Venice For Beginners

Part 1…

Earlier this month, I was lucky enough to attend the launch of the 55^th Venice Biennale. This was made possible by a Go and See Bursary from a-n, which is why I’m posting this blog; part of the terms of receiving the bursary were to post a blog or review relating to the biennale. I was asked to do some paid reviews too, so consequently spent the three days I was there dashing around seeing what I had to see, with little time to meander and see anything else. I’m not complaining about this, at all, it just means I don’t really have anything else to review that I haven’t already covered. If you want to see those pieces, you’ll find them on the a-n site. I hope you enjoy them.

So, what do I write here?

I just figured I’d write a bit of a report of my experience of the biennale. So, it’s not a review and it’s not a blog either (I’m not there, sending you live morsels of juicy Venetian art-tattle, nor will there be a follow up to this under this blog heading). It doesn’t really fit anywhere. Which, I guess, is as good a starting point as any for an experiential account of the biennale launch.

Although I live in Cardiff, I decided to fly out of the East Midlands, as by the time I had gotten round to looking for flights etc., it worked out cheaper for me to catch the train to EMA and fly from there than to fly more locally. The only downside was that you can only fly to Treviso, about an hour away from Venice proper. The full full round trip meant a train to Nottingham>Bus to EMA>Plane to Treviso>Bus to Venice – Biennale – Bus to Treviso>Plane to Bristol>Bus to Cardiff. All to save myself about £130. I’m not sure it was worth it. The saving of the money, I mean. Though this bus/train/plane algebra is a game that any artist gets very good at as they move through their career. Boarding the train to Nottingham didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary as I teach at Nottingham Trent Uni, so am used to doing the three-and-a-half hour train journey, each way, about once a week; another insight in to the working life of an artist – totally impractical commutes for little financial gain, but the pay-off of professional satisfaction. I always kid myself I’m going to use the time productively and do some work, but in the four years I’ve been making this commute, I’ve rarely managed to drag myself away from ‘Breaking Bad’, ‘Louie’ or whatever else I’m working my way through at the time. Even ‘The Metro’ acts as a distraction, primarily for the animal picture you normally get around page 5. The potential to work is always there though. Potential is good.

As is par for the course in any given life-experience these days, I posted on facebook, ‘Anyone else on the 18.00 from EMA to Venice tonight?’

Part 2…

This was a genuine question – I know a lot of people in Nottingham and figured there was a good chance someone would be. It would be nice to meet up and share the journey, maybe even a drink. I was also very aware that this kind of message also reads as, ‘I’m going to Venice, I doubt you are, but now you know I am. Bet you wish your life was as exciting as mine.’ It wasn’t meant like that though. (‘Hi, sorry I can’t make your exhibition opening, but I’m going to be somewhere brilliant, abroad, on a residency for a few months. I know you didn’t need to know that, but now everyone knows I’m doing something really exciting and I’ve managed to square in my head that it’s not a boast and loosely drape it in the guise of a disappointed invitation decline – sad-face emoticon.’) On this occasion, I received two interesting replies. One from Candice Jacobs (artist and curator of the ATTIC space at One Thoresby Street, Nottingham) and another from Beth Bate (Director of all things cultural attached to the Great North Run). Two people I’ve known for ages and great messages for different reasons. Candice had also received a bursary and was going to be on the same flight. Great. Beth replied with, ‘I think Mark Wallinger is’. I know Beth has worked with MW a lot, so had no particular reason to disbelieve her, but found myself wondering, ‘Why would he be flying from East Mids? I’m sure he lives in London. I doubt he’s had to worry about trying to save £130 on his flights. How odd.’ But who knows…

I’ve done the Skylink bus journey from Nottingham quite a few times in the past, but they’ve changed the route it follows. I’m sure they have. So I spent a good part of the journey utterly convinced I was on the wrong bus, even though it said, ‘Skylink EMA’ on the front, on the windows and in every other direction I cared to look. Suffice to say, we arrived at the airport. As I’d gotten on the bus the driver was ready to leave, so as I offered my £10 note for a ticket, he said, ‘Just sit down, I’ll sort it out later’. Things like this naturally make me quite anxious. At what point later? Is it my job to pursue the ticket? Or is it his job to ask? This rattled around my head the whole way there, occasionally pausing itself to allow me to worry I was on the wrong bus, then launching off again seconds later. As I walked past the driver on my way off the bus, I stopped and re-offered my £10, which was met with a conspiratorial wink and shake of the head indicating I was OK just to exit the bus without fear of prosecution. Result. This was going to be a good weekend.

Part 3…

I headed straight for the queue through to departures. It was quite busy and the line snaked back and forth on itself five or six times. It was on my second snake that I spotted Candice joining the queue at the back. So how was this to work, did we have to say hello every time we slowly snaked past each other? Did we say hello once, then ignore each other until through to the other side? Did we pretend not to spot each other until we were through and do it all in one go? In a queue moving that slowly, even if you decide to say hello right away, at what point do you begin the hello? – you can easily be close enough to make eye-contact and speak to each other, a significant time before the queue puts you right next to each other, but this risks being mis-read by the others stuck between you, they might think you’re talking to them because of the acute angle. It’s a worry. A combination of all three worked out just fine, then it was on to the bar. Whilst sitting there, the familiar (and not entirely unexpected figure) of Mark Wallinger honed in to view, himself heading for said bar. When I say ‘familiar figure’, what I really mean is, ‘familiar to someone who has admired his work for more than twenty years, read and watched numerous books and documentaries about him and been in the professional situation to meet him on several occasions, but never has, partly due to fan-based fear’. That’s the kind of ‘familiar’ I mean. Ever the sane, fearless, person and knowing what an influence he’s been on me, Candice said, ‘Well why don’t you go and talk to him?’ Of course, I would just rack this up as another close-but-no-meeting-your-art-hero-cigar. It was around this point we bumped in to another of the East Midlands cohort, John Plowman of the Beacon Art Project (a great project you must look at it if you don’t know it already. I was fortunate enough partake in one of their ‘Beacon Bi-Monthlies’ – an event where John opens his house and invites a couple of artists to talk about their work to an audience of whoever wants to come along. There’s beer, wine, home-made soup, comfy chairs and great conversation. As a model for such an event, I think it’s damn near perfect.)

I’m not a huge fan of flying, so any pre-flight preparation usually involves at least two pints of strong lager, but I’d decided not to drink at all whilst I was away. We all know how boozy art things can get and I was going to be in Venice on limited time, with work to do. The hangover induced lethargy just wouldn’t be worth it. On the plane Candice went from telling me how disorganised she felt, to showing me her self-typed itinerary. Lists of opening, shows, parties; it was as organised and well-constructed list I’d ever seen. I felt unprepared, but then I knew exactly what I had to see, as I had to write about it. Anything else I saw would be a bonus.

Part 4…

When we got off the plane, we went in search of the bus in to Venice and quickly found ourselves in the queue and in conversation with Mark Wallinger (it’s the post-flight smokers bond, Candice later informed me). Then John Plowman joined us with a casual, ‘Hello Mark, haven’t seen you in a while.’ It transpired that they had been at college together. What followed was a very pleasant, if slightly surreal, hour and a half, all the way in to Venice, bus and vaporetto ride, chatting with one of my long time art heroes. After that, I could have quite happily turned round and got straight back on the plane; surely I wasn’t going to experience anything better this weekend?

I’d not officially got anywhere to stay until the previous night, when some other good friends were arriving, with a spare bed in their hotel room. My plan was to crash on the floor of the Welsh Pavilion invigilators flat and, such is the way Venice works, Candice also had a spare bed in her apartment that night, which she very kindly offered. I’d forgotten just how ‘easy’ Venice is. By that, I mean you could literally get off the plane with no invite, no bed and no clue and you’d have a great time (this is exactly what I did the first time I went, in 2005, and am none the worse for it). There will always be someone you know, somewhere nearby, often a bit tipsy on spritz, high on art and more than happy to do a fellow artist/Brit a favour. Getting off at Arsenale, we headed in the vague direction of a restaurant I had been texted by Freya Dooley, one of the first flush of the Welsh invigilators. Attached to the Welsh presence at Venice is this invigilator programme, where instead of just paying locals to work the pavilion for 6 months, Wales Arts International and Arts Council Wales pay for selected Welsh artists to go and live and work in Venice for seven weeks at a time. A great idea. In that time, each artist is also encouraged to make a project, so the time spent there is an investment creatively as well as professionally. This runs for the full six months, so a good few artists get to benefit from this programme over the run of the show.

Barely minutes in to our walk, we stumbled upon the entire Welsh contingent, making their way for a last drink of the night at a nearby bar (Venice tends to close about 11.00pm, so this isn’t the late night drinkathon it may sound). Then it was back to the invigilator’s flat for one last, last drink of the night, along with an exhausted Bedwyr Williams, who had been doing press all day, after what sounded like a very long and tiring four week install. (An install which was well worth it by the way. The show is great. Yes, you’re right, I would say that wouldn’t I. But it’s true.) In a beautiful high-ceilinged, wooden-beamed room in a Venice apartment (I’m pretty sure every room in Venice fits this description), I eventually went to sleep at about 4am, on a tiny futon, smiling to myself about what lay ahead.

The following day, by 9.30am, I was stood outside the Giardini awaiting a 10am launch. I had a full day of seeing, thinking and writing ahead of me, as my first review deadline was the end of the following day. Half-way through my day, as I diligently made my way around this tidal wave of art, taking notes and mentally wording my piece, I got a text from Candice which better sums up how Venice works than anything I could write in a 1000 word review:

‘Getting pissed on champagne with Wallinger. He’s said he’ll get us in to the British party tonight.’