As an artist that works between 2D and 3D, I'm always fascinated by those that have managed to develop processes that allow them to do this seamlessly. In the USA pavilion Jeffrey Gibson, in his exhibition, 'The space in which to place me', demonstrated how a strong sense of formal design could be used to hold together wide ranges of materials as well as very strong colour combinations. His North American Indian heritage is mined for these formal principles, therefore both signalling his heritage and pointing to the fact that many cultures have in the past relied on abstraction and geometry as frameworks on which they have developed very specific cultural identities; Modernism was not the 'owner' or inventor of abstraction.
Embroidered inserts were locked into compositions that used a symmetry derived from the art of the indigenous people
Navaho carpet designs
Jeffrey Gibson has developed a hybrid visual language that draws from American pop art, minimalism, the art of indigenous people and which also references particular subcultures that he taps into. He is a Choctaw Indian of Cherokee descent, and has lived in urban centres of the United States, Germany, and Korea. In his work, intertribal aesthetics, beadwork, textiles, and found objects from the past two centuries commingle with the visual languages of global modernism. His use of pattern and abstract geometries is a form of cultural critique, that engages with these complex histories rather than erasing them. Gibson develops a space in which Indigenous art, together with a broad spectrum of other cultural expressions and identities are shown to be central to the American experience.
I was particularly taken with these thread and beadwork portrait busts. They had a powerful presence, and the use of a simple symmetry, helped to give formal coherence to the masses of small coloured beads and other items that were used to construct them. The embedded badge states, "If we settle for what they're giving us we deserve what we get". A reminder that so many indigenous people lost their lands and had their ways of making a living taken away, and therefore had to rely on state handouts to survive. They were then labeled as work shy by the very culture that had stolen their livelihoods.
I wasn't as convinced by the heavily textured 'ducks' but liked the fact that they were an attempt to make animal forms with a similar conviction to the human ones.
When you make a ceramic pot or vessel, it is a 3D realisation of your own body's dexterity, a frozen form that captures the movements of its making. Therefore pots have often been used as substitutes for human heads or bodies. Ceramics is of course one of the oldest art forms, and by using pottery within his sculptures, Gibson reminds us again that there are other powerful visual traditions, that can still have relevance, including his own Cherokee culture.
Cherokee artist Davy Arch, "Gumby Pot", 2005
Ceramic and textiles
Large freestanding figures using structures taken from indigenous peoples' tribal costumes
I wasn't sure Gibson had achieved a proper synthesis in these figures, but I could see the intention. Sometimes you just want to do too much; for instance the glaze of the pot/head was bright, but not quite right in terms of overall design. I didn't think the dripped glaze was right and there is such a long history of Cherokee pottery, that I'm sure some of the forms developed historically would have fitted much better.
I was still thinking about how interesting peoples costumes could be as we moved on to the Nordic pavilion. This was devoted to the Altersea Opera, written as a hymn to diversity, displacement and belonging and the costumes that had been designed for the performers had all been based on Japanese kimonos and had been decorated with scenes meant to illustrate various narratives developed within the opera.
The project was conceived and conceptualised by artist Lap-See Lam (Sweden) and realised in collaboration with experimental composer Tze Yeung Ho (Norway) and textile artist Kholod Hawash (Finland). At the centre of the story, lies the Cantonese mythological figure Lo Ting, (half fish, half man) and his longing to return to his former life in Fragrant Harbour; a narrative that is meant to suggest many of the stories told by migrant peoples, of their forced displacement and their thoughts of 'home'. Perhaps because of the fact I was already thinking about the power of clothing as symbolic form, my attention was mainly focused on Kholod Hawash’s textiles that took the form of a sculptural installation using kimonos stretched over bamboo frames. The Altersea Opera merges both real and imaginary stories all related to the diasporic experience, and it leaves us with a recognition of the need to move on and at some point leave behind but not forget previous experiences.
Kholod Hawash: embroidered kimonos
However I also felt that the operatic form was too steeped in western history and its overblown structures made it hard to express genuine emotional engagement with the story; or at least it prevented me from getting this. I wanted something more simple and direct.
Daniel Otero Torres
Because of the nature of the biennale theme there were many reminders of the dangers faced by migrants, such as Daniel Otero Torres's presentation of a simple terracotta relief of a raft with people's belongings on it; a very unobtrusive piece that could easily be overlooked. I think it may have emerged from a community project he was working on, so it may not even have been made by him, but even so, a small image picked out in clay, sometimes can mean more to me than a full opera.
A full sized cart carrying carved wooden eels reflected how memories of home can morph and grow, becoming something strange within whatever stage becomes the new normal.
Brett Graham, Wastelands
Brett Graham uses a distinct Māori visual language to construct a contemporary narrative. Graham’s sculpture Wastelands (2024) is a carved pātaka (storehouse) on wheels, implying mobility, transience, and separation from homeland. The pātaka was traditionally used by the Māori as a storehouse for food and treasures, often bearing particularly ornate carving across the lintel, indicative of the wealth and prestige of the community. Instead of using traditional carved patterns, Graham covers his pātaka in carved forms representing eels, a traditional Māori food source. In 1858, as part of the colonial project, the New Zealand government passed the Waste Lands Act, which shifted the designation of the large swamp lands within which the Māori used to catch eels to “waste”. The act transferred the understanding of swamps as they were now thought of as unoccupiable land, so they could be drained and turned towards western agriculture. Graham reminds us that for the Māori eels were once as valuable as gold and that you don't have to be a migrant to be displaced from your own land.
But probably the most poignant work for myself was that of Bouchra Khalili, who in 'The Mapping Journey Project' (2008–11) used a simple format of videoing a hand holding a marker pen as it followed the narrative of various people who had left their homes and had since been travelling the world looking for another one.
Bouchra Khalili 'The Mapping Journey Project' (2008–11)
To view this work you sat on a seat directly in front of each projection, so that you could listen to a migration the story being told by the person who had experienced it, whilst at the same time watching a pen mark a map. The people recorded were very matter of fact about their experiences. "I saved up money so that I could get someone to help me get away from where I was. They took me to .... and then they disappeared with my papers. Then after working for two years in... I was able to get some false papers made and used them to go to...The police there realised my papers were false and I was deported to...." etc. etc. All were stories to break your heart and yet they were told as if these were recountings of everyday experiences; which I suppose they were for the people involved.
I have tried as an artist to reflect on similar experiences myself, making work that attempted to visualise the stories told to me by migrants who had arrived in Leeds. The work I made at the time made me very aware that I was just one of countless artists all over the world who had been trying to make some sort of sense of an ongoing situation that art cant change. But perhaps by transforming experiences into an art form, we can make sure that the situation isn't forgotten. For myself the work was a realisation that every single person that has had to face leaving their homeland and travelling into the unknown, has had to face a trauma that those of us like myself who live settled lives in stable countries, have so far never had to experience. Hopefully this means that I will have more empathy with those people who after such traumatic journeys, finally end up in the vicinity of Leeds and try to help them with the process of settling in. Our recent experiences when trying to support someone threatened with deportation to the Gambia, have been a reminder that Kafka was indeed prescient as to the role of bureaucracy and the due process of law, when situations such as people's rights to stay in a country arise. This is undoubtedly so that people don't have to deal with people. It's so much easier to let systems make decisions as to people's fates, rather than to look across the room at someone and make a decision as to their future, then and there in front of them. Suddenly people become real and as they do, moral anxiety kicks in, because you know what is going to happen will affect real people in real ways.
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