Life in Venice.This year's Venice Biennale Venice Biennale
International art exhibition held in the Castello district of Venice every two years and juried by an international committee. It was founded in 1895 as the International Exhibition of Art of the City of Venice to promote “the most noble activities of is not the architecture sort (those are now in even years - see for instance AR November 1996, p14) but, like its 46 predecessors, it is devoted to all the other visual arts visual arts npl → artes fpl plásticas
visual arts npl → arts mpl plastiques
visual arts npl → . As usual, the big set-piece exhibitions in the main galleries are heavy with established names, and eloquent of the struggle of international critics to ensure that each has a favourite in prominent position. The theme Future, Past, Present was chosen by the undoubtedly much-harrassed curator Germano Celant Germano Celant is an Italian writer and curator who coined the term "Arte Povera" (poor art) in 1967 and wrote many articles and books on the subject.
The concept of Arte Povera seemed to be that in Italy art was quite different from the America due to the different : the event has to be called something, after all, and the title can be made to mean what anyone chooses how unlike the Presence of the Past exhibition, one of the first architectural Biennale The name Biennale is Italian and means "every other year", describing an event that happens every 2 years. One of the most important Biennales is an art exhibition that takes place for three months in Venice — the Venice Biennale — but there are numerous others:
Pride of place in the central rotunda rotunda
In Classical and Neoclassical architecture, a building or room that is circular in plan and covered with a dome. The Pantheon is a Classical Roman rotunda. The Villa Rotonda at Vicenza, designed by Andrea Palladio, is an Italian Renaissance example. this year is given over to a massive gesture by Claes Oldenburg Noun 1. Claes Oldenburg - United States sculptor (born in Sweden); a leader of the pop art movement who was noted for giant sculptures of common objects (born in 1929)
Claes Thure Oldenburg, Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen; is it just to an architect's prejudiced eye that they seem rather more solemn and pompous when they are not working with Frank Gehry Frank Owen Gehry, CC (born Ephraim Owen Goldberg, February 28, 1929) is a Pritzker Prize winning architect based in Los Angeles, California.
His buildings, including his private residence, have become tourist attractions. ? Round the corner Roy Lichtenstein provides a reminder that he is still alive with cartoon houses set on angled planes so that they seem to change in perspective as you move round them - an old fairground trick performed here with such pretension Pretension
See also Hypocrisy.
Prey (See QUARRY.)
Pride (See BOASTFULNESS, EGOTISM, VANITY.)
vain, officious parish clerk. [Br. Lit. that it loses all excitement. The Saatchiesque consumerist fatuities of people like Julian Schnabel This article or section may contain original research or unverified claims.
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Julian Schnabel (b. and Jeff Koons Jeff Koons (born January 21, 1955), is an American artist. He is noted for his use of kitsch imagery using painting, sculpture and other forms, often in large scale. Life and art
Early life and work , and the necrophiliac enjoyments of human violence and distortion by Dinos and Jake Chapman are celebrated. Even so, the main pavilion contains fine things for instance Agnes Martin's delicate striated striated /stri·at·ed/ (stri´at-ed) having stripes or striae.
having streaks or striae, e.g. striate retinopathy.
see brush border. abstracts, Anselm Keifer's old-fashioned struggles with the nature of paint and the landscape of the Auvergne, and Marina Abramovic's moving and strange slow videos of performance art commentaries on Bosnia.
But, as usual, much of the more interesting work (and, of course, even more pretentious rubbish) is to be found in the national pavilions, where artists who are relatively unknown are often brought to international attention for the first time. Rachel Whiteread Rachel Whiteread CBE (born 1963) is a British artist, best known for her sculptures, which typically take the form of casts, and first woman to win the Turner Prize. is not one of these, but her casts of everyday objects arranged in the British pavilion make one of the most potent places in the whole exhibition: her white room of books, cast from numerous paperbacks on standard shelves, was made specially for the building and is luminous, evocative of literacy and domesticity alike; her use of warm, slightly soft resin in pieces like 'Bath' adds a more tender note to her usually ascetic and abstract repertoire.
Ivan Kafka's 'From Nowhere to Nowhere/903 Arrows' was, for me, the most powerful installation in the whole Biennale. When you go into the Czech pavilion, the air is full of arrows. In the past, Kafka has apparently made something of a fetish fetish (fĕt`ĭsh), inanimate object believed to possess some magical power. The fetish may be a natural thing, such as a stone, a feather, a shell, or the claw of an animal, or it may be artificial, such as carvings in wood. of violence and medieval weapons Medieval weapons varied from simple tools to complex engines of emerging medieval warfare technology. Axes
Half Kafka's arrows point in one direction, half in the other, some say symbolising the sundering of Czechoslovakia. The division of the nation is more obviously illustrated in the pavilion itself, for while the Czech Republic exhibits at the front of the building, the back gallery is Slovakia's. Here, Ondrej Rudavsky, who has previously investigated light and space mostly in film and video, has made a multi-media event, in part of which marvellously delicate stainless-steel wire curtain-like hangings (made from fishing traces with their connections sparely honed to elegance by ancient use) explore space against each other and a black void.
Another remarkable use of wire is in the Korean pavilion, where two young artists, sculptor Hyung-Woo Lee, and painter Ik-Joong Kang, exhibit together in the newest national pavilion (completed in 1995 by Seok Chul Kim). While most of us may have affectionate feelings about some materials (wood, stone and so on), very few of them actually inspire revulsion and deep dislike. Barbed wire barbed wire, wire composed of two zinc-coated steel strands twisted together and having barbs spaced regularly along them. The need for barbed wire arose in the 19th cent. is one, but Lee has made it into something that seems to approach nobility. A hollow sphere of the stuff greets you before the entrance to the building, and suddenly it seems almost welcoming with its constantly changing presence, which fluctuates according to your position between being almost transparent to entirely opaque. He uses similar effects elsewhere, but his principal contributions to the interior are floors laid out in fine grids with small, simple, evocative, mostly Euclidean solids arranged with perfect precision. These are complemented by Kang's images on the walls: 11 484 of them, each 3in (75mm) square, colourful, endlessly varied from words and letters to people and plants, diagrams and the occasional third dimension. There are some themes, but these remain mostly concealed by the artist: it is the visitor who must make up personal stories from floor and walls. Whether there is enough content in the individual elements for you to generate narratives is a test of your stamina and post-modernity.
The significance of content is nowhere in doubt in the Nordic pavilion, where exhibits grapple in several ways with relationships between nature and culture, technology and humanity. I particularly liked Henrik Hakansson's strange systems for displaying and encouraging the life cycle of butterflies. He will, I am sure, be dismissed by fashionable art critics and commercially successful artists as a biology master gone arty. But his work celebrates life unlike Damien Hirst (not represented here), whose sawn-through animals only make picturesque spectacles of dreary reductive re·duc·tive
1. Of or relating to reduction.
2. Relating to, being an instance of, or exhibiting reductionism.
3. Relating to or being an instance of reductivism. nineteenth-century approaches to the wonderful complexities of being, like specimens in formaldehyde at school. Hakansson's work shows death, but without relishing it with the disgusting chic-violence of Dinos and Jake Chapman. Hakansson is so fond of his fellow creatures that he once arranged a rave party for frogs in southern Sweden - much less profitable than sawing up versions of shop-window mannequins and covering them with red paint.
It is appropriate that Hakansson's funny, tender, modest celebration of life should be found in Sverre Fehn's serene Nordic pavilion, which, having been excellently restored as a calmly shaded promenade and elegant exhibition area, puts most others to shame. P.D.