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“The Milk of Dreams” Review and Travelogue – Day 0

In a world that looks more and more like a dystopian future many of us naively thought impossible, this collective sigh of global contemporary art at the 59th Annual International Art Exhibition in Venice retreats into the fanciful, the terrifying, the profane, and the absurd, as art is wont to do in times of upheaval. In a way, the last Biennale, titled “May you Live in Interesting Times” foretold the global pandemic, the dramatic rise in wealth inequality, the precarious nature of, well nature, and the collapse of the post-Cold War economic and security order. Makes me wish the last Biennale was titled “Everyone gets a million dollars and the ice caps stop melting.” But I digress. 

This was my third trip to Venice in the last seven years. I usually default to calling the Biennale “the Olympics of Art” because I think it helps to instantly frame its particulars for people not in the art world, but I know I’m not the first to make that connection. I had known about the Biennale anecdotally for quite some time before attending, or even before the thought of working with art ever crossed my mind. Back in high school, an upperclassman named Andy Monk was, unbeknownst to him, my sort of gay role model. He was out, and artsy, and for a confused emo kid like me, my personal avatar of queer visibility. He was all I could not and dared not be in ninth grade. I followed Andy to Oberlin, and even as a prospective student, marveled at his life where he made out with boys, had a funky dorm room, and talked casually about going to “la Biennale” as if it were a trip to the grocery store. Suffice to say, he also spoke fluent Italian. To Andy I am forever indebted, in giving me the palimpsest upon which I would model my adult identity.

Andy… talked casually about going to ‘la Biennale’ as if it were a trip to the grocery store

The first time I came to the Biennale was in 2017. I was at the tail end of my internship at the Pérez Art Museum Miami. I was embarking on what was a scary but necessary career change. After seven years in the public school classroom, I realized that the rising tide of fascism in Florida would eventually catch up with me. Call it dumb luck, but I somehow managed to land a museum job at PAMM, a place that in many ways was my refuge since the day it opened its doors. Honestly, it was a combination of luck and hard work. In any event, I figured that this international exhibition would only be to my benefit moving forward in my new career, and thus a form of professional development. At the conclusion of that first trip in 2017, I vowed to myself to always attend the Biennale if it was within my means, because that trip was so eye-opening. Since then I returned in 2019 with my now husband, and after living through a global pandemic that arguably still hasn’t ended, and working my way up from intern, I finally returned for opening week in April 2022. 

La Biennale’s 59th Annual International Art Exhibition is titled “the Milk of Dreams,” or “Il Latte Dei Sogni” in Italian. The only phrase I ever really mastered in Italian thanks to a very feeble essay at parlando Italiano with DuoLinguo was “Sono un bicchiere di latte.” While proclaiming “one is a glass of milk” is practically useless, I at least knew one of the words of this intriguing title, the solipsistic orders screeched by Starbucks Baristas be damned.

Curated by Cecilia Alemani, chief curator of the the High Line (ever the huge fan) in New York and curator of the 2017 Italian pavilion (I was not a fan), “the Milk of Dreams” throws us into the deep end of the ocean that is the surreal. The thing with this dive is that there’s no oxygen tank, no life raft, not even a pool floaty for that matter. If you make peace with the never ending expanse, the exhaustion of staying afloat, and the inevitable crushing depths, the reward is a sort of blissful delirium. 

One thing I’m reminded of by the title of this year’s Biennale is the Hindu creation myth. Please excuse the gaps in my knowledge, as it has been at this point decades since I cracked open the Bhagavad Gita, any of the Vedas, Upanishads, or let alone a single Sutra. The story is about the churning of the ocean of milk. Before anything, there was an endless white sea and Vishnu the creator took the form of a massive turtle. The other gods, the Devas, laying their strife aside with the “bad guys,” the Asuras, wrap Nagaraja, a divine multi-headed serpent around an inverted mountain. The mountain is balanced summit-side down, on top of the God-turned-turtle’s shell, like a large stone-hewn funnel. The two sides tug at both ends of the snake, rolling the mountain back and forth like a dreidel, round and round, upon this sea of endless milk.

From the churning of the milk into froth, cream, and butter, sprung all sorts of treasures, both terrible and great. Other gods, gems, holy items, even the moon and the heavenly nectar of immortality spring forth from this collective effort. Similarly, the title of this Biennale begs the question, is contemporary art the froth? Are artists and their art the things wondrous and terrible that spring forth from the grindings of global constructs, both real and imaginary? Who are the Devas? Who are the Asuras? I think this fever dream was partly due to my being jet-lagged after a long flight across the Atlantic and an even longer layover in Madrid.

If you make peace with the never ending expanse, the exhaustion of staying afloat, and the inevitable crushing depths, the reward is a sort of blissful delirium. 

Suffice to say, “the Milk of Dreams” was more like soma for my dreams. A fleeting, addictive high par excellence that ultimately leaves you wanting more, and diminished, all at the same time.

I intend to present my trip across my three days during the opening weekend, starting Saturday April 23rd and ending Monday April 25th. Each day will offer images as well as thoughts on the art, artists, national pavilions, etc. I do wish to critically engage the Biennale as a whole, as well as offer some practical suggestions to would-be pilgrims making their way to the the Most Serene Republic.

As a digital and public historian, I really fascinated by how and where everyday people choose to mark their collective memories. Traditional halls of power like commission meetings and city halls wield certain levers that allow them to choose the monuments, fund the museums, and rename the streets. But what if you don’t sit on a city commission? What if you feel the urge to act out of immense urgency?

This is where members of the public act, as they can and as they feel they must. A recent tragedy made this all the more relevant to me.

As a person that calls Miami home, I was devastated to hear about the Champlain Towers collapse. While I did not directly know any of the people who sadly lost their lives, I still ached knowing that in many ways, this could have easily been any of us, and this calamity should never have happened. As luck would have it, I was contacted by Leo Soto @livitupleo, organizer of the loved ones’ memorial efforts. I told him best I could do is digitally scan the wall, so it could live on, at least virtually. I hope the families find this small gesture my way of helping and giving back.

Explore this virtual memorial below.

-DRDH

Today, the errant young artist may ask his, her, or themselves where they would want to call home. A home is as much an address, a domicile, as it is a muse. There are many concrete and intangible factors that go into anybody choosing a place to call home, but an artist is certainly more sensitive to certain aspects of a location’s culture that may not feature on an average person’s list of must haves. For this reason, Berlin is standout among a crowded list of cities for a young creative looking to make their mark on the world, for a variety of reasons 

1. Cost of living. Compared to other famous cities, Berlin’s economics feature heavily into its attractiveness. Compared to other bastions of the art world, namely, New York, Paris, London, and beyond that any major Western city, housing alone is at least half if not a third as expensive. A studio apartment in central Berlin, steps from a(n) U-Bahn station and a couple of blocks from parks and entertainment will run you $850, and those are the renovated ones. A comparable set up in New York, even in one of the outer-boroughs, will easily start at $2000. Hands down, housing alone in Berlin will be a fraction of the price paid in any other major European capital. 

2. Quality Art Institutions. Berlin has no lack of world class art institutions. Dating back to a collection of antiquities begun by the Prussian kings in the 18^th and 19^th centuries, Berlin’s museums house treasures of global renown. The Ishtar Gate and the Altar of Pergamum draw tourists from around the world, and cement Berlin’s place among the “must-sees” of art. Moreover, the co-location of Berlin’s numerous museums on Museuminsel (museum island) helps to foster a city-wide culture of art consumption with a dedicated art space in the heart of the city. A young artist or art historian would do well to find work at any of the fine institutions in and around the city. 

3. Counter-culture. Stretching as far back as the dawn of the 20^th Century, Berlin has always been a city that has attracted a certain set of avant-garde, left of center, counter-culturists. The word kulturkampf (culture struggle) was coined by the competing ideologies that ran through the cities intelligentsia, and in many ways still do. Also, the concept of Berliner unwille also helps to sum up the general non-conformity of the cities inhabitants, perhaps one of the few things they gladly have in common. Artists would find many like-minded and tolerant citizens willing to boldly chart hitherto unforeseen artistic and social boundaries. 

4. Communication. Most Berliners born shortly before the fall of the wall are fluent in more than one language, usually English. The rest of the inhabitants are Wessie transplants from the parts of formerly West Germany, who speak English, or former East Germans who would be glad to help you with your Russian vocabulary. The contemporary art world mostly deals in English; therefore, communication would be nary an issue for a young, aspiring artist. 

5. Transportation. Berlin’s public transport system, while not as robust as say London’s or Paris in terms of density, more than makes up for its lack of extensiveness with ease of use and practicality. So while the metro proper, or the U-bahn may only have 9 lines compared to Paris’ 14 or New York’s 24 lines, it is reinforced by the S-Bahn. The S-Bahn is an urban commuter railway network that forms a perimeter around the city, as well as crisscrossing the city in the four cardinal directions. These two networks interface seamlessly to get a person from one end of Berlin clear across to the other side in a matter of minutes. To think, crossing from east to west berlin is as easy as passing through the Friedrichstrasse station, when 30 years ago, that same commute would have been unthinkable. Beyond the cheap, frequent, and reliable service of the trains, Berlin is a city that has embraced the bicycle. Bicycle paths have painted lanes and even their own traffic signals at the busier intersections. Budget conscious artists would be wise to rely heavily on Berlin’s well-developed mass transit options. 

6. Quality of life. Berlin may be the capital of the biggest economy in Europe, but it remains quaint and almost village like at times. Its complex history has left many parts of the city less densely built out than its other European counterparts. So while a young artist has all the trappings of urban life at their fingertips, green areas are abundant and close by. Berlin’s café culture mirrors that again of its western European counterparts, but also sees a unique blend of Turkish coffee culture.  

Lists run the risk of being endless, but perhaps with this small sampling of Berlin’s best assets, young creatives can feel more comfortable giving one of the world’s most dynamic cities an honest shot at being their next heimat, or home. 

Venice, la Serenissima as it is often sumptuously titled, or the most serene republic, once again serves as the backdrop to the 57^th Annual International Art Exposition in 2017. While to the average tourist, Venice is a must-stop on any European adventure, La Biennale offers a unique opportunity for anyone who is so inclined to sample perhaps the most comprehensive sampling of global Contemporary Art, beyond your stock gondola ride and trip to St. Mark’s Piazza. Hosted every two years, hence its name, La Biennale showcases individual works of contemporary artists as well as nationally funded and maintained pavilions that are employed by participating nations in a variety of ways. Despite the fact that La Biennale serves as an exposition for all sorts of arts, including film, dance, and literature, this review will concern itself exclusively with the contemporary fine art exhibition. 

Launching the careers of some of today’s most venerable contemporary artists, Yayoi Kusama for one, La Biennale provides a unique level of global exposure and singular locale where art can be consumed along the shores of the Adriatic as opposed to another dime-a-dozen gallery in some rapidly gentrifying part of town.  

The first exhibition space, when approached from the west and therefore central Venice, is the Venetian Arsenal. The Arsenal can be imagined and as an aquatic piazza of sorts; a large open square of shallow water once used for shipbuilding and naval storage. This near-ancient collection of warehouses that frame a square of dry docks and shipwrights are perfectly repurposed as contemporary art spaces. With their exposed wrought iron rafters and overbuilt brick walls, the juxtaposition of the decayed industrial and naval might of Venice frames the art in a familiar way for visitors of contemporary art spaces. The exhibition space in the Arsenal is evenly divided between individual artists and several countries allocated floor space in said warehouses. Upon entering the exhibition proper, the long initial warehouse is subdivided into themed spaces such as “the pavilion of the common, the pavilion of traditions, and the pavilion of colors” just to name a few. The first piece seen on the walls to the right are a myriad of colored spools of thread, arranged haphazardly and projecting from a wall. Each of the colored threads connects to an article of clothing on a table about 3 yards from the wall. As one advances through the themed pavilions, the usual cadence of contemporary art takes its pace. Mixed media installations that reference perennially urgent issues like the constructs of gender, nationality and race. Pieces ranged in diversity from pillars of crystalline salt forms to large spheres of polychromatic fabric dangling from the high rafters. 

As one shifts into the national exhibition spaces in the Arsenal, one must take note that these are quite different from the standalone pavilions seem in the fairgrounds. The nations on display at the Arsenal are later entrants to the Biennale and therefore their exhibitions are housed in a collection of buildings as opposed to discrete edifices. Some of these newer entrants, like Latvia, New Zealand, and Tunisia, had truly stunning and thought-provoking artwork on display. Latvia’s gallery was cloaked behind heavy cloth curtains so as to permanently darken the space. A series of twelve brass pillars each display etchings of Earth invaded by reptilian aliens and subjugating humanity with culture, religion, and economics. New Zealand’s artwork was an updated “Bayeux Tapestry” of sorts. A wide-screen video, several measures longer than tall, displayed a video of European contact with the native Maori and the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi. The video displays live actors in period costume. Again, the thread of prescient introspection was on display in New Zealand’s pavilion with its head on tackling of the subject of colonialism.  

Tunisia’s pavilion was far and away the most thought-provoking of the national pavilions, despite it being so easily overlooked. Masquerading as an information booth and manned by two smartly dressed young men in uniform, the Tunisian pavilion is in fact a “border control booth.” Oddly enough, the “guards” in the booth hand you a cobalt blue booklet that has a “freesa” embossed across the top of it. Opening your Freesa booklet, it explains that borders and nationality are constructs and you are free to move about planet earth, at which point the guards stamp your booklet. Given the many outstanding issues Europe is currently grappling with surrounding migration, refugees, and Islam, these themes are all seamlessly and subversively tackled by Tunisia’s seemingly unassuming entry.  

Located in the extreme easternmost areas of Venice proper, La Biennale is hosted far from the maddening hordes of tourists circumambulating St. Mark’s Square and the eponymous Basilica. The national pavilions and exhibition spaces figure into two distinct areas that are a 10-minute walk from one another, making use of the old Venetian Arsenal as a repurposed exhibition space, and a dedicated fairground for the national pavilions. La Biennale is easily accessible to the errant traveler to Venice by means of il Vaporetto, which deposits visitors yards from the Venetian Arsenal or the national pavilion grounds one stop further east. Any self-described or aspiring aesthete would do well to pay this year’s Biennale a visit. 

Under the cobbled streets of Geneva, Switzerland lies a marvel on the bleeding edge of humanity’s technological prowess in the 21^st century. In the city made famous by John Calvin during the Protestant Reformation, Le Conseil européen pour la recherche nucléaire, or CERN, a consortium of European governments and research institutes operates the Large Hadron Collider, or LHC, for the sake of brevity. This complex machine, taking the form of an underground ring over 27 kilometers in circumference, is a particle accelerator, where a beam of light travels at ever higher speeds within the ring and crashes into a targeted particle. The resulting sub-atomic train wreck is where scientists uncover the hidden minutia of matter. Art History works much in the same way. Art and History, two incredibly complex and pedigreed disciplines in academia, are in many ways smashed against each other, and out of this at times chaotic union comes Art History. It is in this artistic and historical “atom smashing” where true scholarship takes place, as historians, artists, or some combination thereof, examine the fractured pieces and shards to find new and exciting analyses and conclusions. The question still remains, however, of why bother to combine art and history, and who thinks they answered that query first? 

Art History as a discipline arose out of the European academe in the late 19^th Century precisely because merely looking at and admiring art left some scholars wanting. Interdisciplinary by design, early art historians were akin to sociologists, anthropologists, archaeologists, and perhaps even economists. However, one must not lose sight of the context of the birth of art history itself. The Europe of the late 19^th century was a time of maximal European cultural, political, and economic primacy. This was the age of Empire, of steam, and a normalizing of what some would call Eurocentrism, and others would label White Supremacy. Therefore, art historians have peered through a kaleidoscope that refracts on a European bias. To Europeans, “new” forms of “art,” like nearly every other aspect of the native cultures they were interacting with, was at the time held up to their own sensibilities, and either appropriated, or unceremoniously discarded. However, in the last fifty years, Art History has been shifting, ever so cautiously, to a new set of academic and cultural standards. Art History as it is commonly understood, while originally a European-crafted discipline, must grow in breadth and scope to encompass the vast cultures, polities, economies and unique set of aesthetic principles imagined by all humankind. Art History should no longer pretend itself such an inclusive discipline, especially regarding non-Western traditions, lest it change to fully embrace them. This is why the atom smashing must continue, lest Art History run the risk of becoming an ossified and anachronistic discipline. Art History must continue to push boundaries and commonly held beliefs if it is to survive well into the future with any sort of relevance. 

One of the first places art historians begin their formal training can be as early as high school. Many students enroll to take Advanced Placement Art History. If a high school student can pass the grueling exam set forth by the CollegeBoard, they stand the chance to earn college credit before even matriculating in their future alma mater. However, the curriculum set forth by the CollegeBoard has been one that up until very recently, skewed heavily in favor of the Western tradition. In 2015, a new set of curriculum standards reduced the entirety of Art History to 250 pieces that students are tasked with learning. The streamlined set in many ways aimed to steer art history and by extension art historians into a more, multicultural direction by specifically breaking up the art pieces by geographic region and culture. Naturally, while hailed by some, this move was seen as doing too little to truly update the contemporary art historian program, as well over 60% of the memorized pieces are either European or descendants of the European tradition. 

Art History, by virtue of being such a broad subject as it is, is out of habit slow moving, much like the institutions that reproduce its well worn narratives. The changes to the AP Art History curriculum prove that Art Historians indeed are sensitive to the issues surrounding accurate and equitable representation in art education, but also prove that not enough is being done to definitively tackle the issue. Thankfully at the collegiate level, courses that specialize in regional and specific cultural areas allow for further inquiry, but we must continue to “smash” the particles of art and history against each other, if the discipline is to survive. In a perfect world, art history would not instantly conjure images of white wigs on powdered white faces painted on canvass, but for now, there remains much work to be done.