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.’
