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TO BE READ(ONCE EVERY TWO YEARS)Robert Nickas

iz knjige:CURATING SUBJECTSPaul O'Neill (aulor, urednikl

Robert Nickas 144 To Be Read (Once Every Two Years) 145

Do Biennials still make sense?

If you are a city that hosts one of them, the mayor of that city, its traveland tourism director, the owner of a hotel, a sauna, or sex shop, theanswer is yes. Biennials make a lot of sense. Dollars and cents.The population of Kassel, Germany is largest every ten years. In betweenthe massive Documenta exhibitions, is anyone making a special trip toKassel for the many no-star restaurants? For a pizza almost as bad asthe ones you find in Venice?

In their defense, the average visitor to these big art shows is not an artspecialist. Just look at the numbers. There can't be that many critics,curators, collectors, artists, and dealers in the world. Many visitors tobiennials are simply people interested in art. We forget about them,don't we? You often see families, although the children look like theywould rather be almost anywhere else. (A child, like much of the artproduced today, is another portable object in a world filled to the brim.)Let's not forget that these big shows have a function for peopleinterested in art who may not otherwise have the opportunity to seeas much as you or lover the course of two years. Or even one. Maybebiennials are a way for art lovers to catch up with the so-called artworld. We are not so much a world as we are many small satellites inorbit around one another. And around us, as biennials often serve asa reminder, there are many shooting stars.

So as a critic and curator, how do you answer the question:"Do biennials still make sense?"

The answer would have to be no. Any critic or curator who thinks differ­ently is a traitor to the cause. Biennials are about business and politicsfirst. Art will always come in a close second or even third. And whyshould it be otherwise? The entire world is organized along lines ofcommerce and power. Art institutions and their wardens (to useRobert Smithson's term), not to mention quote/unquote independents,are not immune from a perverse fascination with the game and how itis played. Are they merely drunk with power? Order another Mimosa atHarry's Bar and try not to fall in the canal. You can always save yourdoubts for another day ... So why don't biennials make sense anymore?Because art is not in charge.

Art should be in charge. I second that emotion. Of course prizes areat the center of this issue. Let's not forget that by the end of the 60s,in the midst of global unrest and the war in Vietnam, the idea of prizescame under fire, and many were suspended. Imagine being given amedal for Best Pavilion in a time of war. How could you possiblyaccept? But today these awards are back in favor, and others havebeen newly minted. Rewards are in place precisely for those in controlto maintain their power and influence, as well as to alienate artistsfrom one another. This idea of competition brings up another question.Can we tolerate a show with national pavilions and prizes?

In a word: no. Nationalism has always gotten us into trouble and, at times,dead. Who's representing Germany at the Venice Biennale this year?My vote: Kippenberger. Der Tod in Vendig. The idea of a prize is beyondanachronistic. Ancient, a thing of the past. Art is not a prize fight, ora science fair in high school. There are even little statues for them now,as if a prize for an artist was like an Academy Award for an actor.The Academy Award is generally considered to be a glorified popularitycontest linked directly to the box office, to how much money themovie made. Maybe prizes in art should be based on auction results.Give the artists a little statuette, let them make a speech, and applaudpolitely. In England you have the Turner Prize. In France there's theDuchamp Prize. Would those artists have even been given awards intheir lifetime?

Why the Americans don't have a prize of their own remains a mystery.

Maybe they can't decide who it should be named after. How about theWarhol? After all, he is at the same time one of the central figures in theart of the twentieth century and a complete sell-out. A commercial artistwho became a fine artist in love with commerce. One day he pretendedhe didn't know what to paint so he could wrangle more ideas from hisentourage. One suggestion that was made was obviously taken: "Youshould paint what you love. What do you love?" Warhol went on to paintmoney and, in effect, continued to paint it for the rest of his life.

Biennials are often saddled with overwhelming themes. How can anartist be' expected to honestly produce a work for an exhibition calledthe Plateau of Mankind?

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How about a pile of bodies? Maybe from Rwanda. Or have the showthere. Pump up the local economy. The Rwanda Triennial. Of coursethere are other places to choose from these days. The ChechanInternational? How about the Beijing Biennale? The cost of building thepavilions would be almost nothing. Thousands of Chinese workerswould be delighted to take part in a new cultural revolution. The catalogs,T-shirts, and souvenirs could all be produced right there in China, andcertainly cheaper than almost anywhere else in the free world.

And how do women feel about the grandiose idea of Mankind? Just lookat any biennial list. 70% men, 80% men ... This is a plateau to whichwomen rarely ascend. With biennials frequently organized by committee,compromise is less the exception than the rule, and even when womenare among those on the selection committee the final list of artists inthe show, more often than not, is heavily male. Compromise ultimatelytranscends gender.

Think of a curator choosing artists for big biennials as someone at theracetrack picking a horse. It's a bet and you want to go home a winner.Is art all that different? Art in our time is too easily about winning andlosing. How often have you heard collectors ask: "This is a young artist,just starting out. Where do you think he'll be in five years?" It seems aninnocent question on the face of it, but really what they are asking for isa prediction. What they want to hear is that in five years' time the work willbe worth five times what they originally paid. That, and the artist will endup in the Whitney Biennial ...

With biennials, we always inherit a structure which seems strongerthan its content. Manifesta, for example, is the biennial for youngEuropean art. The curators have to tour all over Europe in order tomake their selection. The problem is that they meet the same peoplewho met their colleagues two years before. And each time they haveto go one step younger.

Maybe the choice should be made from women artists who are pregnant?

Now you're being ridiculous.

Well, all this biennial talk can't help but degenerate into the absurd.

I mean, consider the central point when did biennials become giant artfairs? How ridiculous is that? An art fair is a trade show. You alwaysexpect it to be commercial and a not a little bit repugnant. Any otherresponse is completely disingenuous. You shouldn't have the same kindof queasy experience in a museum or a biennial. But sometimes you do.

These days, museums look more and more like art fairs, and art fairs lookmore like museums. Visit any major art museum on the weekend: theidea of the Sunday painter has been replaced by the reality of the Sundayaudience. Families, young couples on dates, babies in strollers ... it lookslike the crowd at the shopping mall. And this is not so far from the truth.In recent years, the trend has been for museums to move their gift shopsfront and center. You often have to pass through aisles of merchandise toget to the show. But as much as we are all amused by the perversity of a

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Jackson Pollock painting turned into a one-thousand piece jigsaw puzzle,wouldn't you rather see the painting before you buy it in novelty form?Museums now also keep score. Almost ruthlessly. A show is ultimatelyjudged as successful based on how many paying visitors come throughthe gate. The quality of the show itself almost never enters the picture.The numbers are the quality of the show. The numbers are the picture.

What was produced by biennials over the years? What is our memory ofthem? Who are the artists we discovered in these events? What are thepieces we liked?

David Hammons is one artist who famously refuses every invitation toa biennial. Having never seen a David Hammons piece in a block-bustershow that I didn't love, you have to respect the integrity of that strategy.

Can't you even pretend to be serious?

That was an honest response. But you seem to want a "greatest hit."How about this. The premiere of Rodney Graham's "Vexation Island"at the Venice Biennale. Who doesn't remember that? The idea of beingshipwrecked, a castaway, lost at sea ... how absolutely perfect that thepiece was presented there. Venice, the art world's own Vexation Island.

This text was written in response to questions from Christophe Cherix.