| “The future is the obsolete in reverse.”—Vladimir Nabokov
Following on the heels of the failed Manifesta 6, in Nicosia, Cypress, cancelled due to political disagreements between curators and local organizers, this year’s Manifesta 7 spans four cities of an entire region. This is a first in the history of this nomadic European biennial of contemporary art, which is usually hosted by individual cities. The level of ambition here—six official venues, two art museums, three curatorial teams, over 200 artists, and dozens of parallel events—may seem like a bit of an overcompensation for a missed year, but ultimately is commendable. |
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Gillian Sneed
Manifattura Tabacchi, Rovereto, Opening Day, 2008. Photo credit: Träger. Courtesy of Manifesta 7.“The future is the obsolete in reverse.”—Vladimir Nabokov
Following on the heels of the failed Manifesta 6, in Nicosia, Cypress, cancelled due to political disagreements between curators and local organizers, this year’s Manifesta 7 spans four cities of an entire region. This is a first in the history of this nomadic European biennial of contemporary art, which is usually hosted by individual cities. The level of ambition here—six official venues, two art museums, three curatorial teams, over 200 artists, and dozens of parallel events—may seem like a bit of an overcompensation for a missed year, but ultimately is commendable.
Much like Cypress, the Trentino-Alto Adige region of northern Italy has experienced its share of ethnic tension and border disputes. Nestled amongst the Dolomites, this idyllic Alpine district was once a part of Austria-Hungary, and to this day about 35 percent of its population is ethnically German. However, after annexation to Italy in 1919 and Mussolini’s program of “Italianization,” the German-speaking minority suffered years of marginalization. After eventually being granted the political status of an “autonomous” region, German separatist hostilities began to ease. Under the European Union, cross-border tensions have improved, though vestiges of this conflicted past seem to seethe just beneath the surface.
It is the very history of this region—not just its ethnic strife, but also its turn-of-the-century industrialization, and its consequent role in the development of Futurism—that Manifesta’s curators take as points of departure in their four exhibitions. Notable for their innovative, collaborative, and interdisciplinary approaches, they have utilized the venues not just as “containers of artworks” but rather as “intellectual starting point[s]” to weave together the residue of the history of this region with conceptualizations of its potential.
This hopeful look toward the future is particularly embodied in Adam Budak’s Principle Hope, a sprawling, sometimes unfocused, exhibition of mostly conceptual art and installation, located in Rovereto. Working with several sub-curators, the Graz-based Budak ambitiously curates in three venues: the railway station, a 19th-century tobacco factory (“Manifattura Tabacchi”), and an early 20th-century cocoa factory (“ex-Peterlini”). Principle Hope aims to to refigure the model of a small town saddled by its conflicted identity, lost past, and disused structures into a paradigm of renewed anticipation. Budak advocates moving beyond the notion of the “nation-state” through an approach of “critical regionalism,” a form of local self-awareness that works to resolve tensions between globalization and localism, modernity and tradition. Effectively constructing a kind of “laboratory of collective daydreams,” he transforms these venues from locations burdened by their industrial pasts to spaces of utopic possibility, excavating “a residue of hope” in the process.
One highlight here is Fuga di un Piano (2008) an installation at Manifattura Tabacchi by Uqbar Foundation, a collaborative project by artists Marian Castillo Deball and Irene Kopelman. Here they present a series of white, geometric constructions with hinged foldable surfaces that function as structures of display for an assortment of strange ceramic objects and a stack of self-published books entitled Fiore Inesistenti in Natura. Having executed research at the International Center for the Study of Futurism (housed at Mart in Rovereto) they explore Futurist ideals as well as the concept of the archive itself. Exploiting Jorge Luis Borges’ notion of fictional realities through an examination of imagined futures, artificial intelligence, and utopian science, they elegantly fuse the theories of writers such as Italo Calvino, Alejo Carpentier, and Fortunato Depero to create a compelling physical testament to these ideas.
Like Principle Hope, The Soul (or, Much Trouble in the Transportation of Souls), an oppressively labyrinthine exhibition in Trento’s “Palazzo delle Poste,” also looks to the future. Yet here, Berlin-based curators Anselm Franke and Hila Peleg explore future possibilities for the soul. While Budak examines public space and geopolitical borders, Franke and Peleg turn inward to frame the soul itself as a kind of border region, or “interior frontier” existing between subjective and objective experience. Through The Soul, they aim to present various representations of interiority in order to reveal how these images function as forms of creative resistance that can reverse traditional power relations.
With the show’s proliferation of middling film and video, it is impossible to absorb everything in one visit. Noteworthy pieces include Omer Fast’s gripping quasi-documentary derived from conversations with morticians, entitled Looking Pretty for God (After G.W.) (2008), and Marcus Coates’ captivating Dawn Chorus (2007), a multi channel video installation in which the conversational tones of individual speakers are replaced with melodious birdsongs. Particularly mesmerizing is Rosalind Nashashibi’s The Prisoner (2008), a 16mm film loop played through two projectors depicting an anonymous high-heel clad woman as she walks. Pursued by the camera, she hastily navigates the dark corridors and crowded streets of an urban environment. As the single film print loops through the adjacent projectors, we witness two films projected side by side, differentiated by a slight lag time. Exploiting this delay, the artist adroitly manipulates the psychological tension of the film, while cleverly deconstructing our understandings of time and reality.
Rationalist in architectural style, the former post-office that houses these works was a regional center for telecommunications in the 30s, as well as a depository for artworks by well-known Futurists (only a few of which still remain). Once on the architectural, artistic, and technological vanguard, it had been a beacon of modernity. Today it exists as “a ruin of invested hope,” both physically and ideologically. Despite the curators’ intentional aim to inculcate the show with the history of the building itself, its tight corridors flanked by an infinite number of tiny offices don’t translate well into exhibition spaces. It still feels bureaucratic and over-crowded. There is too much information to process, and few practical routes for maneuvering. With the exception of the thought-provoking “miniature museums,” a series of didactic mock archival displays dedicated to several of the show’s themes, The Soul as an overall exhibition is ineffective in its content, layout, and inability to take more chances.
In contrast, The Rest of Now, located in “ex-Alumix,” a defunct aluminum factory in Bolzano, takes many chances, which while not generally well received, actually results in a surprising, stimulating, and challenging exhibition. Curated by the New Dehli-based trio, Raqs Media Collective, which functions as artists, media makers, and curators, the exhibition considers time, particularly the concept of residue. Contrasting the Futurists’ passion for speed with the quietude and stillness of an abandoned factory, Raqs endeavors to take a moment to “consider what remains from a century devoted to the breathless pursuit of tomorrow’s promised riches.” Proclaiming the ex-Alumix “a monument to its own residue,” they employ its remains as a platform for the subtle negotiation of remembering and honoring the past in order to move on. “The after-image of residue,” they assert, “may be a critique and an antidote to the narrative conceit of progress.” The impressively massive open area encased by the structure’s rusted hulk serves as a space of intimacy, where we are invited to slow down and reflect.
While some of the weakest work in the biennial can be found here, many of the finest works Manifesta has to offer are here as well. One highlight is Jorge Otero-Pailos’ The Ethics of Dust (2008), an immense sheet of latex, onto which the dusty residue of pollution from the actual walls of the factory has been meticulously preserved. Also notable is Francesco Gennari’s Come se (2001), a small, wilted, chemically-preserved cypress tree placed sadly on the floor. Such works demonstrate the centrality of process to the artistic investigations at this venue. The notion of the archive as a residue of history is also plumbed in innovative works such as Lawrence Liang’s Pandora’s Index (2008), a classic library card catalog labeled with improbable index titles (“Lost & Found,” Incomplete Texts,” and “Damaged Manuscripts”), and Neil Cummings’ and Marysia Lewandowska’s provocative film program entitled Post-Production (2008), a selection from the Enthusiasts Archive, a collection of poignant amateur films made by Polish film clubs during the 70s and 80s.
The final venue, Fortezza, a Habsburg fortress located near the Austro-Italian border, serves as the site for Manifesta 7’s most innovative project: Scenarios, a collaborative endeavor by all the curators. Reflecting on the immaterial and the ephemeral in contemporary art practice and theory, it introduces a series of minimal interventions into the stronghold’s empty shell. Through sound and light installations, and a series of silent films, it excavates the unrealized potential of the space. A powerful testiment to a sense of absence, loss, and redundancy, the edifice is refigured as a kind of memorial to its own residue. Haunting in its potent simplicity, it crosses the threshold from curated exhibition to artwork.
As is usually the case, Manifesta functions as an advertisement for regional tourism, showcasing the area’s cultural developments. To this end are several parallel exhibitions hosted by two relatively new, yet surprisingly exceptional, contemporary art institutions: the five-year old Mart in Rovereto, and the just-opened Museion in Bolzano. With Museion’s impressive permanent collection of contemporary art, and Mart’s excellent Futurist and Arte Povera collections, as well as its current temporary exhibitions showcasing international art, Eurasia, and Contemporary Germany, both institutions offer outstanding viewing experiences.
Resurrecting itself from the residue of its own past failure, Manifesta 7 has proven itself worthy of consideration. It should particularly be credited for its admirable commitment to interdisciplinary experimentation and collaboration, conceptual and intellectual ingenuity, and an ethical and carefully considered approach to its host communities. Though at times awkward and overwhelming, it is a fair and justified attempt to assert relevant commentary not just on the past of a region, but on the present moment, and our collective future.
