Brussels, Russia and the Venice Biennale: Art as Politics and Hypocrisy

The jury at the Venice Biennale Art Exhibition have outdone themselves. Few juries at any art or literary festival can be trusted at the best of times, their judgment likely to be swayed by factions, self-interest and the ethically sapping succour of the gravy train (the global art scene is an enormous racket after all), but to see such figures take a moral stand is a peculiar thing indeed.

The stand in question, which took the form of a mass resignation, was initiated in response to the decision to permit Russian participation for the first time since the February 2022 invasion of Ukraine, even if the country had self-absented itself. (Russia, indeed, has its own permanent exhibition space in the Giardini.) In a terse statement, the jury set out “our intention – to express our commitment to the defence of human rights.” In doing so, it would “refrain from considering those countries whose leaders are currently charged with crimes against humanity by the International Criminal Court.” This meant excluding artists from both Israel and Russia, as their sitting leaders Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyanu and President Vladimir Putin both face ICC warrants for their arrest.

The organisers had taken a different view in considering Russia’s participation, deeming the re-admission of its artists as “consistent with the founding spirit of La Biennale, based on openness, dialogue, and the rejection of any form of closure or censorship.” Given what the organisers of such events can quail before the loss of funding or a perceived dent in reputation, this was unusually principled.

The political philistines have been quick to weigh in, further showing that the art scene – or at least art as shown in public – is governed by the sentiments and prejudices of sponsors who give no fig to the quality of what is on show. Ukrainian Foreign Minister Andriy Sybiha offered a simple, and simplistic assessment about the pavilion exhibition entitled The Tree is Rooted in the Sky, centred on performances with a focus on sound and experimental music: “The aggressor’s culture is not neutral in the times of war and must never be utilized to serve the interests of the aggressor, to whitewash its crimes, and to spread propaganda.” Forget the actual content of the exhibition: all Russians shared a form of cultural pox, incapable of expressing moral and intellectual sentience.

Brussels, taking a similar line, hectored and bullied the organisers last month, ignoring the self-evident point that their powers over the Russian-owned space were limited. On April 21, the European Union High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy, Kaja Kallas, proved firm and dogmatic: “While Russia bombs museums, destroys churches and seeks to erase Ukrainian culture, it should not be allowed to exhibit its own. Russia’s return to the Venice Biennale is morally wrong, and also the EU intends to cut its funding.” The European Commission, very much in the mood for splitting hairs, excoriated participating Russian artists as members of a “‘governmental delegation’ (whose participation is entirely funded and promoted by the Russian government via a national pavilion”. This implied “that the Biennale appears to have accepted indirect support from the Russian government in exchange for granting a cultural platform”.

The Italian government preferred the neutrality of impotence, claiming that the Biennale was acting “entirely independently” of Rome’s direction. Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni did, however, state that permitting Russian participation was “a decision not shared by the government”, though the Biennale was an autonomous entity with a “very capable” president.

The reasoning fashioned against the Russian participants is a most troubling reading of the artistic temperament. If artists are to be reduced to the same culpability as their political leaders, what does it say about their art? It is true to say that the fickle, dominant patron is certainly indispensable in the history of art, from emperors and Popes to any number of modern, tarted-up demagogues. The same also goes for artists happy to exchange independence of mind for the stability of thoughtless servility. But to use the narrow field of reason adopted by the judges would be to prevent any showing of Pablo Picasso’s Guernica because the leader of his country was the bloodthirsty monomaniac Generalissimo Francisco Franco. Guernica was a shattering admonishment of modern war, yet such a sensibility would be utterly occluded by petty juries worried about the moral character of political leaders.

The saddening and maddening nature of the jury resignation, accompanied by the crude response from Brussels, further ignores the point that artists can, on their own volition, take a stance. In 2022, the curator and artists selected for the Russian pavilion withdrew in protest against the invasion of Ukraine. In 2024, Russia lent the space to Bolivia.

The Biennale Foundation, following the jury’s resignation, has decided to revise the awards system. Instead of having the usual jury-selected Golden and Silver Lions, two “Visitors’ Lions” will be introduced. A public vote will be taken for best national participant and best individual artist.

By all means, ban the political hacks, flunkeys and toadies who turn up to exhibitions on a free ride. Damn the pen pushers and grovellers who yearn for the approval of power. But spare any artist with an inch of backbone and an ounce of courage. Any exhibition will be the better for it, even if it might not necessarily guarantee fine works.

Dr. Binoy Kampmark was a Commonwealth Scholar at Selwyn College, Cambridge. He currently lectures at RMIT University. Email: bkampmark@gmail.com

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