke below.  To be honest though, I’m not sure that the performance would be as exciting if we could see the projection most of the time.  Those occasional glimpses gave it meaning.

The best of the Biennale was saved until last.  The MCA’s four floors have been turned over to the Biennale director yet again, and they contain a number of excellent works, including a collection of the Chapman brothers’ cardboard sculptures, subtly titled Shitrospective.  Despite their rawness, the figures created out of the seemingly rough and haphazard shaping and painting of recycled cardboard, are surprisingly animated.  You can’t help but feel for the figures in wheelchairs, eyes bulging; and the cardboard miniature version of their The Chapman Family Collection work was very clever (Hint: walk around the plinths, otherwise you’ll miss the person peeing on a dinosaur’s leg).

I’m withholding final judgement on the Biennale before I see the works at the top of Cockatoo Island and Artspace in July.  However, I have a few issues with the exhibition.  While I enjoyed a number of the individual works in the Biennale, I’ve really struggled to see the thematic link between them all.  Secondly, I believe that, like the previous Biennale, the really loaded sites such as Cockatoo Island, the Botanical Gardens and Pier 2/3 are not being used to their full potential, although maybe that’s not unexpected for someone with an interest in site-specific art.

 Building interior, Cockatoo Island