The Venice Biennale or the impossible neutrality of art in the face of the chaos of the world

If you are looking for a good barometer of world tensions, do not look at the United Nations, but rather at the Venice Biennale of Contemporary Art, which kicked off this week. The Venice Biennale is like the Olympic Games of contemporary art, where artists represent states, and the grand prize, the Golden Lion, is equivalent to a medal at the Olympics.

This year, the biennale is in turmoil, on the brink of apoplexy, impacted by the major conflicts of our time: the Russian invasion of Ukraine, Gaza, and even Donald Trump. On Wednesday, as a form of artistic counter-programming, an alliance between Femen, the group of feminists with bared breasts, and Pussy Riots, the masked Russian rockers, protested loudly in front of the Russian pavilion. Shortly after, a procession in memory of Gaza artists killed in the Israeli war took place in the biennale aisles, imitating the haunting sound of drones.

But the crisis goes beyond artistic performance. The jury that awards the prizes resigned en masse last week; the European Commission will withdraw its subsidy from the cultural event, and the Italian government is at odds with the biennale organizers.

The cause of this turmoil is the decision of biennale president Pietrangelo Buttafuoco, against the advice of the Italian government, to invite Russia and Israel, two countries whose leaders are under an International Criminal Court arrest warrant. Russia was excluded in 2024 after the Russian invasion of Ukraine, so it was a return while the war continues.

These disturbances, rarely reaching such intensity, reignite the eternal debate on the relationship between art and politics. But in Venice, the debate is quickly settled, as unlike traditional art fairs, the over a century-old biennale presents national pavilions, with artists chosen by governments.

Artists from around the world have been debating this situation for months, with the dominant feeling being that neutrality is impossible in the face of wars and crimes committed by states represented in Venice.

The impact is even greater because participation in the biennale falls under soft power, a form of state diplomacy to change their image. For many artists, remaining silent equals complicity in the “whitewashing” of crimes committed while art is on display in Venice. This is particularly striking in the case of Russia, as the Commissioner of the Russian pavilion is the daughter of a European-sanctioned arms industry oligarch.

The biennale management is paying dearly for its risky choice to ignore an exacerbated global context and push forward: the event will be permanently weakened. However, the response of artists to the tumult of the world is not simple: what should be the criteria for their outrage so that it is not selective? And what can their symbolic power do when wars are raging? This year, Venice is the crossroads of all the questions of a fractured world.