Have you ever seen how sets are drawn? - Lots of what?
- And nothing, just lots …
Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
One must think that curator Aaron Betsky deeply traumatized the architectural biennale in 2008 - for the second time the exhibition's leitmotif is a return to architecture. In the interpretation of this year's curator David Chipperfield, the main task was "to re-convince everyone of the existence of an architectural culture, created not by individual geniuses (read: stars), but by a community with a common history, common ambitions, premises and ideas." Consequently, the curator gave all the invited participants of the main program of the Biennale a difficult task: to show their most important thing, to find the deep meaning (to make it meaningfull). In other words, look for roots, identify the sources and components of your inspiration, key ideas and images, the original matter of their work. In order to then combine the found answers and see how they will interact on a common common ground, which in this case means - in the exhibition space.
The theme of the Biennale Common ground, suggested to Chipperfield by professor of sociology Richard Senett, is already interpreted in the manifesto in an ambiguous and multi-layered manner, giving the participants greater freedom. The first layer is the most understandable - these are public spaces. But not simple publis spaces in some offices and supermarkets, Chipperfield immediately stipulates, but the "subtlest semitones" between the private and the public, the results of the eternal struggle of the individual and the general. The second of the interpretations of the topic proposed in the curatorial manifesto is the interaction of an architect with related professions (“architecture requires teamwork,” writes Chipperfield). And finally, the third layer is the thinnest - the cultural and historical back-ground, which we all have in one way or another in common.
At the entrance to Corderi we are greeted by a white wall across the empty hall, a stone Venetian well in front of it, and several small, at first glance, completely randomly selected exhibitions: three simple formal comparisons, accompanied by short thoughtfulness from Bernard Chumi; an exhibition-newspaper dedicated to Venice with interviews of local residents; and the funniest Monument to Modernism, a “three-dimensional collage” of 20th century masterpieces (including Rusakov's Melnikov Club), invented by architect Robert Burchart in 2009 for a very specific location in Berlin. Three small (frankly, not the most significant at this Biennale) exhibition projects are not connected with each other in any way. The only connection between them is the common space of the hall and the common ground written on the wall. They are different, these projects, but they coexist and some connections inevitably arise between them.
This weird first room is in fact the clearest manifesto of Chipperfield's entire exhibit. Further along Cordery it will be the same: alternation, neighborhood and a mixture of large and small, spectacular with informative, formal with plot, young architects with old, obscure Indian builders with famous British stars - the list is almost endless. Curator David Chipperfield seems to have set out to collect here a spectrum of the diversity of the architectural world, presumably in order to collectively emerge from the apparent crisis of architectural thought. The Ark, not otherwise. There is at least one copy of each creature here.
I must say that the first hall looks a little scary: it looks like a supernumerary exhibition, which did not have enough material to surprise the viewer. Further (behind the wall) follows the austere delight of Thomas Strut's photographs, who does not immediately relieve the viewers from the fearful suspicion that they will be shown only framed pictures and cardboard mock-ups throughout Corderie. But the situation is different: absolutely amazing, if you look closely at them, Strut's photographs actually form the "core" of the entire curatorial exposition of the Arsenal - his exhibition is divided into four parts, which are then found in the most unexpected places. It is called 'Unconscious places' and shows the types of "historically formed" urban spaces, of which, as you know, the majority in the world: from the outskirts of St. Petersburg during the eclectic period, the chaotic outskirts of Lim, and to the eerie multi-storey buildings of Asian cities.
So, the exhibition is built, in fact, very clearly, even in a classic way: after a short introduction manifesto, the beginning of the “pivotal” exposition follows. In the next hall, there is the sensory impact of Norman Foster's installation: a dark space, where on the black floor, crawling onto the fusts of Corderi's columns, the projection of the names of architects from Hippodamus to Eisenmann flashes (following the principle of diversity, there are many names of little-known ones) The names of the architects are underfoot, like the tombstones of the humble abbots in Catholic churches. True, unlike plates, these names are so mobile that, if you look at them for a long time, your head will spin. Above, on the walls, accompanied by waves of noise or silence, photographs flicker, collected in several thematic groups: revolutions (including the Ukrainian Maidan and Femen), prayers, ruins, the consequences of disasters, some spectacular buildings - the visual range is impressive and compels inspect. This hall is definitely the first chord of the symphony.
A similar alternation: bright emotional halls, mono-halls of one object, and finally, halls, almost filled to the brim with small exhibitions, continues in the Arsenal and beyond. One might think that Chipperfield took figurative installations from the Shojima Biennale, from the Betsky Biennale, voluminous objects, diluted all this with "ordinary architectural" exhibitions - and made both participants and spectators look for meaning in all this. Which is not bad, because it made me think. The exhibition is not very entertaining (although it is there, after all, there is variety), it forces you to read and scrutinize, look for a key concept and talk about how much it is revealed. In Foster's hall, for example, it is literally revealed: the names of architects clash and bustle on a common semi-ground. But not only, of course. This is a very integral installation that includes all viewers in a common experience of sound and pictures.
The black hall of Foster is followed by a commune hall of several participants: the campus - the headquarters of the pharmaceutical company Novartis in Basel, Switzerland, is shown with models. Nearby is a miniature personal exhibition of 80-year-old Swiss architect Luigi Snozzi, who “dedicated forty years to work for the public good” and a video projection of the Pilgrim's Way project, in which young Mexican architects created a number of viewpoints, chapels and shelters along the 117-kilometer pilgrim path to the image of the Virgin Mary from Talpa. The only major accent in this room is the 'Vessel' object ('vessel' or 'ship') by Irish architects Sheila O'Donell and John Twomey, a wooden gazebo made of wooden planks 'for contemplation' (in this capacity it is a bit like 'Ear', built by Vlad Savinkin and Vladimir Kuzmin in Nikolo-Lenivets). In a word, the variety is obvious.
Then there is an artistic break in the small hall of the Swedish architect Peter Märkli and his colleague Steve Roth. Several sculptural metal figures are placed here, around the most valuable of which, Alberto Giacometti's Venetian Woman VIII, is surrounded by a guard. The meaning of the installation is quite classical: a comparison of a human figure (which, however, is guessed in the shown sculptures after some tension) with a column: the architects placed the figures at the intersection of imaginary straight lines connecting the hall's columns diagonally. Although this subtle design can only be considered according to the attached scheme - a less attentive viewer will consider that the figures are simply lined up in his path, and may even go around them with annoyance, glancing at the guard and not appreciating the sophistication of Giacometti. Meanwhile, the idea of the Märkli Hall most of all resembles the previous Shojima Biennale: its meaning is to reflect the architecture of the Arsenal, it is an endless biennial theme, although the idea is not limited to it: the presence of a classical proportional plot is more important here.
Then the fun begins: German classics, Zaha Hadid, Herzog & de Meuron and obscure Indian builders with Venezuelan squatters. We will talk about them a little later. Keep for updates.
