Art biennials are peculiar beasts, coming in many shapes and sizes and driven by a multitude of agendas. The Istanbul Biennial was initiated in 1987, at the time only the sixth biennial in the entire world (it’s estimated that there is now somewhere around 200).
It was an era before digital communications, when international travelling curators and critics were an elite group, and a new biennial of art was a big thing. As such, the Istanbul Biennial quickly garnered praise and status, enhanced by its exotic location on the frontier between Europe and Asia, in what was then still a modernising country.
Privately financed by global corporations then and now, the 14th edition, called Saltwater, draws to a close this Sunday after nine weeks. Curated by Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev (curator, Documenta 13), Saltwater has continued the character of the previous three biennials in being aloof from the city’s inhabitants – it is intellectual, desperately dry and suffers from all the problems of the biennial form. Baggy in format and overly self-important in its rhetoric, it is supercilious in any meaningful engagement with contemporary issues and politics.
Not least among the contemporary issues it shies away from is any acknowledgement of the volatile political climate in Turkey following a general election in June. In this election, President Recep Tayyip Erdogan lost his majority and subsequently failed to form a coalition government. A new snap election, the lead up to which has been characterised by political violence and division in the country, takes place on the biennial’s last day (1 November).
As in 2013 following protests that started in Taksim Square and spread to other Turkish cities, the Istanbul Biennial has been entirely overshadowed by Turkey’s political situation, unable or unwilling to comment, acknowledge or engage. After visiting the biennial in September shortly after it opened, I was left with the question that has plagued me for the last three biennial editions, and which I explored in my MPhil thesis, Destination Biennale!: what, exactly, is the point of the Istanbul Biennial?
Random and bewildering
At Istanbul Modern, the 2015 biennial’s main venue, a large number of random artworks by a bewildering number of artists, alive and dead, were presented alongside the odd anthropological artefact, document or contribution from Charles Leadbeater and Charles Darwin.
Displayed in a warehouse-like space with few effective juxtapositions, most works were conceptual in nature and generally difficult to decipher. Each was accompanied by a dense label about the artist and the particular artwork’s meaning, although the reason for their inclusion was rarely clear.
The show was characterised by a desire to hit buzzwords, with selected artists intended to suggest some form of political awareness and right on diversity (bark paintings from Djambawa Marawili for example), but it was facile and incoherent – or simply painfully literal.
Tacita Dean’s Salt, for example, is exactly that – a lump of salt with two found postcards. Marwan Rechmaoui, meanwhile, blocked access to library books using sheets of plexiglass, in an attempt to show “restricted access to knowledge”.
Despite the presence of artists of the stature of Michelangelo Pistoletto, for example, and the compelling interest in viewing an original Trotsky pamphlet revealing “the real situation in Russia” (from Christov-Bakargiev’s own collection), the show failed to give any sense of continuity, narrative or thematic engagement. What were the admittedly gorgeous art nouveau glassworks by Emile Gallé doing there, for example? Such a jumble of artists and works did a disservice to those being exhibited.
Given that contemporary high-art deals largely in conceptual ideas, and is therefore positioned within the realm of intellectual discourse, how credible is it for a high-profile art exhibition of this nature to ignore the context in which it is made and shown? What possible relevance can it have to anyone outside the rarefied world of the international art market?
And if it doesn’t have genuine contemporary relevance, or at least make some attempt towards it, then doesn’t this undermine the intellectual foundations – the source of its prestige – on which high-art is largely built and ultimately has to rely on?
Ideological stand-off
The protests in 2013 involved millions of citizens and were symptomatic of an ideological stand-off between the symbolism of the modernising, progressive Attaturk and the forces of conservatism represented by the Ottoman Empire. As the current political situation shows, this remains the greatest fault-line in Turkish society and one that remains unresolved.
In 2013, social media was the core of the movement, driving it forward, uniting millions of citizens of all ages, and enabling immediate communications. Importantly, it provided a voice and distribution network for satire, graffiti, caricatures and political cartoons, many of which went viral.
At least one Turkish magazine has been shut down subsequently as a result of its political sympathies, and author Abdurrahman Erol Ozkoray was given a 12-month prison sentence, for “insulting the President” in his book about the protests.
This is compelling and even urgent material for any international curator to get stuck into, as well as some form of modelling of what contemporary art practice could look like.
There are long-standing questions about why art is important to society and politics; how it can best be deployed; and about the liberal potential of art to influence the world.
With its international networks and profile, and the privileges of protection and publicity that come with that – along with a two-year planning process – here was a perfect opportunity for the Istanbul Biennial to actually demonstrate its relevance, sincerity and worth. It has failed on all three measures.
The 14th Istanbul Biennial continues until 1 November 2015. 14b.iksv.org
More on a-n.co.uk:
Istanbul Biennial opens with 1500 artworks across 36 venues
For extensive coverage of this year’s Venice Biennale, click on the venice 2015 tag
