Scotsman, United Kingdom
June 10 2007

Too much of a good thing
IAIN GALE

THE problem with Venice is that sometimes even the most informed
observer can’t tell what is art from what is just a part of everyday
life. As you walk and walk through the city’s labyrinth of tiny
streets or cruise the canals in packed motor buses your eyes struggle
to take everything in. Every tiny canal leading off the canal Grande,
every little side street strung with washing, yields an unexpected
vista packed with possibilities. One glimpse and it’s gone. And the
same is true of the 52nd Venice Biennale. For it’s that time again
and wherever you go here, from the Giardini with its official
pavilions to the massive Arsenale and the explosion of exhibitions
across the city – you are afforded tantalising glimpses of
creativity.

But such is the nature of contemporary art and so invoking as the
Biennale now become that the boundaries have become blurred. I’m
pretty certain that the wooden boat covered with children’s
paintings, moored by the Salute, is a work of art and I’m positive
the same could be said of the huge skull made from aluminium pots and
pans opposite the Ca Rezonico. What about that lorry containing a
mattress parked at the Arsenale? Or red, white and blue public
lavatories in the Giardini. And will someone please tell me why
life-sized pink crocodiles have been tied to the balconies of
selected houses along the canal? Perhaps they just mark out the
venues for more parties.

For the Biennale is all about parties. It’s where the international
art world comes to play. This year though I can’t help feeling that
the time might have come to put the toys back in the cupboard. The
Biennale has taken over Venice. To a greater extent than I can ever
remember, it is suffocating the city of Turner and Tiepolo and we
should remind ourselves that sometimes less is more. With 31
pavilions in the Giardini, 27 outside, dozens of artists in the
Arsenale, 42 shows across the city and now a selling art fair, this
festival no longer complements its hosts and in its ubiquity also
seems to have lowered its standards.

Such criticism cannot be applied to the Scottish Pavilion – our third
– which stands out as one of the highlights of the festival. Under
the aegis of the National Galleries, curator Philip Long has brought
together artists who represent the breadth and intelligence of
contemporary art in Scotland. The venue at the Armenian College in
Palazzo Zenobio is grander and more user friendly than before and
work is given space to breathe. It was also perfect for the opening
party, which was less self-conscious than in previous years, throwing
off any couthy, chippy Scottishness to become as truly international
and cosmopolitan as the art. And that, after the Prosecco has flowed,
is what we are here for.

Of the six Scottish (or Scottish trained) artists, four stand out in
particular and could easily hold their own alongside any in Venice
this year. Charles Avery’s seductive, supremely accomplished drawings
go from strength to strength, luring us into his parallel world. They
are complemented by his three dimensional work and, in particular,
the huge figure 2 in the courtyard, with its hint of arcane
significance. Henry Coombes, too, offers some engaging work – in
particular a short video piece which marries the visceral reality of
deer stalking with an inspired surrealism. Rosalind Nashashibi’s
reconstructed posters and moving video filmed on an Italian trawler
are as punchy and wistfully enigmatic as ever and Lucy Skaer’s
reptilian frottages reinforce the sense of duality that seems to run
through this show which fully engages the intellect with its subtle
brilliance.

The same cannot be said of rather too many of the international
offerings on view here. Those not to miss, however, include Sophie
Calle’s poignant if over-earnest love letter in the French Pavilion,
the Russians’ wonderfully slick and disturbing shower of contemporary
images and Canadian artist David Altmejd’s witty and disturbing
hybrid businessmen with turkey heads. And of course there is Tracey
Emin, who was clearly thrilled to have been chosen for the British
Pavilion. I have always held an ambivalent attitude to her work –
admiring the tent and the bed – but being less certain about the
drawings. Here though my doubts are annulled by work that shows an
innate talent both in draughtsmanship and intellectual content.

The problems are in the city itself where there are now so many
independent shows that it would take an entire week to do all
justice. It remains to be seen whether in two years this great
artistic monolith will have expanded still further. In the meantime
it is worth remembering that Venice is not just a vast gallery space
to be used as we will. It is itself a living work of art and the
greatest benchmark against which to judge anything on view. It has
always been a generous host to the art that invades it every two
years. But I can’t help wondering whether as its hospitality seems on
the brink of being abused, that host is beginning to hint that we
should take care not to upset the fragile balance between old and
new.

That said, this is still the only place to go if you want to gauge
the current state of world art. And whatever your views on whether
there is such a thing as Scottish art, the works on show here
carrying that label more than justify our confidence in our ability
to hold our own on the international stage.