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  • The Fantastical Films of Hayao Miyazaki Will Be the Focus of the First Show at the Long-Delayed Academy of Motion Pictures Museum

    Los Angeles’s long-awaited Academy Museum of Motion Pictures has revealed the details of its inaugural exhibition, the first North American retrospective celebrating the Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki (1941–) and his six-decade career.
    The artist and filmmaker behind such beloved movies as Castle in the Sky (1986), Princess Mononoke (1997), and the Oscar-winning Spirited Away (2001), Miyazaki co-founded the acclaimed animation studio Studio Ghibli in Tokyo in 1985.
    “Miyazaki’s genius is his power of remembering what he sees. He opens the drawers in his head to pull out these visual memories to create characters, landscapes, and structures that are bursting with originality,” Studio Ghibli co-founder Toshio Suzuki said in a statement.
    The exhibition’s curators, Jessica Niebel and J. Raúl Guzmán, have worked closely with the studio to put together the show, which features some 300 storyboards, character artworks, film clips, and other objects from the making of Miyazaki’s films. Much of the work has never been seen outside Japan. (Studio Ghibli has its own museum, which opened in Tokyo in 2001, but has never let another institution curate a show based on its work.)
    The exhibition, which opens April 30, 2021, will be divided into seven sections, with film clips as well as drawings and production materials such as imageboards.
    “These are basically concept drawings, both for character design, but also to create the settings and the locations,” Niebel told the Art Newspaper. “This is how Miyazaki starts process[ing] his creative thinking; he says that he works with a lot of fragments that kind of slowly come together to form something more holistic.”
    Hayao Miyazaki. Photo by Nicolas Guerin.

    The show will highlight Miyazaki’s collaborations with one of his Studio Ghibli co-founders, the late Isao Takahata, and his early work on the TV series Heidi, Girl of the Alps (1974) and Lupin the 3rd: The Castle of Cagliostro (1979), his first feature film.
    In an immersive environment, viewers will be invited to lie down in grass and enjoy animations from the animator’s films in an installation inspired by a scene in Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989), in which the main character decides to leave home while reclining in a field and watching the sky above.
    The show, which will be on view for at least a year, will be accompanied by a 256-page illustrated catalogue.
    The recipient of an honorary Academy Award in 2014, Miyazaki came out of retirement in 2016 to work on his last film, the forthcoming How Do You Live?.
    The official museum of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has been a long time coming. Originally slated to open in 2017, it was pushed back to 2019, and then to 2020. The price tag of the museum’s Renzo Piano-designed home has ballooned over the years from $388 million to $482 million.
    Following “Hayao Miyazaki,” the Academy Museum will present “Regeneration: Black Cinema 1898–1971,” a first-of-its-kind exhibition on the history of Black filmmaking in the US.
    See more photos from “Hayao Miyazaki” below.
    Imageboard, My Neighbor Totoro (1988), Hayao Miyazaki. ©19848 Studio Ghibli.

    Layout, Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1989 Studio Ghibli.

    Imageboard, Ponyo (2008), Hayao Miyazaki. ©2008 Studio Ghibli.

    Imageboard, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (1984), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1984 Studio Ghibli.

    Imageboard, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (1984), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1984 Studio Ghibli.

    Film still, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (1984), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1984 Studio Ghibli.

    Background, Castle in the Sky (1986), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1986 Studio Ghibli.

    Imageboard, Castle in the Sky (1986), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1986 Studio Ghibli.

    Film still, Castle in the Sky (1986), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1986 Studio Ghibli.

    Imageboard, My Neighbor Totoro (1988), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1988 Studio Ghibli.

    Film still, My Neighbor Totoro (1988), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1988 Studio Ghibli.

    Film still, Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1989 Studio Ghibli.

    Key animation, Porco (1992), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1992 Studio Ghibli.

    Imageboard, Porco (1992), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1992 Studio Ghibli.

    Film still, Porco (1992), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1992 Studio Ghibli.

    Background, Princess Mononoke (1997), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1997 Studio Ghibli.

    Imageboard, Spirited Away (2001), Hayao Miyazaki. ©2001 Studio Ghibli.

    Film still, Princess Mononoke (1997), Hayao Miyazaki. ©1997 Studio Ghibli.

    Background, Spirited Away (2001), Hayao Miyazaki. ©2001 Studio Ghibli.

    Imageboard, Howl’s Moving Castle (2004), Hayao Miyazaki. ©2004 Studio Ghibli.

    Background, The Wind Rises (2013), Hayao Miyazaki. ©2013 Studio Ghibli.

    Film still, The Wind Rises (2013), Hayao Miyazaki. ©2013 Studio Ghibli.

    “Hayao Miyazaki” will open at the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures, 6067 Wilshire Boulevard, Los Angeles, California, April 30, 2021. 
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  • This Year’s Garage Triennial Was Curated Entirely Through Personal Connections as a Commentary on Russia’s History of Corruption

    The second edition of the Garage Triennial of Russian Contemporary Art opens to the public today at the Garage Museum in Moscow.
    As you might expect for a country as large and diverse as Russia, putting together an overview of contemporary artistic production is a monumental task. The sprawling inaugural show in 2017 was the result of a crack team of six curators scouring 42 cities and towns across 11 time zones for talent.
    This time, the curators took a more unorthodox approach. Leaning into the geographical spread that informed the inaugural triennial, curators Valentin Diaconov and Anastasia Mityushina asked the more than 60 artists who took part in 2017 to pick the artists for the second edition. Naturally, a number of artists nominated friends and family, while others chose to auction or raffle off the coveted position. 
    This was all fine with the curators, who asked only that these connections were made explicit, and that selector and selectee worked together on some dimension of the presentation. The results are being published on the triennial’s website, and include strange collaborations such as Maria Alexandrova’s documentation of a long drive to a remote Siberian village with the grandmother of her nominee, Anna Tereshkina, and Roman Mokrov’s chaotic promise to watch the kids while his nominee, his wife Maria Obukhova, worked on her art.
    Garage Triennial of Russian Contemporary Art, “A Beautiful Night for All the People,” installation view, Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow, 2020. Photo by Yuri Palmin ©Garage Museum of Contemporary Art.

    Co-curator Valentin Diaconov tells Artnet News that the resulting eclectic triennial, “A Beautiful Night for All the People,” highlights the important role that relationships play in Russian culture. Diaconov says the triennial’s semi-official slogan is “Corruption and Love.”
    “Corruption has been a driving force for Russia since time immemorial, but we often forget that the corrupt politicians and individuals do it all for love—an apartment for grandma, a private jet for a lover,” Diaconov says. “This works fully in this show: you practically buy a place for the closest friend with your enthusiasm. It works beautifully—this level of trust has paid off, and the quality of the work reflects the quality of relationships.”
    The offbeat approach to the selection process also reflects the curators’ suspicion towards the idea that there could be one single way to evaluate art in a multinational state with as much cultural and social diversity as Russia. To that point, not all of the artists included in this edition are Russian. The final lineup includes a Japanese artist, Ikuru Kuwajima, and several artists who were born in the USSR but hold passports from Western countries.
    “I personally believe that there is no national art anywhere in the world and every artist is a complex amalgam of influences from different communities of religion, online activities, educational background…,” Diaconov says. “So, to define who is a Russian artist is a thankless task.”
    “A Beautiful Night For All the People: the 2nd Triennial of Russian Contemporary Art” runs through January 17, 2021, at the Garage Museum of Contemporary Art in Moscow. See more pictures of the exhibition below.
    Garage Triennial of Russian Contemporary Art, “A Beautiful Night for All the People,” installation view, Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow, 2020. Photo by Yuri Palmin ©Garage Museum of Contemporary Art.

    Garage Triennial of Russian Contemporary Art, “A Beautiful Night for All the People,” installation view, Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow, 2020. Photo by Yuri Palmin ©Garage Museum of Contemporary Art.

    Gaarage Triennial of Russian Contemporary Art, “A Beautiful Night for All the People,” installation view, Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow, 2020. Photo by Ivan Erofeev. ©Garage Museum of Contemporary Art.

    Gaarage Triennial of Russian Contemporary Art, “A Beautiful Night for All the People,” installation view, Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow, 2020. Photo by Ivan Erofeev. ©Garage Museum of Contemporary Art.

    Gaarage Triennial of Russian Contemporary Art, “A Beautiful Night for All the People,” installation view, Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow, 2020. Photo by Ivan Erofeev. ©Garage Museum of Contemporary Art.

    Gaarage Triennial of Russian Contemporary Art, “A Beautiful Night for All the People,” installation view, Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow, 2020. Photo by Ivan Erofeev. ©Garage Museum of Contemporary Art.

    Gaarage Triennial of Russian Contemporary Art, “A Beautiful Night for All the People,” installation view, Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow, 2020. Photo by Ivan Erofeev. ©Garage Museum of Contemporary Art.

    Gaarage Triennial of Russian Contemporary Art, “A Beautiful Night for All the People,” installation view, Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow, 2020. Photo by Ivan Erofeev. ©Garage Museum of Contemporary Art.

    Gaarage Triennial of Russian Contemporary Art, “A Beautiful Night for All the People,” installation view, Garage Museum of Contemporary Art, Moscow, 2020. Photo by Ivan Erofeev. ©Garage Museum of Contemporary Art.

    Svetlana Hollis, Hot and Cold (2020). Production photograph. Photo by Valeria Suchkova. Courtesy of the artist.

    Sanya Kantarovsky, Two Suns (2020). Courtesy of the artist and Luhring Augustine Gallery, New York.

    ::vtol::, Guest (2019). Multimedia installation. Photo: ZARYA Center for Contemporary Art, Vladivostok. Courtesy of the artist.

    Anna Tereshkina, Portrait of My Grandmother (2015). Courtesy of the artist.

    Leonid Kharlamov, Fragments of the installation Black Obelisk (2020). Courtesy of the artist.

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  • ‘The Challenge Was to Articulate a Voice’: Watch Artist Omer Fast Splice Together CNN Clips to Convey a Personal Message About 9/11

    The opening notes of Omer Fast‘s 2012 video work CNN Concatenated sound almost identical to the swelling chords and staccato notes of CNN’s actual theme music, right down to the God-like voiceover that says, with great import, “This is CNN.”
    After that introduction, Fast’s work diverges into a compilation piece, where each word is spoken by a different newscaster, spliced together to form phrases that Fast himself wrote in the aftermath of 9/11. Fast actually began the piece months before the terrorist attacks, he explains in an exclusive interview with Art21, by gathering short clips from the Cable News Network without knowing exactly what they would become.

    Production still from the Art21 “Extended Play” film, “Omer Fast: ‘CNN Concatenated.’” © Art21, Inc. 2015.

    He had moved to Germany just weeks before when he “heard about the attacks on the World Trade Center, and realized that the piece, in a sense, would have to change too,” he told Art21. Fast wrote a script that comes together in the video, phrases formed by simple words spoken in an entirely different context.
    “Where do our responsibilities begin? Where do we go from here? Who can we trust?” are just a few of the questions posed in the video, questions that remain largely unanswered as the 19th anniversary of the attacks approaches. While Fast pored over the VHS tapes he’d ordered from CNN, “the challenge was to articulate a voice,” he told Art21, a definitive voice that “speaks through it at the same time.”
    Watching the video, there is a cognitive dissonance between the script Fast composed and the talking heads that speak the lines, but the artist insists that the work succeeds when you are able to tune out the background noise and the faces. Once that happens, Fast says, his voice comes through—and “that voice, it’s a pretty scared voice” he says, referring to it as his doppelgänger. “It’s a pretty urgent, demanding, aggressive, scared voice.”
    Watch the video, which originally appeared as part of Art21’s series “Extended Play,” below.
    [embedded content]
    This is an installment of “Art on Video,” a collaboration between Artnet News and Art21 that brings you clips of newsmaking artists. A new series of the nonprofit Art21’s flagship series Art in the Twenty-First Century is available now on PBS. Catch all episodes of other series like New York Close Up and Extended Play and learn about the organization’s educational programs at Art21.org.

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  • A Glossy Art Show at Berghain Nightclub Counters Cynical Expectations and Offers a Moving Love Song to Berlin

    By most accounts, Berlin has fared pretty well in ensuring continuity for its diverse art scenes since the spread of the coronavirus. However, while artists and freelance cultural workers swiftly received financial support from the Berlin Senate with few questions asked, the city’s night clubs—at least as crucial to Berlin’s identity, creative industries, and cash flow as art, if not more—were struggling to stay afloat when they received emergency funds. The legendary techno club Berghain, perhaps Berlin’s most famous institution, decided to do things differently.
    With many of its employees on kurzarbeit (short-term work leave), the monumental former power plant stood nearly empty since cleaning up after its last party on March 7. With few other options on the horizon, the club’s reclusive owners approached the Boros Foundation, one of Berlin’s esteemed and outward-facing private art collections, with an idea: why not host an art exhibition until the dancing can resume?
    At the exhibition’s press opening on Monday, Berlin’s culture senator Klaus Lederer described the moment when, amid sensationalized articles about collectors fleeing the German capital and headlines predicting the end of Berlin’s reign as a cultural hotspot, Lederer received a text message from collector Christian Boros: “We should talk. Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.”
    The result of that SMS is a three-way collaboration called Studio Berlin, a 117-artist show that occupies nearly every corner of the multi-level club. All works on view are by artists living in the German capital and most were produced since the onset of the pandemic. This mammoth undertaking is supported by the city with an injection of €250,000 ($294,300). Tickets for visits guided by Berghain employees and Boros employees cost between €18 and €20 ($21 to $24). The club is open again.
    This a good moment for a full disclosure, followed by a confession: I used to work at Berghain until 2008 and before that, at its predecessor, Ostgut. In an unrelated chain of events, my husband became the manager of the club’s own record label, Ostgut Ton, three years ago. Like many Berliners, I have a personal history with the place, and strong views about the club thanks to the formative moments and absolute freedom I experienced there. 
    Accordingly, I was ready to dislike the exhibition before I even entered. I rolled my eyes at the predictable artist list, and the inevitable mentions in news articles of how visitors can finally circumvent the club’s tough and opaque door policy. With an architecture that’s so dominant and fetishized, there are too many traps, I thought, especially when attempting a show that’s aiming to be accessible to a wider public, not the art-insider audience that will first line up to see it. I was relieved to be proven wrong.
    Studio Berlin / Boros Foundation, Berghain, Berlin (2020). © Rirkrit Tiravanija. Photo: © Noshe

    A Love Song to Berlin
    There are artworks at every corner of the club, but strikingly, rather than feel over-crowded, the art enables the viewer to take note of the care and inventiveness that went into every detail of the club’s interior. On the main dance floor, this densely installed show offers reflections on the temporary absence of bodies. On several elevated platforms usually packed with sweating club-goers, French-born artist Jimmy Robert has draped, folded, and layered photographs of himself captured mid-movement. Over the course of the show, the artist will re-shape the sculptural, bunched-up prints. Next to it, elongated steel pieces by Jesse Darling resemble exhausted figures. And across from the DJ booth, between the club’s famous Function One speakers, sits an inflatable plastic bubble by artist Puppies Puppies, perhaps marking the ultimate spot on the dance floor where one becomes engulfed by warm sound and warmer bodies.
    To the back of the dance floor, in one of the rubber-and-steel lounging structures, a photograph by Josephine Pryde shows a severed bovine tongue on a butcher’s hook, apt viscera for a club notorious for its dark rooms. (Finding out later the work’s title is Trump’s Tongue gave it a different spin.)
    One of the few permanent works in the entire exhibition is in the bathrooms on that floor, where Cyprien Gaillard engraved a work into the stainless-steel partition wall. Titled The Land of Cockaigne, it’s both an homage to the Breughel painting of the same title, and (when sounded out phonetically) a cheeky reference to the reason why people rarely enter the club’s bathroom stalls alone.
    The other permanent installation is a floor piece called Shoegazing by Christine Sun Kim, who is deaf: The artist patterns the vibrations of the bass on the dance floor at the upstairs Panorama Bar. Both will join the club’s already permanently installed collection of art, not far from a trio of large Wolfgang Tillmans photographs that have presided over Panorama Bar for years.
    The empty Halle. No pictures are allowed during the exhibition. Photo: Stefanie Loos AFP via Getty Images.

    In the Halle, a part of the building that’s only open on special occasions, the exhibition feels less specifically related to Berghain itself, and more evocative of the self-organized exhibitions Berlin artists have put up over the decades in unused buildings all over the city. A site-specific installation of mirrors by Olafur Eliasson, however, provides an unexpected new perspective on the club: Berghain not only bans photography, but also mirrors—you won’t find them in the restrooms or anywhere else. It gives clubbers the profound freedom of not seeing themselves. Eliasson’s piece multiplies the viewer’s image endlessly, such that one’s only glimpse of themselves inside the club, fittingly, is trapped in infinity.
    Indeed, Studio Berlin offers a new experience of Berghain also for those who know its nooks and crannies well. And perhaps unsurprisingly, my favorite moment was admittedly personal. A video installation by Jonas Brinker shows a deserted, unfinished tourist resort in Egypt that is now populated by stray dogs. It’s a poignant metaphor for an entire world suddenly forced to a screeching halt by a virus. Yet on a much smaller scale, it’s also a reversal of realities: under normal circumstances, the day crew of welders and builders as well as the people in the offices bring their dogs to work during the week. Here, four-legged creatures (including my three-year old Brussels Griffon) running around the club would actually signal business as usual.
    At its best moments, Studio Berlin feels like a love song to Berlin. The city has risen from the ashes many times over and has always managed to adapt and reinvent itself, attracting new creative energy each time around. It takes a certain type of artist, musician, thinker, and doer to thrive rather than get lost in the freedom this city affords. But once you get it, it’s hard to imagine being anywhere else.
    Studio Berlin at Berghain is on view until the end of the year. Book your tour here. 
    Learn more about the events going on at Berlin Art Week here.
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  • In Pictures: Here’s What It Looks Like to Visit a New York City Museum After Six Months of Lockdown

    After months of an at-home, eye-watering art diet of digitally-mediated exhibitions, New Yorkers were finally able to resume museum going starting the last week of August.
    The phase-four reopening meant that institutions, which had been on lockdown since mid-March, could once again operate with visitors—as well as hand sanitizer, face masks, and temperature checks. Though the Met and MoMA are used to welcoming tens of thousands of visitors each day, now they can only host a fraction of those numbers.

    People outside the Metropolitan Museum as the city continues phase four. Photo by Noam Galai/Getty Images.

    As more reopenings continued throughout Labor Day weekend, including at the Whitney Museum of American Art and the Natural History Museum, photographers captured the surreal images of a socially-distanced art-going public.
    At the Met, for the first time ever, artist-designed panels greeted visitors instead of exhibition advertisements, and banners by Yoko Ono proved hopeful and inspiring. Meanwhile, at MoMA, a tribute to artist Milton Glaser, who died earlier this summer, welcomed post-lockdown visitors with a classic New York logo.
    See images of the new normal, below.

    Painters pose for a photo after installing an oversized presentation of the iconic “I Love NY” logo designed by Milton Glaser inside the west end of The Museum of Modern Art lobby. Photo by Cindy Ord/Getty Images.

    A woman walks past Jackson Pollock’s Autumn Rhythm Number 30 in the newly reopened MoMA. Photo by TIMOTHY A. CLARY/AFP via Getty Images.

    A visitor in front of Van Gogh’s Starry Night at MoMA. Photo: Timothy A. Clary/AFP via Getty Images.

    A security guard stands at his post at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Photo by Kena Betancur/AFP via Getty Images.

    A worker checks the body temperature of a visitor outside the Metropolitan Museum as the city continues Phase 4 of re-opening. Photo by Noam Galai/Getty Images.

    A visitor is seen in front of Mexico City-based artist Hector Zamora’s sculptural installation at the Met. (hoto by Selcuk Acar/NurPhoto via Getty Images.

    Visitors walk through an exhibition at the newly reopened Whitney Museum of American Art on September 3, 2020 in New York City. Photo by Angela Weiss / AFP via Getty Images.

    Visitors walk through an exhibition at the newly reopened Whitney Museum of American Art. Photo by ANGELA WEISS/AFP via Getty Images.

    Visitors at the Met. Photo by KENA BETANCUR/AFP via Getty Images.

    A fully PPE’d young girl visits the Met as it reopened to the public. Photo by KENA BETANCUR/AFP via Getty Images.

    Sheryl Victor-Levy and her daughter Sidney Levy pose inside the lobby of the Museum of the City of New York. Photo by Michael Loccisano/Getty Images.

    Members of the American Museum of National History. Photo by Arturo Holmes/Getty Images.

    People line up inside the entrance on reopening day at The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Photo by Michael Loccisano/Getty Images.

    People wearing face masks visit The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Photo by Liao Pan/China News Service via Getty Images.

    At the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Photo by Liao Pan/China News Service via Getty Images.

    A visitor looks at a piece in the “Collecting New York Stories” exhibit at the Museum of the City of New York. Photo by Michael Loccisano/Getty Images.

    Two friends in face masks sit in front of Claude Monet’s paintings at the Metropolitan Museum during its first day open to members since March on August 27, 2020. Photo by Taylor Hill/Getty Images.

    Members of the American Museum of National History enjoy exhibits on September 02. Photo by Arturo Holmes/Getty Images.

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  • Dominated by Female Voices and Queer Perspectives, the Berlin Biennial Amplifies the Plights and Triumphs of Marginalized Communities

    What does it mean to hold a biennial exhibition in a year like this one?
    Beyond the practical limitations, compounded by the fact that many participating artists can’t travel to their own shows, any major art event taking place in 2020 necessarily makes a statement about the world we live in. In the case of the 11th Berlin Biennale, the curatorial vision that guided it came to form over the last two years, largely before the pandemic changed everything. So it is especially poignant that the show’s central issues—postcolonial struggle, gender-based and race-based injustice, queer-phobia, and the unequal impacts wrought by climate change—have met a world where these very same problems have reached an unbearable climax.
    Postponed from June to September, the show, called “The Crack Begins Within,” welcomed socially-distanced visitors across its four locations last weekend as one of the few international art events to physically open in Europe this year, despite rising infection rates. Curators María Berríos, Renata Cervetto, Lisette Lagnado, and Agustín Pérez Rubio—who are all based in South America—invited artists largely hailing from the Global South. The majority are women, many identify as queer, and few have yet to be widely exhibited in Europe.
    Curators of the 11th Berlin Biennale for Contemporary Art, f. l. t. r.: Renata Cervetto, Agustín Pérez Rubio, María Berríos, Lisette Lagnado. Photo: F. Anthea Schaap

    “It makes us extremely sad that we cannot welcome most of the participants personally at this year’s biennale because they live in high-risk areas,” Berlin Biennale’s director Gabriela Horn said in a video statement sent to the media in lieu of a press conference on preview day last Friday, September 4.
    The artworks on view—and indeed the 76-strong artist list—offers an antidote to the long-dominant white, christian mindset and the patriarchy that enshrines it, by countering what the curators describe in the videotaped statement as “patriarchal rampage” and “colonial capitalism.” Set in three main parts against institutions of the church, the museum, and the body politic, the curators find a way of rebelling against each one that is radical overall: through artworks centered on collectivity, solidarity, and compassion.
    Zehra Doğan, Xêzên Dizî [The Hidden Drawings] (2018–20). Installation view (detail), 11th Berlin Biennale, KW Institute for Contemporary Art. Courtesy Zehra DoğanPhoto: Silke Briel

    Forms of Dissent
    During their allotted time slots, press streamed through the now extra-spacious halls at two of Berlin’s major art institutions, the Gropius Bau and KW Institute for Contemporary Art, as well as the daadgalerie. This last chapter of the biennial was preceded by three smaller prelude shows, the first of which opened exactly one year ago at ExRotaprint, a historical former printing press that was occupied by a tenant co-operative in the early 2000s and now functions as a community-driven cultural initiative. That’s a model that sits well with the curators’ message. During the biennial final chapter, the main exhibition, this location serves as an archive of the entire biennial research and exhibition process.
    Meanwhile at KW Institute for Contemporary Art, the curators present a chapter themed “The Antichurch” that offers visceral perspectives on the violence of patriarchy and the subversion of it. Among the most striking works are monumental drawings by Argentinian artist Florencia Rodriguez Giles. Generously installed around the institution’s main floor, the detailed canvases in the 2018 series Biodelica depict otherworldly, sometimes nightmarish figures that are part-human, part-animal, and part-vegetable. The figures tout female genitalia and engage in actions driven by the pursuit of pleasure.
    Galli, Installation view, 11th Berlin Biennale, KW Institute for Contemporary.Photo: Silke Briel

    Similarly alluring in their fleshliness are the paintings of entangled, blood-red limbs and torsos by Galli, installed on KW’s second floor. A female member of Berlin’s “Junge Wilden” generation of the late 1970s and early 1980s—a bohemian, male-dominated group of artists, including Albert Oehlen, who all favored an expressive style of painting over the minimalist visual language of that time—Galli’s works have rightfully gained latent appreciation in the past five years. Alongside several canvases, her books of collages are also on display in glass cases as well as in a video. The artist’s hands, filmed leafing through the pages, hint towards her differently abled body.
    However, it’s a common drawback of exhibitions that seek to convey forms of community dissent, resistance, and activism through artistic means that they end up feeling more preachy than subversive, more dryly didactic than revolutionary. Too many artworks in the show, which is heavy on video art, fall into this trap. And the effectiveness of much of it is deeply reliant on wall texts. What’s more, if a feminine sensibility, as the argument here goes, is the favorable alternative to masculine rampage, why not cast it in roles less associated with victimhood?
    Andrés Pereira Paz, EGO FVLCIO COLLVMNAS EIVS [I FORTIFY YOUR COLUMNS] (2020). 11th Berlin Biennale, Gropius Bau. Courtesy Andrés Pereira Paz; Crisis Galería, Lima; Galería Isla Flotante, Buenos Aires. Photo: Mathias Völzke.

    The Cracks Within
    The conceptual thread that runs through the chapter installed at Gropius Bau takes the museum as another patriarchal structure in need of critical overhaul. Titled “The Inverted Museum,” this segment includes generous installations that meld sensuous experiences and intellectual engagement. Of the three shows-within-the-show, it is the most successful.
    Take Bolivian artist Andrés Pereira Paz’s 2020 installation I Fortify Your Columns, commissioned and co-produced by the biennial, a landscape of minimalist sculptures that occupy the floor, walls, and ceiling of a darkened gallery. A bird’s call resonates throughout the space. It’s the sound of the Amazonian guajojó; when its habitat was ravaged by catastrophic blazes last year, a single specimen managed the extraordinary flight to Bolivia, where its sighting became a local sensation. An asylum seeker rather than a migrating bird, it has no home to return to.
    Aykan Safoğlu, Zero Deficit (in Refusal) (2020). Installation view, 11th Berlin Biennale, Gropius Bau. Prints by Lamarts, Istanbul. All works Courtesy Aykan Safoğlu. Commissioned and produced by Berlin Biennale for Contemporary Art. In collaboration with Lamarts, Istanbul. With the support of SAHA Association. With thanks to Academy of Fine Arts Vienna, PhD in Practice, doc.funds. Photo: Mathias Völzke

    While the show largely lands on South American soil, several works focus more directly on Europe-centered stories. Turkish artist Aykan Safoğlu digs into his own childhood and education at a renowned German-Turkish school in Istanbul. In a video work narrated by the artist, he weaves his personal history with 19th-century Prussian-Ottoman relations, which were based on Europe’s financial and colonial interests in Ottoman-run Anatolia (modern day Turkey), and the debt collected by European companies who leeched a bankrupt Ottoman Empire. Safoğlu notes that, as a German-speaking man in Istanbul, he is better accepted by German society than his relative who came within a huge Turkish cohort to Germany in the 1960 as “guest workers.”
    Other works addressed even more direct situations of persecution. At KW, formerly jailed Kurdish journalist and artist Zehra Doğan showed The Hidden Drawings, which she made on 103 sheets of paper sent from a friend while Doğan was imprisoned in Turkey. The drawings and texts—raw and austere, albeit not without hope—are presented on a long table behind glass, the pages form a graphic novel that depicts experiences lived and witnessed during her incarceration, contextualized within the history of the Kurdish struggle in Turkey that has been going on since the 1980s.
    In a separate room at KW, German artist Christine Meisner presents her 2020 work Unsharpness In A Possible, Episode 1: Submissions from Berlin, in which she explores the archives of the weekly Der Stürmer, a tabloid published between 1923 and 1945 that propagated anti-Semitic and Nazi ideologies (its founder was sentenced to death in the Nuremberg trials). Meisner digs out the immense amounts of anti-Semitic material submitted for publication by readers from all over Germany and Nazi-occupied territories; her installation helps to illustrate the culpability of German society at large. It is an issue that persists: Only a week ago, protesters demonstrating against state measures to stop the spread of COVID-19 stormed the steps of the German federal parliament, several waving flags associated with extreme far-right and Neo-Nazi views.
    If the biennial title, “The Crack Begins Within,” is at first interpreted as a call for change worldwide—that breaking with old ways begins with personal responsibility—this one work in particular serves as a grim reminder of the dangerous potential this holds. The crack is open, but no one can predict how deep it will get.
    The 11th Berlin Biennale is on view until November 1, 2020 at various locations across Berlin.
    To learn more about Berlin Art Week here.
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  • The High Line Wants You to Weigh in on Its Next Big Commission—See Proposals From Nick Cave, Meriem Bennani, and Other Artists

    The High Line—a 1.45-mile-long elevated park on a converted railroad line, filled with verdant plants and an array of contemporary art installations—is one of the gems of Manhattan.
    Free and accessible public art has long been a draw for High Line visitors. The latest iteration in the park’s revolving art program is the Plinth commission, which has been occupied by Simone Leigh’s towering female bust Brick House since 2019. Now, the High Line wants the public to weigh in on the next work to take pride of place, with 80 artist submissions to choose from for the next two commissions, set to appear in 2022 and 2024.
    So, what do you want to see rising above the city at 30th Street and 10th Avenue? Below, see a selection of proposals and then visit the High Line website by the end of September to comment.
    Nick Cave, A·mal·gam. Courtesy of the artist and the High Line.

    Iván Argote, Dinosaur. Courtesy of the artist and the High Line.

    Meriem Bennani, Bouncy Storm. Courtesy of the artist and the High Line.

    Bronwyn Katz, Untitled (roots). Courtesy of the artist and the High Line.

    Mary Sibande, Old Wars are Out and a New Reason of Humanity is In. Courtesy of the High Line.

    Carlos Motta, Koray Duman, and Theodore Kerr, THE VOID. Courtesy of the artists and the High Line.

    Amanda Williams, Sandra’s refuge: Safe Passage for Free Movement in Public Space.

    Banu Cennetoğlu, right?. Courtesy of the artist and the High Line.

    Willie Cole, Totem. Courtesy of the artist and High Line.

    Nina Beier, Women & Children. Courtesy of the artist and the High Line.

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  • Coverage: “8th Ply” Group Show in Amsterdam, Netherlands

    Continuing their successful collaboration Sasha Bogojev and Mark Chalmers team up again for 8th Ply. Curated by Sasha Bogojev and presented by The Garage Amsterdam, 8th Ply is a group exhibition featuring artists whose lives were, and are, significantly marked by their connection with skateboarding.
    Seven layers of maple wood, or 7-ply, is the core construction of the skateboard deck and the bedrock of this globally popular sport/lifestyle. In a year when skateboarding was destined to debut as an official Olympic sport for the first time in history, 8th Ply is here to put a focus on another layer of this popular activity.
    Working in a variety of mediums, applying different techniques, and using a diverse range of aesthetics to express their creativity, the presentation aims to provide a glimpse at the uniqueness, imagination, and resourcefulness of the people closely connected to skateboarding. And while skateboarding itself is now a big part of popular culture and is getting heavily branded as a mainstream sport, 8th Ply serves as a metaphor for the cardinal ingredient that turns a wooden plank into a form of identification.
    The exhibition features artists whose lives were, and are, significantly marked by their connection with skateboarding, such as Ed Templeton, James Jarvis, Jean Jullien, Adam Neate, Boris Tellegen, Parra, Josh Jefferson, Andrew Schoultz, and Jeffrey Cheung.

    “From my perspective, 8th Ply represents the channeling of human energy and emotion into the artifact of the skateboard. The combination of board and rider together allows each to become greater than the sum of their parts. My work across the globe bears witness to the inspiring magic that occurs when skateboarders—particularly among SOC—are allowed to move beyond the local and contribute their viewpoints, actions, and activism to the global language of skateboarding culture. Each rider carries a different thread of humanity which, when woven into the broader fabric of skateboarding, emboldens the next generation to see skateboarding as an outlet for their voice.
    As a young Black teenager, I witnessed firsthand how overt and covert racism negatively affected the lives of people of color, and I sought ways to disrupt its effects. Once discovering skateboarding, I found a new space of freedom and self-expression, as part of a multi-gendered, multiracial collective dedicated to pushing through life’s challenges atop 7-Plys of Hardrock-maple. The diversity within our coalition offered a blueprint, which demonstrated that when harnessed correctly, skateboarding culture might offer the possibility to challenge power, build community, and create social change.” – Dr. Neftalie Williams, Artist. Scholar. Diplomat. Activist. Skateboarder.

     The Garage Amsterdam was created in 2004 by Mark Chalmers, a creative director and founder of the internationally lauded Creative Social. Mark also runs the international studio Chalming.Co where he is working with artists and art to build global brands through culture. Brands such as Nike, Dior, Google and Patagonia. Fascinated by the power of grassroots networks, Chalmers started The Garage Amsterdam, as a place where artists could stay while in Amsterdam, create and exhibit work and connect with other artists.
    Scroll down below for more photos of the group show.

    Images by Rene Messman

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