For most residents of Europe and North America, the nineteenth century has become a hazy memory. The colonial wars that devastated large swaths of Africa and drained European treasuries have now become romanticized, the terror and violence aestheticized à la Isak Dinesen’s Out of Africa (albeit the Hollywood version, complete with teak camp chairs and billowing white muslin dresses). A quick survey of Check List Luanda Pop at the 52nd Venice Biennale, however, brings the recent past back in visceral ways. For those living in the Third World, the nineteenth century remains close. (See Part One of this post.)
In contrast, the major First World players seemed intent upon eliding history. The American, British, and French pavilions featured artists — Sophie Calle, Tracey Emin, and Felix Gonzalez-Torres — whose oeuvres are largely lyric in nature. For each of these artists, art rises from personal experience. The curators of these pavilions have refused to truly engage history on any meaningful level, choosing instead to go the formal and lyric route, because that route cleaves closest to safety.
Gonzalez-Torres was, in many ways, a bold choice. Gonzalez-Torres was openly gay, and several of the pieces in the American pavilion were created after Gonzalez-Torres’s lover died from AIDS-related complications. In the late 1980s and early ’90s, when Gonzalez-Torres first began exhibiting his “endless stacks” and candy pieces, the work was considered highly subversive, even aggressive. (One of Gonzalez-Torres’s candy pieces, a memorial to his lover, invites viewers to taste his vanished lover’s sweetness.) Almost fifteen years have passed between Gonzalez-Torres’s death (in 1994) and the 52nd Biennale. In those intervening years, Gonzalez-Torres entered the American canon. The work was powerful then partly because it crossed so many lines, because it introduced an interiority, and an experience, still taboo in mainstream America.
Yet the viewer feels little of this in the American pavilion. There, the Gonzalez-Torres installation largely feels formal. Nancy Spector (of the Guggenheim Museum in New York City) mounted an elegant installation of the artist’s work. There are a few “political” works, such as Gonzalez-Torres’s “endless stack” of offset prints reading “Veteran’s Day Sale,” or Untitled (Public Opinion, or Everybody has One), a candy piece featuring cellophane-wrapped licorice candies. There are also a number of abstract pieces, such as Gonzalez-Torres’s light-bulb sculptures, that read — in the American pavilion’s elegant context — as beautiful and “bourgeois.”