What does a national pavilion offer? (Essay, Feb. 2007)
What does a national pavilion offer?
Probably every visitor to the Biennale di Venezia has been torn between the charm of the pavilions, that are spread around the Biennale’s Giardini and in part the rest of the city, too, on the one hand, and the unusual fact, on the other, that here suddenly an exhibition goes hand in hand with representing a country. National pavilions in this form only exist at the Biennale di Venezia when it comes to exhibitions of contemporary art.
What should we make of this? Are the national pavilions a unique inimitable invention, as the artists and curators who are given the privilege of designing one of the pavilions are constantly claiming? Or are they an anachronistic relic of European nationalism from the first half of the 20th century, as art critics have been stating since the early 1960s? Are the national pavilions in Venice perhaps even a reactionary variable that keeps national sentiment alive in an age when art addresses global issues? In the forthcoming art summer, this question will encapsulate the difference between La Biennale di Venezia and the documenta in Kassel.
”While I was busy preparing my solo show at the French Pavilion at the 2003 Biennale di Venezia,” Jean-Marc Bustamante recalls, “someone suggested I swap the pavilion for that with the German selection - Martin Kippenberger and Candida Höfer. Essentially it was a great idea. I went to the German Pavilion but immediately saw that it would be impossible to showcase my art there. In 1993 I had viewed a piece by Hans Haacke in that selfsame pavilion. Beuys had been there in 1976. That is quite a different tradition. And I therefore abandoned the idea. I later discovered that some jubilee of a Franco-German Treaty was involved. But that has nothing to do with art.”
The anecdote about the German and French National Pavilions at the 2003 the Biennale di Venezia is illuminating in various respects. It highlights the ambivalence of the national pavilions and the different influences which the countries bring to bear on the artists they have appointed and who now have to represent their nations. At the same time, history shows how free artists actually are in this context. Both Jean-Marc Bustamante and German curator Julian Heynen dashed the idea voiced by the foreign ministries of their respective countries. No one could force them to obey a diplomatic idea, which would have caused a stir worldwide if realized. The story above all shows the concentrated unconditional manner in which the artist devised his solo show for a national pavilion in Venice. For Jean-Marc Bustamante, his artistic work might have been compromised. That is understandable as the national pavilion in Venice is a unique task for an artist: It is the only solo show in his or her career that will be visible and noticed worldwide. The examples Jean-Marc Bustamente lists – Joseph Beuys in 1976 and Hans Haacke in 1993, each in the German Pavilion – refer to artists who thanks to their respective solo shows in a national pavilion in Venice found long-term confirmation of their importance on the international stage.
To summarize: The national pavilions in Venice constitute an ambivalent exhibition medium. Every exhibition medium (large-scale international exhibitions, museums, state galleries, collector’s museums, galleries, national pavilions in Venice) is essentially ambivalent, but the pavilion in Venice has an additional unusual status in that the artist to a certain extent represents the government of the country that appointed him/her. This creates unusual constraints, but also means the artistic works and their importance receive special attention. At the same time, the national pavilions offer a unique opportunity to create a show that gets noticed worldwide that the artist personally largely defines and presents more or less irrespective of his or her position in the commercial art market.
In May 1968, Alain Jouffroy, one of the most influential and trailblazing artistic thinkers of the 1960s, demanded the exhibition pavilions in Venice be taken away from the individual states in order to denationalize them, as it were. Since then, there have often been discussions about using these charmingly laid out buildings in a different way and not for countries to exhibit in. In 1972, the City of Venice, the directors of the Biennale and the Italian art organizations resolved to reform the Biennale di Venezia. However, since this did not lead to tangible results, in 1974 there simply was no show, and in 1976 the founding nations were once again invited to decide on what to exhibit in their pavilions. In the 1990s, there were plans afoot for a major international show that would include all the pavilions. But even Harald Szeemann, the only exhibition organizer who possibly had the authority to carry off such a change, preserved the national pavilions in the two Biennales in 1999 and 2001 that he as the artistic director guided back to the status of the pre-eminent international art event. He pushed the expansion of the international exhibition areas in the other direction, into the Arsenale, the former Austrian military harbor.
What may at first sight seem like a surprisingly long lease of life for the national pavilions in Venice derives from the fact that most of them are anything but state establishments. This is especially true of the oldest pavilions, i.e., specifically those that arose in the Age of Nationalism. The first pavilion was the Belgian one, founded in 1907. At that time, Belgian artists convinced a domestic patron to pay for them to erect their own building outside the entrance to the Biennale exhibition palace (the Italian Pavilion today), as that way they would be able to avoid the whims of the Biennale jury, at that time dominated by Venetian artists, and could exhibit without a jury presiding over them. So the first pavilion was quite literally a “secession” from the Biennale and what was at the time its decidedly conservative jury. The Belgian move of 1907 set an example. British artists acquired the café in the Giardini on the artificial mound – today it is the British Pavilion. And thanks to private patronage, prior to World War I Munich artists (at the location where, at Hitler’s instruction, the new German Pavilion was erected in 1938), French, Hungarian and US artists all went independent with their own pavilions. The first state foundation was in 1914 in the form of the Russian Pavilion, which was opened by leading members of the Tsar’s family, only to be closed again ten weeks later because Russia was now at war with Italy.
From 1934 to 1944, the newly-built pavilions of the Axis states, including the Austrian one, served as manifest fascist instruments of propaganda. However, the first post-War Biennales as of 1948 were again used more freely by the artists. In 1950, Alberto Giacometti and Constantin Brancusi took up an invitation to a group show with Henri Laurens, only to withdraw at the very last minute to ensure their colleague Laurens, who had been excluded by the French art authorities two years before, could mount that solo show which guaranteed him an international reputation once and for all. A pavilion was used for the first time for a solo show in 1952, when the United States was represented solely by Alexander Calder, who, having been chosen by James Johnson Sweeney, main curator of the MoMA, made his major international breakthrough. In 1954, German artist Jean Arp won the Grand Prize for Sculpture thanks to his exhibition in the French Pavilion, avoiding the conservatism of the West German selectors of the day – until 1968 dominated by leading museum curators of the years 1934-7.
This should not be read to mean that the national pavilions at the Biennale di Venezia were not subjected to state influence. The role of governments becomes especially apparent in the disputes surrounding the Golden Lion. When, in 1964, Robert Rauschenberg won the Grand Prize for Painting – something recognized worldwide as a symbol for New York having ousted Paris as the world capital of art – one could sense the threat by the Kennedy Administration that, if the decision was to go otherwise, the US would withdraw from all future biennials. In 1986, France won the Grand Prize again when the Commissioner of the French Pavilion, Suzanne Pagé, made certain French Minister of Culture Jack Lang was a member of the jury selecting the winner.
At times, the notion of the national pavilion has been approached with great zest. In 1997, Bert Theis and curator Enrico Lunghi organized a Luxembourg Pavilion – it consisted solely of a white plastic façade between the Belgian and Dutch Pavilions, with a chill-out zone behind. The project was difficult to organize as most of the pavilions in Venice are owned exterritorialy, and they had to negotiate with three governments. In June 1990, the East German Pavilion with the officious selection by the post-Communist regime was empty when it opened, as the young artists who had been left out of things, including Neo Rauch, intercepted the international guests to the opening at the entrance to the pavilion.
Countless national pavilions in the Biennale’s Giardini were built between 1948 and 1968, when the “multipolar world” first became a major theme. Brazil, Venezuela, Japan, Canada and South Korea all erected their own pavilions at this time. Ever since 1990 a good dozen former Communist states as well as China opened their own respective national pavilions by renting space in Venice.
Instead of becoming obsolete, the national pavilions have thus increased once more in recent years. How can we explain this? The answer is simple. National pavilions of this kind exist as a major international show only in Venice, and a national pavilion (particularly at a central location, and particularly in the Giardini) is the platform for a show noticed worldwide, irrespective of who is artistic director of the respective Biennale. The national pavilions form a unique unity perceived as such by the public in the midst of a large exhibition on the current output of key contemporary artists. And that makes them so unmistakable.
Robert Fleck
© Robert Fleck, Feb. 2007
⇒ How do you create a Biennial pavilion? (Jan. 2007)
⇒ The Austrian Pavilion
⇒ Artists and Commissioners of the last 30 years:
⇒ What does a national pavilion offer? (Essay, Feb. 2007)
⇒ History of the Austrian Pavilion (Essay, April 2007)
⇒ Herbert Brandl - Austrian Pavilion - 52nd. International Art Exhibition - La Biennale di Venezia
What does a national pavilion offer?
Probably every visitor to the Biennale di Venezia has been torn between the charm of the pavilions, that are spread around the Biennale’s Giardini and in part the rest of the city, too, on the one hand, and the unusual fact, on the other, that here suddenly an exhibition goes hand in hand with representing a country. National pavilions in this form only exist at the Biennale di Venezia when it comes to exhibitions of contemporary art.
What should we make of this? Are the national pavilions a unique inimitable invention, as the artists and curators who are given the privilege of designing one of the pavilions are constantly claiming? Or are they an anachronistic relic of European nationalism from the first half of the 20th century, as art critics have been stating since the early 1960s? Are the national pavilions in Venice perhaps even a reactionary variable that keeps national sentiment alive in an age when art addresses global issues? In the forthcoming art summer, this question will encapsulate the difference between La Biennale di Venezia and the documenta in Kassel.
”While I was busy preparing my solo show at the French Pavilion at the 2003 Biennale di Venezia,” Jean-Marc Bustamante recalls, “someone suggested I swap the pavilion for that with the German selection - Martin Kippenberger and Candida Höfer. Essentially it was a great idea. I went to the German Pavilion but immediately saw that it would be impossible to showcase my art there. In 1993 I had viewed a piece by Hans Haacke in that selfsame pavilion. Beuys had been there in 1976. That is quite a different tradition. And I therefore abandoned the idea. I later discovered that some jubilee of a Franco-German Treaty was involved. But that has nothing to do with art.”
The anecdote about the German and French National Pavilions at the 2003 the Biennale di Venezia is illuminating in various respects. It highlights the ambivalence of the national pavilions and the different influences which the countries bring to bear on the artists they have appointed and who now have to represent their nations. At the same time, history shows how free artists actually are in this context. Both Jean-Marc Bustamante and German curator Julian Heynen dashed the idea voiced by the foreign ministries of their respective countries. No one could force them to obey a diplomatic idea, which would have caused a stir worldwide if realized. The story above all shows the concentrated unconditional manner in which the artist devised his solo show for a national pavilion in Venice. For Jean-Marc Bustamante, his artistic work might have been compromised. That is understandable as the national pavilion in Venice is a unique task for an artist: It is the only solo show in his or her career that will be visible and noticed worldwide. The examples Jean-Marc Bustamente lists – Joseph Beuys in 1976 and Hans Haacke in 1993, each in the German Pavilion – refer to artists who thanks to their respective solo shows in a national pavilion in Venice found long-term confirmation of their importance on the international stage.
To summarize: The national pavilions in Venice constitute an ambivalent exhibition medium. Every exhibition medium (large-scale international exhibitions, museums, state galleries, collector’s museums, galleries, national pavilions in Venice) is essentially ambivalent, but the pavilion in Venice has an additional unusual status in that the artist to a certain extent represents the government of the country that appointed him/her. This creates unusual constraints, but also means the artistic works and their importance receive special attention. At the same time, the national pavilions offer a unique opportunity to create a show that gets noticed worldwide that the artist personally largely defines and presents more or less irrespective of his or her position in the commercial art market.
In May 1968, Alain Jouffroy, one of the most influential and trailblazing artistic thinkers of the 1960s, demanded the exhibition pavilions in Venice be taken away from the individual states in order to denationalize them, as it were. Since then, there have often been discussions about using these charmingly laid out buildings in a different way and not for countries to exhibit in. In 1972, the City of Venice, the directors of the Biennale and the Italian art organizations resolved to reform the Biennale di Venezia. However, since this did not lead to tangible results, in 1974 there simply was no show, and in 1976 the founding nations were once again invited to decide on what to exhibit in their pavilions. In the 1990s, there were plans afoot for a major international show that would include all the pavilions. But even Harald Szeemann, the only exhibition organizer who possibly had the authority to carry off such a change, preserved the national pavilions in the two Biennales in 1999 and 2001 that he as the artistic director guided back to the status of the pre-eminent international art event. He pushed the expansion of the international exhibition areas in the other direction, into the Arsenale, the former Austrian military harbor.
What may at first sight seem like a surprisingly long lease of life for the national pavilions in Venice derives from the fact that most of them are anything but state establishments. This is especially true of the oldest pavilions, i.e., specifically those that arose in the Age of Nationalism. The first pavilion was the Belgian one, founded in 1907. At that time, Belgian artists convinced a domestic patron to pay for them to erect their own building outside the entrance to the Biennale exhibition palace (the Italian Pavilion today), as that way they would be able to avoid the whims of the Biennale jury, at that time dominated by Venetian artists, and could exhibit without a jury presiding over them. So the first pavilion was quite literally a “secession” from the Biennale and what was at the time its decidedly conservative jury. The Belgian move of 1907 set an example. British artists acquired the café in the Giardini on the artificial mound – today it is the British Pavilion. And thanks to private patronage, prior to World War I Munich artists (at the location where, at Hitler’s instruction, the new German Pavilion was erected in 1938), French, Hungarian and US artists all went independent with their own pavilions. The first state foundation was in 1914 in the form of the Russian Pavilion, which was opened by leading members of the Tsar’s family, only to be closed again ten weeks later because Russia was now at war with Italy.
From 1934 to 1944, the newly-built pavilions of the Axis states, including the Austrian one, served as manifest fascist instruments of propaganda. However, the first post-War Biennales as of 1948 were again used more freely by the artists. In 1950, Alberto Giacometti and Constantin Brancusi took up an invitation to a group show with Henri Laurens, only to withdraw at the very last minute to ensure their colleague Laurens, who had been excluded by the French art authorities two years before, could mount that solo show which guaranteed him an international reputation once and for all. A pavilion was used for the first time for a solo show in 1952, when the United States was represented solely by Alexander Calder, who, having been chosen by James Johnson Sweeney, main curator of the MoMA, made his major international breakthrough. In 1954, German artist Jean Arp won the Grand Prize for Sculpture thanks to his exhibition in the French Pavilion, avoiding the conservatism of the West German selectors of the day – until 1968 dominated by leading museum curators of the years 1934-7.
This should not be read to mean that the national pavilions at the Biennale di Venezia were not subjected to state influence. The role of governments becomes especially apparent in the disputes surrounding the Golden Lion. When, in 1964, Robert Rauschenberg won the Grand Prize for Painting – something recognized worldwide as a symbol for New York having ousted Paris as the world capital of art – one could sense the threat by the Kennedy Administration that, if the decision was to go otherwise, the US would withdraw from all future biennials. In 1986, France won the Grand Prize again when the Commissioner of the French Pavilion, Suzanne Pagé, made certain French Minister of Culture Jack Lang was a member of the jury selecting the winner.
At times, the notion of the national pavilion has been approached with great zest. In 1997, Bert Theis and curator Enrico Lunghi organized a Luxembourg Pavilion – it consisted solely of a white plastic façade between the Belgian and Dutch Pavilions, with a chill-out zone behind. The project was difficult to organize as most of the pavilions in Venice are owned exterritorialy, and they had to negotiate with three governments. In June 1990, the East German Pavilion with the officious selection by the post-Communist regime was empty when it opened, as the young artists who had been left out of things, including Neo Rauch, intercepted the international guests to the opening at the entrance to the pavilion.
Countless national pavilions in the Biennale’s Giardini were built between 1948 and 1968, when the “multipolar world” first became a major theme. Brazil, Venezuela, Japan, Canada and South Korea all erected their own pavilions at this time. Ever since 1990 a good dozen former Communist states as well as China opened their own respective national pavilions by renting space in Venice.
Instead of becoming obsolete, the national pavilions have thus increased once more in recent years. How can we explain this? The answer is simple. National pavilions of this kind exist as a major international show only in Venice, and a national pavilion (particularly at a central location, and particularly in the Giardini) is the platform for a show noticed worldwide, irrespective of who is artistic director of the respective Biennale. The national pavilions form a unique unity perceived as such by the public in the midst of a large exhibition on the current output of key contemporary artists. And that makes them so unmistakable.
Robert Fleck
© Robert Fleck, Feb. 2007
⇒ How do you create a Biennial pavilion? (Jan. 2007)
⇒ The Austrian Pavilion
⇒ Artists and Commissioners of the last 30 years:
⇒ What does a national pavilion offer? (Essay, Feb. 2007)
⇒ History of the Austrian Pavilion (Essay, April 2007)
⇒ Herbert Brandl - Austrian Pavilion - 52nd. International Art Exhibition - La Biennale di Venezia
