We Made It in Venice! But Then …? Reversing Notions of Center and Periphery

At each Venice Biennale, the visitors get to experience the encounter of independently curated national pavilions and the artistic director’s thematic exhibition. The latter is always presented in the same two venues: the Arsenale, a tunnel-like space where in old times ropes for the marine were twisted, and in the central pavilion of the so-called Giardini. This park hosts the national pavilions of the European nations, who are part of the inaugural core group of 1895, whereas the other countries rent sections of the Arsenale and other venues in the city, palazzos or transformed factories for example (see Köhler 2020: 84 for the history of the biennale and distribution of pavilions). Cecilia Alemani was chosen artistic director of this 59th Biennale, which was scheduled to take place in 2021. However, due to the pandemic, the Biennale opened one year later, in 2022. According to Roberto Cicutto, the president of the Venice Biennale, Alemani’s choice to focus on the relationship of human bodies to their environment, their fragility, could have to do with this biennial being entirely planned from video conferences and no physical studio visits (Margutti et al. 2022: 39). Alemani wanted to give space to processes of transformation, dissolve rigid distinctions of gender, and break up categories confining notions of human–animal– machine, as she wrote in the introduction of the catalogue (Margutti et al. 2022: 44–45). Of the more than 200 artists she invited, 180 “have never had their work in the International Art Exhibition until now”(Margutti et al. 2022: 44–45) and 80% were women. As a matter of fact, many artworks alluded to human anatomies, be it replicas, or imagined organs, some in action, palpitating with liquids moving around, others in between actions, as the video of a woman cleaning the organs of a rubber sex puppet between clients’ visits demonstrated.1 Five “historical capsules” interspersed in both venues, showed pioneer work of artists2 exploring different forms of “trans” and “post” that, according to Alemani, offered a “web of references” (Margutti et al. 2022: 46) that encouraged the present generation to continue exploring new territories and cross borders.3 The title Milk of Dreams was borrowed from a book by the surrealist artist-writer Leonora Carrington, who stood up for a world of magic and transformation and was sanctioned and marginalized (Margutti et al. 2022: 43). Paintings by Kudzanai-Violet Hwami (Biennale College Scholarship recipient) installed on black and white floor-to-ceiling wallpaper prints welcomed visitors in the