More stories

  • in

    ‘Risks Come With the Concept’: Documenta 15’s Curators Reflect on a Controversial, History-Making Show

    How long is 100 days?
    If you are the organizers, artists, and media representatives involved with Documenta, an exhibition in Kassel, Germany, that is known as the “100-day museum,” it can feel long.
    There are the years of preamble, planning, anticipation, and research; then, there was the pandemic.
    But when the Indonesian collective ruangrupa finally opened their exhibition in June, 100 days suddenly seemed rather short. The show’s organizing principle was the word lumbung, which means a communal rice-barn in Indonesian. In that spirit, the show empowered each participant to recruit their own partners and collaborators—resulting in a staggering 1,500 contributors.
    There were vegetable gardens to plant, pieces of furniture to make, kitchens and schools to operate, and karaoke to sing. A stream of events washed over the city and around the world as the collective exhibition of collectives rippled outward. Documenta was in a hectic, but nevertheless dynamic, state of becoming. A hundred days can be short when the days and nights are long and full, in a show that deconstructed a valiantly German institution unlike any had before it.
    Then there were the scandals. Some of the curators and artists came under suspicion for their views on the pro-Palestinian movement, BDS. A space was vandalized. Conversation seemed impossible on either side. In June, the public noticed antisemitic figures in a work by the Indonesian collective Taring Padi. After closer review, the mural was removed. Journalists and onlookers critiqued the curators and their concept, as they had been for months, for opening the door to harmful imagery and oversights. Ruangrupa and the artists apologized, but the damage was done, and questions around it remained at the forefront of the conversation. An artist and an external adviser withdrew; an official lost their job. There was valid anger incited by missed communication and miscommunication.
    Artnet News spoke with ruangrupa—a collective with a fluctuating cast of around 10 members—about the show that will likely change the course of Documenta. As the hundred days comes to a close on Sunday, September 25, one of the the group’s members reflected on the experience from Kassel. In keeping with ruangrupa’s ethos, they declined to be named and spoke for all of the members collectively.
    German President Frank-Walter Steinmeier stands next to Arif Havas Oegroseno, ambassador of the Republic of Indonesia, in front of the Museum Fridericianum at the opening of Documenta 15. (Photo by Swen Pförtner/picture alliance via Getty Images)
    How is the collective feeling as this show comes to a close?
    There is a bit of sadness because the process has ended. Some of us are sad to leave Kassel and move on to other things. We are having farewell drinks and dinners now. A couple of days ago, one of the Lumbung program team members made a poster of the events during the course of the show—there are more than 1,200 lines of events listed. This habit is becoming contagious and so the goal is to keep collaboration going in various forms—we have already been thinking for a while about the next iteration of Lumbung. But we also need rest.
    Understandable—you have been working in this collective way for many years, but Documenta 15 was certainly the most ambitious iteration of it. There must have been a sharp learning curve. Is there something that you wish you had done differently in terms of the show’s structure, looking back from this point in time?
    Scale. We should have known better and we should have listened to ourselves more. Back when we were only the 14 Lumbung members, there was some fear that we would not be able to fill the space with works. We should have been much more steadfast back then. We knew it was going to be enough work, and we knew how this process would end as we kept expanding invitations. What happened was that it became too big for a lot of people, including ourselves: 1,500 names with 32 venues and 1,200 and counting events. It’s not that we want to cover and know everything, but it does seem the intimacy of experience was affected. We didn’t want people to have to run around to catch everything. That habit to just spend time in one or two venues and get to know a few projects, that is not a biennial habit. But we should have listened to ourselves.
    Documenta 15: Wajukuu Art Project, Ngugi Waweru, Kahiu kogi gatemaga mwene, 2022, Installation view, documenta Halle. Photo: Nicolas Wefers
    I really liked that about Documenta 15. There was no possibility to have a complete view—that was an interesting and healthy challenge for art viewers. However, on the other hand, as curators you cannot have a view into everything that is going on.
    We knew that it was going to be like this. We discussed it a lot. We also had an uneasiness with calling ourselves curators and we avoided the term when we could. Of course, 1,500 artists was surprising—1,200 events were surprising. But the [relinquishing] of control was intentional. We were not trying to have singular authorship, and that meant cascades of invitations, it meant openness. It meant spontaneity. It is hard to deal with it in terms of production though, because the people we are inviting expect openness and improvisation from production teams. To translate this way of working into an exhibition-making logic—this is the clash of systems. We learned a lot from this incompatibility.
    Do you have a sense that Documenta und Museum Fridericianum gGmbH, the parent company and organizers of the show, learned from you? Were they able to be flexible enough?
    Everyone learned a lot. The result of these lessons, we cannot predict yet. 
    The supervisory board consists mainly of politicians. They are the executives who have the habit of using external finding committees to find the next directors for Documenta. They selected us, and then we all had to learn how to work together. 
    Our question now is what will happen after this edition: [Documenta’s board and finding committee] could go to both extremes, and either go very traditional in their next selection or surprise everyone, which is what they did after Documenta 14, and push the envelope even further. 
    Documenta 15: Baan Noorg, The Rituals of Things, 2022, Installation view, Fridericianum. Photo: Nicolas Wefers
    Circling back to the issue of scale, I heard there was a lot of pressure on production teams and other workers in the show because of the exhibition’s size. How were you able to mitigate this?
    It is something that we learned by doing. We understand the pressure they were under. And that is why the scale was our biggest point of learning. It became too big. So, we talked to the mediators, the guards. But within the structure, our power and knowledge were limited. Yet these problems are not new and this happens everywhere—that people in the art fields are underpaid, overworked, not being cared for enough, not feeling safe enough. But we were not able to deal with it structurally either. We met the mediators five weeks before the show opened to try to be better at this, but there were several things that could not be solved quickly enough. We should have asked to see the books about what everyone was being paid and demanded more transparency. Now, a group of the mediators are going to be making a publication with  [Documenta 15’s in-house] Lumbung Press that will be a reflection on this.
    I wonder if you think that the scale of the show caused oversights that you may have otherwise been able to avoid—to be more specific, checking artwork for possible problems.
    For us, risks like this come with the concept. We practice trust fully, because we work with those who we trust. The risk comes with the trust—it is two sides of the same coin. The thing that we can do better in the future is to actually push conversations when problems happen, doing it with the politicians, with the management, so that we are a united front. Not being taken by shock, which is what happened to us with Taring Padi’s work People’s Justice.
    Documenta 15: Taring Padi, Sekarang Mereka, Besok Kita (Today they’ve come for them, tomorrow they come for us), 2021, Installation view, Kassel. Photo: Frank Sperling
    Do you regret canceling the “We Need to Talk” series that was planned for April? [After facing accusations of anti-semitism and bias around chosen panelists, Documenta 15 decided to cancel a talk series that sought to address anti-Israel, antisemitic, anti-Palestinian and anti-Muslim issues.]
    If it would have happened, it would have been very different. I think there would have been a shift. But now we can only imagine and we cannot turn back time. I do not think we could have done things differently even then though, given the people we had invited to the panel, and the intentions behind the series. But it is regrettable that it didn’t happen.
    I interviewed Taring Padi. They said that they did not appropriately consider progressive Jewish populations’ perspectives as being victims of oppression. I wanted to ask ruangrupa about that. I know that Documenta 15 was in many ways about platforming artists at the margin, about creating productive and safe spaces. Was the perspective of Jewish positions considered, and was the safety of viewers, including Jewish ones, appropriately considered?
    There are a lot of lessons, like the one Taring Padi mentioned, that all of us can and must keep on learning. 
    There are those who are Jewish in various groups of artists at Documenta who did not want to come out because of this [Artnet News asked Documenta to verify this, but did not hear back by publishing time. This story will be updated]. And, of course, Jewish identity is not a monolith in itself. The way we look at things is not first and foremost about biographies, but rather about how certain practices can sustain themselves. In the case of [Documenta 15 participants] Party Office [who pulled out of an event after members were harassed in Kassel], for example, they do talk about identity and their struggles with that as a part of their work. But, for us, we did not seek that out as content—because we did not start with a list of issues to represent.
    For us, it was about the way of working and the way of survival and the lessons we want to learn from [participants]. Whether that strategy was enough, that is something that we are now reflecting on. It is going to have to be different for us going forward. 
    Documenta 15: The Question of Funding hosts Eltiqa, 2022, Installation view, WH22, Kassel. Photo: Nils Klinger
    One thing for sure is that structurally, we have to prepare better for conflicts that might arise. We have nothing against Jewish voices and all the different kinds of struggles. We did not try to suppress or overlook anything. But we do not talk about all the issues in the world. This is not a world exhibition like the Venice Biennale where we try to represent everyone—that is not our logic. We did not touch on Russia and Ukraine directly, for example. The process made it this way. But then again, how to deal with localities and problems that can arise locally, this can be done better.
    If we flipped it, this could happen in Indonesia in different ways, for example in regards to the local issues around communism or LGBTQIA+ issues. These are not issues that our society is comfortable talking about and looking at. We know that we need to treat certain things differently in other countries.
    The illusion of the freedom of art is being brought into question. Let’s call a spade a spade: If it is not fully free, then do not call it free. Do not give that illusion.
    Documenta 15: Hamja Ahsan, documenta Fried Chicken, 2022, Installation view, Fridericianum, Kassel. Photo: Frank Sperling
    One can imagine that when it comes to artistic freedom, things can go too far.
    Conceptually, artistic freedom is great. The limit is rather how you deal with others. If we want to talk about the freedom of art in places where we are coming from in the Lumbung community, we fight for it, but we know it is never going to be there. So for us, it is rather a utopian ideal. If we are going to go for it, we need to think about the structures that can make it happen.
    There are many illusions—the illusions of freedom and the closeness to politicians. These factors canceled each other out. Something like Documenta can be seen as a state project. Had we seen it like this from the get-go, things would be different. That understanding came late for us. We’ve done other biennials where it is very clear that it is a state project, like the Singapore Biennial or the Gwangju Biennale.
    You did not think of Documenta as a state project?
    Not the way it is reproduced in how Documenta communicates itself, how it was framed, and how we understood it. It was as if, for the artistic direction, the sky’s the limit. There is the illusion of the big budget and the team’s freedom within that.
    In the end, because of what has happened, we have to be mindful as well about different political parties we are dealing with that are sitting on Documenta’s advisory board. We didn’t vote for them, we did not grow up in this system. In any case, we still had to go to the Bundestag [Germany’s federal parliament]. This really became something else. If we had come with the awareness that it could have become like that, many things would have been different.
    Ade Darmawan, spokesman for the curatorial collective Ruangrupa, speaks on the topic of “Anti-Semitism in Art” at a panel discussion organized by the Anne Frank Educational Center and the supporting organization documenta gGmbH. Photo by Swen Pförtner/picture alliance via Getty Images.
    Can you speak about the experience of going to the Bundestag?
    The invitation came for only one of us, and Ade Darmawan went as our representative. The invitation came for other members of the board as well.
    Of course, none of us speak German properly, so there is always a translation barrier, [but] we decided to go because we knew it was not polite to say no to an invitation like this. We knew it would be read differently, and we are not hiding. We asked for time to prepare. We asked for translators, so everyone could speak their own language.
    Many of us went with Ade to Berlin for moral support. Luckily, we did that because I wouldn’t be surprised if it had felt to him a bit like being on trial in a foreign country.
    A controversy around another work in the show, Tokyo Reels Film Festival, is playing out as we are speaking. A Documenta panel convened to review the show recommended “immediate action” be taken over the video by the collective Subversive Film, which comprises clips of pro-Palestinian propaganda from the 1960s to 1980s. It was ultimately Taring Padi’s decision to remove their work, but this time, your tone changed—it seemed that you began to feel censored. Is that correct?
    We could call the issue around Taring Padi censorship as well. But through talking to them, as you know from speaking with them, they felt that it was an oversight from their side. None of us played the blame game, and we absorbed the responsibility collectively; it is an oversight from our side as well. With everyone, including management, we discussed what could be done: covering it up first. Then, we heard from the different organizations, the board and the documenta und Museum Fridericianum gGmbH, that there was a request to take it down. Taring Padi complied—they did not want the issue to overshadow [the rest of the exhibition].
    But it has been different after Taring Padi’s case. With Subversive Film, we talked about it as well, and we knew where we stood, and understood the content. Subversive Film has been writing about it, working with other scholars, and lawyers that have checked the work. In the case of Subversive Film, we did not feel that this was a situation of oversight.
    Documenta 15: Fondation Festival sur le Niger, Yaya Coulibaly, The Wall of Puppets, 2022, Installation view, Hübner Areal, Kassel. Photo: Maja Wirkus
    Do you think that there was enough context for that work?
    We felt that the work was not problematic. Contextualization is part of an artwork, and so the artist should give consent to what kind of contextualization is included.
    People may agree and disagree on whether or not that work should be shown, but there is a connection between Subversive Film’s members and the Japanese Red Army. The Japanese Red Army undertook terrorist activities, including a 1972 bombing in Israel.
    It is not part of the work of Tokyo Reels, which is by Masao Adachi, who did not have anything to do with that. The perpetrators of that incident may have met him but they had nothing to do with the choice of the reels that are shown. There is no connection between Tokyo Reels and the Japanese Red Army… Masao is not part of the making of those reels. Subversive Film understands the problems of a terrorist group, and I think they took care of it very carefully.
    A postered version appeared around Kassel of a meme created by Cem A. artist and curatorial assistant for Documenta 15. Courtesy of Cem A. aka @freeze_magazine. Design in collaboration with Malte J. Richter.
    You rejected, unofficially, a Western notion of an art market or so-called art-world star power. Then, funnily enough, one of the art world’s biggest stars, Hito Steyerl, ended up on the artist list. She later withdrew in July, saying she did not think Documenta 15’s organizers could “mediate and translate complexity,” referring to a “repeated refusal to facilitate a sustained and structurally anchored inclusive debate.” What was your reaction to that?
    Hito came through INLAND [a collective selected by ruangrupa]. She decided and communicated directly to documenta und Museum Fridericianum gGmbH about her withdrawal. It was her right to withdraw. For us, that is totally fine, conceptually and ethically. What could be done better is the communication from her to INLAND and from INLAND to us. We found out about it from an article. That was regrettable.
    I was recently in Munich at Lenbachhaus, which presented a show on the history of Documenta through acquisitions they had made. As I was walking through it, I wondered to myself how this Documenta is being acquired into museum collections. Has the museum world shown support, and are they interested? How will this Documenta be remembered in institutions?
    I have heard about this from different sources, including Lumbung Gallery. The conversations have been happening and are exciting, because we can talk about the notion of collecting differently through nontraditional, time-based acquisition processes. Some museums are more warm to different forms of collecting than others—which is natural. My hope is that we manage to do it and show that acquiring artworks can be done differently and with commitments to the futures of different artistic practices.
    Follow Artnet News on Facebook: Want to stay ahead of the art world? Subscribe to our newsletter to get the breaking news, eye-opening interviews, and incisive critical takes that drive the conversation forward. More

  • in

    Artscape 2022 in Kiruna, Sweden

    Far up in the north of Sweden, Kiruna, a mining town inside the Arctic Circle, is relocating its entire central district due to expanding mining operations. As the locals prepare to say goodbye to an area that’s been downtown for more than a 100 years, Artscape is preparing a mural project based on the people of Kiruna’s collective memory.Through interviews, hundreds of stories and anecdotes have been gathered. A selection will feature in a book of memories, and from those pages the chosen artists will find their inspiration for six new large-scale murals that will adorn Kiruna from August and onwards. More

  • in

    “Heart is Aching” by Case Maclaim in Aalborg, Denmark

    German urban artist Case Maclaim recently worked on his second mural in Aalborg, Denmark as part of Kirk Gallery’s Out In The Open. The mural “Heart Is Aching” features Maclaim’s colleague Curtis Hylton as a reminder of remembering the good moments and best friends in everyday life.“Not sure you have ever prepared for a project that means a lot to you, but so do a thousand other things. Needed a reminder on how to cheer myself up that’s why I painted the amazing artist @curtishylton Looking at a friendly, familiar face while painting is a real help! Thanks Curtis. Hope the little smile on his knee will cheer someone else up, that needs a quick reminder on how silly life is, no matter the heartache”, said Case Maclaim.In line with this Case Maclaim also managed to prepare a solo show entitled “Be A Mensch” for the event.“With the pressure of creating a solo show, you have to know what you wish to express. I am so used to create murals on the spot, in different settings, different countries, all while being judged and looked at by bystanders and visitors, fans and neighbours. Working in the studio has become really challenging and very different and lonely at times. The similarities in both my indoor and outdoor works, is that I wish to create not only a canvas or a mural, but a chance for the viewer to tell their very own story, with my paintings as a source of inspiration.’A Mensch’ | Oil, acrylic and spray paint on canvas | 120×100 cmThe topic I chose for my current canvases is Being A Mensch. A Mensch, is someone with a noble character, a person of dignity and a sense of responsibility. A Mensch is someone, I desire to be. A Mensch is what I want all my canvases to represent.I painted all eleven canvases with the intent to show what being a Mensch means to me. Stay Humble, yours truly, Case. ”Check out below for more photos of Case Maclaim’s work. More

  • in

    Ukrainian Photographer Boris Mikhailov Fears His Home and Archives May Have Been Bombed in Kharkiv

    The Ukrainian photographer Boris Mikhailov is extremely worried that his apartment in Kharkiv, where some of his archives are stored, may have been bombed during the Russia-Ukraine war.
    “They have no idea what state their place is in and what’s happened to their work and materials there, and are very worried,” Simon Baker, director of the Maison Européenne de la Photographie (MEP) in Paris, told Artnet News, referring to Mikhailov, 84, and his wife, Vita. The couple have been living between Berlin and Kharkiv for the past couple of decades. They used to travel frequently to Ukraine but have not been back there since 2019, in part due to the pandemic. 
    Mikhailov, who was born in Kharkiv in 1938, was in Berlin preparing for his exhibition “Ukrainian Diary” at the MEP when he heard the news. “They realized that the area in Kharkiv where their apartment is had been bombed and might have been damaged but they don’t know,” Baker said.
    From the series “Luriki” (Colored Soviet Portrait), (1971-85). © Boris Mikhaïlov. Collection Pinault. Courtesy Guido Costa Projects, Orlando Photo.
    Several members of Mikhailov’s family have sought refuge in Berlin since the Russian invasion began in February. “Vita’s daughter and granddaughter managed to escape and drove to Berlin with their cat, and Boris’s son is also in Berlin,” Baker added.
    Mikhailov was unavailable for comment. However, he told Le Monde in an interview earlier this month that “[t]he tears of Ukraine are with us. Understand that what is happening is very serious, it invades life and crushes everything.”
    The pioneering and dissident self-taught photographer was an engineer when he was first given a camera in order to document the state-owned factory where he worked. (He was fired from the job after he was found developing nude photographs of his wife.) Under the rule of the USSR, he took subversive photography ​in ​Kharkiv—the landscape and backdrop of much of his ​work—which railed against propaganda. In 1971, he was one of eight photographers who established the Vremya group in Kharkiv, a non-conformist collective that is considered the backbone of the Kharkiv School of Photography. 
    From the series “Case History” (1997-98). © Boris Mikhaïlov, VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn. Courtesy Galerie Suzanne Tarasiève, Paris.
    On view in ‘Ukrainian Diary’, running until January 15, 2023, are some 800 photographs and projections of images, from conceptual to documentary to performance-based work, made from the 1960s onwards, chronicling life during the USSR and after its collapse. 
    Among the highlights is the series “Yesterday’s Sandwich,” from the late 1960s through the late ‘70s. It grew out of Mikhailov’s observation that a third image appeared when two slides of colored film serendipitously stuck together. Another standout series is “Case History” (1997-98), which depicts people who became homeless following the dissolution of the USSR. 
    Also on display is “The Theater of War, Second Act, Time Out,” showing people in Kyiv protesting the Ukrainian government’s decision not to sign the Association Agreement with the European Union, and Mikhailov’s latest series, “Temptation of Death” (2017-19), comprising elegiac diptychs that juxtapose earlier images of an unfinished Soviet-era crematorium with new ones.
    Follow Artnet News on Facebook: Want to stay ahead of the art world? Subscribe to our newsletter to get the breaking news, eye-opening interviews, and incisive critical takes that drive the conversation forward. More

  • in

    Here Are 5 of the Most Radical Artist Projects Breaking New Ground at the Istanbul Biennial

    The curators of Istanbul Biennial, which opened to the public on Saturday, September 17, have called for a “great dispersal” and “an invisible fermentation” of art. But what does it mean? One answer is sprawling and varied exhibition sites around the Turkish capital., which is hosting the show until the end of November. It also means that at these locations, identities of artists participating in the show are de-centered—here they are only called contributors. What’s more, the majority of those presenting at the 17th edition of the exhibition are working within clusters of trans-disciplinary collectives beyond the confines of the art world.
    Not unlike the major quinquennial Documenta 15 now on view in Kassel, there is less emphasis on standalone artworks and much more focus on process in a dense show brought together by an international trio of curators, Amar Kanwar, Ute Meta Bauer, and David Teh. Point in case: At the preview days last week, the three spoke about their premise within a gathering of journalists and critics, all of whom were surrounded by the sound and installation of a traditional Turkic healing music concert, brought together by Mariah Lookman.
    From a show which includes 50 projects and 500 contributors, Artnet News selected five standout highlights. These challenging projects demonstrate a particularly powerful level of engagement with environmental and societal concerns and local communities, a crucial underpinning of the exhibition.

    Tarek Atoui
    Whispering Playground
    Photo: Sahir Ugur Eren
    During the opening of Istanbul biennial, Paris-based Lebanese composer Tarek Atoui stood under the echoey dome of the Kucuk Mustafa Pasa Hamam, a Turkish bath, and explained how he had rediscovered the importance of sound when he gave workshops at his son’s kindergarten during the pandemic.
    For his sound-based presentation, Atoui was draped in a long wispy nylon cape while he manipulated wires and microphones that snaked around his installation of flat glass bowls and other instruments. When he spoke to the audience, his voice was rendered through the objects which caused a reverberation of acoustics unique to the historic room. Atoui’s sound manipulations mediated on the sonic possibilities of water: a drip of water was transformed into a shuddering boom.
    By increasing consciousness of the acoustics of water, Atoui offers a listener’s guide to urban development. As a touching work that  indirectly recalls the sociopolitical mess brought on by the 2019 harbor explosion in his home city of Beirut, Whispering Playground asks larger questions about the impacts of urbanization of coastal ecologies—a question that should be central to Istanbul, which sits on the Bosphorus Strait.

    Ursula Biemann
    Vocal Cognitive Territory, Devenir Universidad 
    Photo: Sahir Ugur Eren
    Since 2018, the Zurich-based artist Ursula Biemann has communicated the view of the Inga People of Columbia to audiences across the world with her massive audiovisual installations, distilling the role of the artist as a key witness. Her work is a successful example of what is possible when it comes to intercultural dialog; the artist walks a delicate line between her own artistic interests and the interests and autonomy of the collaborators she engages. 
    For Vocal Cognitive Territory, Devenir Universidad, Biemann has taken over a hall at Gazhane Museum into a walk-in cinema with a multi-channel video work foregrounding interviews with Indigenous Inga leaders beside stunning vistas of Colombian jungles. Biemann platformed speakers like Inga leader Hernando Chindoy Chindoy and Flora Marcas of the Inga Education Team in a project that aims to supplant imposed knowledge systems with more inclusive forms of learning. Underscored by an ambient soundtrack produced by Inga locals, Indigenous educators are calling the project an iteration of a “pluriversity,” an expanded concept of the western university.

    Fernando García-Dory (Inland)
    Bogatepe Charter of Futures
    Photo: Sahir Ugur Eren
    The effect of García-Dory’s installation is both immediate and vital, as it partly consists of perishable ingredients derived from a number of material-based workshops made in close collaboration with the far-flung Turkish village of Bogatepe. The installation Bogatepe Charter of Futures consists of video and sculpture on view the Gazhane Museum, and it is a like-minded companion piece to Cooking Sections’s Wallowland, as it looks to Turkey to spotlight alternatives to land management and community development.
    A video of ebullient night ceremonies held by Bogatepe villagers offers a glimpse into the communal living within this remote area. The contrasts between Inland’s materials and the white cube venue. Nearby, papier-mâché sculptures of buffalo heads and a wall of dried herbs with descriptions written in a dialect from the Turkish region of Kars aims to reinvigorate the country’s pastoralist past and present.

    Cooking Sections
    Wallowland
    Cooking Sections. 17th Istanbul Biennial. Photograph: David Levene.
    Along the cafe-lined sidewalks of Bogazkesen Avenue, an exhibition venue called Buyukdere35 buzzes with music from the Thracian region, a geographic area divided between Bulgaria, Greece, and Turkey which is also home to displaced Armenians and Kurds.
    To accompany these poignant sounds, London-based duo Daniel Fernández Pascual and Alon Schwabe, also known as Cooking Sections, replaced the interior walls of the venue with mirrors marked with tracings of the Thracian topography for their installation “Wallowland.” Within this inviting space, there is a glass case refrigerating buffalo dairy-based delicacies for public consumption (buffalo herds have migrated across the eastern Balkans into Turkey and back since time immemorial).
    Following the duo’s exhibition at Istanbul’s institution Salt in 2021, this new project continues a collaboration with local ceramicist and archaeologist Basak Gokalsin for their piece The Lasting Pond (2021). Gokalsin’s ceramic pots hold sutlac milk pudding and yoghurt made from the soil of a Buffalo wallow dug, and 1,000 of these vessel grace the venue’s shelves. The presentation is a truly nourishing respite from what is generally a verbose biennial. Its understated servings of clotted cream with honey and rice pudding muhallebi will continue to open a portal of connection between the bustling city and the enduring aspects of the organic environment around it until the end of November.

    Orkan Telhan
    Yenikapı’s Museums
    Photo: Sahir Ugur Eren
    The easternmost reaches of the biennial concludes with a garden-based installation at the Gazhane Museum, in the Asian district of Kadikoy, a series of raised beds, vine trellises, water, and earth containers that exhibit varying flora by interdisciplinary researcher Orkan Telhan.
    Telken’s horticultural installation is accompanied by a book called Museum of Exhalation, which is subtitled “Interviews by non-humans”—it includes a conversation between the legume okra and sociologist Pelin Tan.
    The curators’ initial call for more expansive acts of cultural and ecological dialogue is well-answered by Telhan, whose investigates the very soil of the Yenikapi and Langa regions in the historic peninsula of Istanbul, which feeds back into the works of many other contributors in the show that are working with local flora and fauna. Telhan’s relatively simple construct and writing stimulates viewers to think about the history of Istanbul’s biodiversity, but he also speaks directly to the art world, demanding a revival of museology through the metaphor of the breath. Museums, according to this logic, should inhale decontextualized materialism and exhale collaboration and a communicative presence with all living beings.
    Follow Artnet News on Facebook: Want to stay ahead of the art world? Subscribe to our newsletter to get the breaking news, eye-opening interviews, and incisive critical takes that drive the conversation forward. More

  • in

    Thomas Canto “Intersections” Limited Edition Artwork – Available Now

    French artist Thomas Canto have collaborated with ArtPort for his latest limited edition artwork entitled “Intersections”. Intersections is an edition created in the line of the body of work Structural Reflections. These works present a vision of infinite rhythms, verticality, and visual harmony. They also refer to ideas of alienation or loss of bearings. These are sensations that anyone can experience by experimenting with the geometric constructions that constitute the megalopolises of the whole world.“Intersections” comes in an edition of 5 + 2AP and measures ø 49 cm with depth of 4.5 cm.  You can shop the artwork at ArtPort website.The main apparent inspiration of these works “the Cities” represents for the artist a concentration or a superposition of realities of which he endeavors to show the multiple interactions.Inspired by experts across a variety of industries, Thomas Canto has charged himself to find the connection between the different areas. He is known for his work distorting speed and city structures until their original forms are effectively unrecognizable. His works focus on creating new images through technology that express the relationship between humans and architecture. More

  • in

    Murals by Helder Cavalcante at BLOOP Art Festival, Ibiza, Spain

    Helder Cavalcante makes his first appearance at the Mediterranean gem’s longest running art event. In the heart of Ibiza, he painted a mural that depicts the cruelty of war and what it entails. A father and daughter are at the dining table, where the parent is eating bullets from the plate and the child is gazing blankly at what is served.The artist explained that “We adults are investing our precious time and resources in war and conflicts and in the end it’s the children who have to pay the price in the future for our selfish actions we take today”.Cavalcante’s second mural is located at a park in Ibiza where many other BLOOP artworks are. Spurring debate among the people as a cook hopelessly looks at the classifieds of a newspaper since the rent has spiked compared to previous years. This year one of Ibiza’s thorny problem was the lack of affordable housing. The issue was exacerbated to a point where workers who provide basic services such as law enforcement, healthcare workers, hospitality and other industries couldn’t find houses due to the high rent which sky rocketed after the two years of pandemic and the island’s tendency heading towards luxury tourism.These murals form part of BLOOP’s OpenAir.Gallery project that started off back in 2011 to change the face of en entire island through murals and street art that are comprehensible, inclusive and open all year round, embodying the festival’s ethos: ART IS FOR EVERYBODY. In the past some of the best streets artists have gathered for the OpenAir.Gallery project such as the likes of Okuda, Ben Eine, Inti, Olek, Agostino Iacurci, Phlegm, Interesni Kazki, Said Dokins, David de la Mano and many more.This year BLOOP launched its official app included that included a Pokemon Go-like feature for the OpenAir.Gallery (the murals and street art by BLOOP) where players won an actual prize after “catching” the artworks on the streets across Ibiza through augmented reality technologies. Plus, all festival information and latest news which also contributed in BLOOP to be environmentally conscious reducing flyers and print materials caring for the planet. More

  • in

    Through Beauty and Pain, the 2022 Busan Biennale Flexes the Strength of South Korea’s Art Beyond Seoul

    The brilliant sunlight was beaming through Mire Lee’s installation on Yeongdo Island. Titled Landscape with Many Holes: Skins of Yeongdong Sea (2022), the 70-foot-tall work made of fence fabric draped across scaffolding is on show as part of this year’s Busan Biennale. The roofless abandoned factory of Song Kang Heavy Industrial, where the work was installed, allowed it to stand under a cloudless blue sky.
    A tranquil moment of art appreciation was disrupted, however, when exhibition staffers guided the tour group Artnet News was part of to walk away from the structure—for safety reasons. The glorious weather had already made us forget about Typhoon Hinnamnor, which had struck South Korea’s hilly coastal city of Busan just the day before our visit. The powerful tropical cyclone had devastated the southern part of the country and killed at least 10 people.
    But the monumental installation by the Amsterdam-based South Korean artist was still standing strong after the raging storm, albeit a little shaky and slightly damaged. It felt like a symbolic gesture that echoed the theme of this year’s Busan Biennale: “We, on the Rising Wave.”
    In this case, “rising wave” signifies the history and transformation of Busan, which was the country’s first port open to foreigners in 1876 and a safe haven for over 1 million refugees during the Korean War in 1950–53. And “we,”—be it the participating artists, art practitioners, audiences, or even the city—are still standing despite such rising waves of endless change, locally and abroad. Just like Lee’s work.
    Still standing after Typhoon Hinnamnor: Mire Lee, Landscape with Many Holes: Skins of Yeongdong Sea(2022). Photo: Vivienne Chow. An image of the work’s original state is at the bottom of this article.
    “This is the story of Busan,” Haeju Kim, the artistic director of Busan Biennale 2022, told Artnet News. Taking the helm of the biennale this year offered an extra layer of meaning to Kim, who was born and raised in the city. During her research to prepare for the show, she dived deep into the local histories of her hometown, covering how the city was built and how it has evolved since local elections resumed in 1991, after democracy was fully installed in South Korea in 1987.
    “This gives me a chance to take a good look at my city, what it means to me as an individual, and as an art practitioner from here,” noted the curator. “Busan, as a port city, is a starting point for this exhibition. From here, we look for the connection, a common ground for discussion with artists from different parts of the world.”
    Art Beyond Seoul
    It was indeed refreshing to visit the Busan Biennale following a week of frenzy surrounding Frieze Seoul, launched in partnership with Korea’s long-running homegrown fair Kiaf Seoul. All the glamorous parties, openings, and multimillion-dollar sales had undoubtedly made Seoul an exciting place to be, but the tranquility of Busan was where one could let art sink in.
    Such tranquility may or may not have been welcomed by the organizers, however, since the opening of this year’s biennale fell on the same date as the opening of Frieze Seoul and Kiaf, and many trips to Busan were postponed or canceled due to the typhoon.
    The biennale was founded in 1999, and as the host of one of South Korea’s most notable international art exhibitions, the city of Busan has been playing a tremendous role in not just the organization but also the narrative of the show. The support was rounded out by this year’s curatorial advisors, Christine Tohme, Philippe Pirotte, and Yuk Hui.
    One of the works by Oh U-Am (b. 1938) on show at Busan Biennale. Photo: Vivienne Chow.
    This year’s biennial features 64 artists and art collectives, born from the 1930s to 1990s, from 26 countries, with 46 (or 63 percent) of them based outside of South Korea.
    The show spans four different locations that carry specific meanings to the city’s transformation. The Museum of Contemporary Art Busan (MOCA Busan), which has been a main exhibition venue since the museum’s inception in 2018, is located on Eulsukdo Island, which was once Asia’s largest habitat for migratory birds, but the environment was severely damaged because of accelerated industrialization and urbanization. Pier 1 of Busan Port, which was completed in 1912, was the transportation hub during Japan’s invasion of China and the Korean War, but was excluded from the city’s current North Port redevelopment project. And the other two locations, Yeongdo and Choryang, played significant roles during the Korean War, since both were homes to refugees.
    According to artistic director Kim, exhibition locations—as well as the artists—were selected to address the exhibition’s four thematic focuses: “Migration,” “Women and Women Laborers,” “Ecosystem of the City,” and “Technological Change and Locality.”
    “There were some personal factors when I decided to look at Busan through the lens of these four focuses,” Kim noted. “Many people, for example, have already forgotten how the population of Busan was made of migration. A lot of mixed recipes can be found in the local food culture. The city is mountainous but it was quickly occupied by migrants and houses were built along the hilly landscape.”
    Although the majority of featured artists were based abroad, Kim hoped that by having Busan as a point of departure in the exhibition and in her discussion with artists, would allow a “more relevant identity of Busan under a larger context to be rebuilt.”
    Song Minjung, Custom (2022), on show at Choryang, a new venue of Busan Biennale 2022. Photo: Vivienne Chow.
    Four Themes in One
    Despite the biennial’s four distinctive focuses, there are no separations or any obvious boundaries drawn among the works. Rather, they are all laid out in a lyrical and sometimes poetic way, as if they were in dialogue with each other, telling stories that are related across time and space. Different images are juxtaposed alongside each other, addressing more than one focus at the same time.
    Indeed, these four focuses should not be isolated from each other. The memorable exhibition at MOCA Busan’s basement level space, for example, is a thoughtfully curated journey that begins with rarely seen paintings from the 1990s to 2000s by the Korean artist Oh U-Am (b. 1938). He was orphaned during the Korean War and painted the seemingly childlike yet somber images out of his childhood memories of the country’s liberation from Japanese imperial rule, and people’s suffering in the aftermath of the Korean War.
    This is followed by a journey through works that attempt to revive the memories of a forgotten past. Danish artist Pia Rönicke (b. 1974) tells the story of Le Klint, a woman who made the famous pleated lamp shades in installation set In Without a Name (2004–07), but never received the credit for it. (Rönicke has another brilliant work, In Future Horizon, that tells the history of military conflicts in the region through the stories of plants showing on the museum’s first floor.)
    Korean-Dutch Sara Sejin Chang (b. 1977) recounts the painful history of transnational and transracial adoption of Korean children, who were sold and transported to other countries—with Busan serving as an epicenter of child traffickers in the 1970s and 80s—in the film installation Four Months, Four Million Light Years (2020).
    French artist Laure Prouvost (b. 1978) reminds us of our watery origins from a mother’s womb in her 2022 video work Four For See Beauty, which is accessed through a mysterious tunnel of palm trees made with leaves from Jeju Island.
    The basement level exhibition concluded at South Korean artist Kim Jooyoung’s (b. 1948) Way-abyss (1994), a notable work hanging on the wall that was essentially a pathway for lost souls made by footsteps in black ink left on a white cotton cloth. The piece is an apt representation of her practice, revolving around the themes of departure and stemmed from her growing up during the division of the Korean peninsula. A similar theme is explored in her stunning recent work The Archeology of Pier 1: Wave Becomes Light. Becomes Wind. Becomes the Way. Becomes History (2022), on show at Pier 1 of Busan Port.
    Kim Jooyoung, The Archeology of Pier 1: Wave Becomes Light. Becomes Wind. Becomes the Way. Becomes History (2022). Courtesy of the artist and Busan Biennale.
    Off the Beaten Track
    Of the four locations, the abandoned house up on the hill of Choryang that was turned into a temporary exhibition space is a must-go experience for adventurous art lovers. The Busan-born South Korean artist Song Minjung’s (b. 1985) transformed the site into quirky show. (It is also fortunate that the typhoon did not seem to have caused a great deal of damage to the two-storey building.) Her work Custom follows a mysterious story told via various video clips shown on different smartphones, as if the fictional characters are video-calling each other.
    The exhibition location, from which visitors can enjoy a great view of the city, was an experiment as it was new to the biennale, and Song’s work explored the uneasy dynamics of the relationship between Korea and Japan inherited from a problematic historical past.
    The relationship between Korea and Japan was given a more positive note by the Japanese art collective Chim↑Pom from Smappa!Group, who invented a new beverage called “Doburokgeolli,” which was designated the official alcoholic drink of this year’s Busan Biennale. Free bottles of the mysterious dark beverage, held in a fridge housed in a hut in Yeongdo, were the outcome of an experiment. They were made with Japan’s technique of brewing Doburoku sake with the malt of Geumjeongsanseong Makgeolli, a traditional alcohol from Busan.
    The artists argue that the two alcoholic drinks share a lot of similarities, including a crackdown on home-brewing by their respective countries’ governments. The creation of this new hybrid drink is meat to carry a symbolic meaning of how the relationship between these two cultural powerhouses of east Asia could move forward from their troubled history.
    A new alcoholic beverage fusing Korean and Japanese traditional brewing techniques, invented by Chim↑Pom from Smappa!Group, the “official” drink of the 2022 Busan Bieannle. Photo: Vivienne Chow.
    Like the work by Chim↑Pom, artistic director Kim has a lot of hope for the future, particularly for her hometown.
    “Busan deserves more attention, not just in Korea but also internationally,” Kim said. “Most of the global attention centers around Seoul, but Busan is getting better, and becoming a city that inspires artists.”
    The Busan Biennale 2022 runs until November 6. A series of public programs and screenings of moving image works at the Yeongdo Outdoor Cinema can be found here.
    How it looked originally: Mire Lee, Landscape with Many Holes: Skins of Yeongdong Sea (2022). Courtesy of the artist and Busan Biennale.
    Follow Artnet News on Facebook: Want to stay ahead of the art world? Subscribe to our newsletter to get the breaking news, eye-opening interviews, and incisive critical takes that drive the conversation forward. More