The Venice Biennale and Nationalism

I was recently thinking about the work of Ragnar Kjartansson, the young artist representing Iceland at this year's Venice Biennale (whom I blogged about a few weeks ago). Isn't it interesting, I thought to myself, that his work is supposed to represent the entire country of Iceland. What makes his work distinctly Icelandic? And what is so American about Bruce Nauman's conceptual pieces, for that matter? With the advent of technology--and particularly that speedy mechanism which keeps us all "connected", the internet--the art world has indubitably expanded to international scope, but how many artists think in national terms? To put it more bluntly: is it outdated to be conceiving of art fairs and biennials by nationality?

The Venice Biennale has a long history stretching back to 1895, when it was one of many international fairs created in the spirit of internationalism and curiosity, eclecticism and exoticism. The nationalistic chauvinism of the Venice Biennale, World Expo (also called World's Fair) and other fairs was especially fresh; many European countries had undergone revolutions and governmental changes in the nineteenth century, resulting in completely new states. Germany was unified into a modern nation-state in 1871; Italy finalized its unification with the repossession of the Papal State from the French in 1870; France, too, had established the Third Republic at the end of the Franco-Prussian war, also in 1870 (dates taken from Wikipedia). These toddler nation-states, among others, were proud and eager to formalize a national cultural heritage to solidify a political one. 

The other function of the world cultural fair was, of course, educational. Although a strong bourgeois class had emerged in the nineteenth century, it would still be several decades before world travel became a pastime for the middle class; travel was still a time-consuming and expensive enterprise, exclusive only to the wealthy. The world fairs and exhibitions were the only means to introduce most Europeans to the cultural and artistic heritages of many countries, near and far. The assemblage and compartmentalization of cultures did also have that the effect of Darwinian scrutiny or circus sideshow awe, as Europeans marveled at the exotic people and places represented.

Now, over a century later, the Venice Biennale is still a major art fair--one of the most important in the world--which has expanded to include satellite fairs, festivals within the biennal (such as film festivals) and more. But the tradition of national pavilions remains, despite the fact that we undeniably live in a time of postnationalism. Postnationalism, for those who need a definition, is the understanding that with the globalization of economy, business, communication, and yes, the arts, we no longer self-identify in national terms, but global ones. 

British artist Steve McQueen addressed these issues of nationalism at the Venice Biennale by showing a film that captures the shabby, derelict ruins of the national pavilions before they are made spic and span for the art fair.  According to an article from The Independent, he noted, "[In the film] the American pavilion looks like a real façade, it was not particularly solid, it had boarded windows, there was a siren going off. It was derelict. But see it now (at the biennale) and its all new and shiny."

A critique of the superficiality of national chauvinism is apparent. As McQueen said himself, "These [national] lines are always blurred. The idea of nationalism is imposed on us. At certain moments, these lines are blurred, and sometimes they don't exist."

I understand that the national organization of the exhibition is a very basic method of efficient organization: with hundreds of thousands of artists across the world, the curators need some kind of systematization, and the easiest way to do that is to have a curatorial team in Madrid take care of the Spaniards, a curatorial team in Buenos Aires scope out the Argentine offerings, etc. But must the artists then be exhibited by their country? What if the Biennale was organized more thematically? The pavilion of artists who address political persecution? The pavilion of artists who address environmental issues? In this postnational world, would thematic pavilions not more swiftly highlight our human similarities rather than artificial national differences? I ask again: How relevant are these national divides in the art world?