my gesamtkunstwerk

It’s been a week and a day since I arrived, to fill in the shoes of past-intern (E-Lynn). I wake up to a bizarre mix of squawking pigeons and romantic Italian song. The twisty cobble stoned streets are lined with the standard pattern of: pizza and pasta restaurant, ‘is-it-actually-real’ murano glass shop, mask shop, gelato place. Every canal and bridge is home to duos of red stripped (emulating Waldo perhaps), Madeline-hat clad gondola men trying to lure me onto the plush velvet seats of their boat with “Ni Hao, Konnichiwa”…I have yet to be convinced. But there is nothing cookie cutter about this place, nothing ordinary about the opportunity of spending a month here. Venice feels like a giant gesamtkunstwerk: an all encompassing total work of art.



There have been all these moments I wish to remember. I suppose blogging is the most tangible form of doing so. Some highlights thus far:

Around a quarter to eight, we race up the stairs to the rooftop of our apartment, pop open yet another bottle of Bellini (to my great delight one of my beverages-of-choice is invented here) and pray it doesn’t fizz all over. The clouds change from milky white to a pinkish hue to a deep purple, as the baby blue sky is consumed by a murky sapphire hue. Venice is not a place known for nightlife, I appreciate this, for the streets are quiet. I never see any stars back home. Here, they shine, we mark out crosses, and I am duped into believing a flying plane is a shooting star. Silly me.

The daily consumption of copious amounts of pizza over girl talk and giggles from the same Her World article stereotyping Singaporean men as: the Smandex, the Foodie, the Lookster, the Tortist, etc… and waiting for the next episode of How I Met Your Mother to load.

It seems impossible to look at ALL the art that’s part of the Biennale. This frustrates me, as the national pavilions inside the Giardini are all impressive in their own right, some more so than others. Switzerland’s Crystal of Resistance by Thomas Hirschhorn is one of the most thought-provoking installations I have seen. It transports you, literally, to a whole new world. It seems nonsensical yet it is constructed with products we are all familiar with: cell phones, coke cans, q-tips, magazines… It’s like he took the principles of Arman to a whole new heyday, making it relevant for these complex times. A brilliantly loud political statement, almost ironic, coming from the Swiss pavilion.






The American pavilion is very American, courtesy of Allora and Calzadilla. Inside, there’s a huge organ linked with an ATM. Being too curious for my own good, I inserted my debit card into the ATM, and the organ started blasting music as the machine spit out my Euros. Outside, a complete showstopper: an obnoxiously thunderous tank with a man (wearing a USA tank top, of course) running on a treadmill. Everyone surrounds it taking photos and videos like paparazzi.*



Also, I have yet to see a single car. Unless I count the banged up BMW inside the Hungarian pavilion. It is isolated in a bare room, enveloped by blinding red light. Crash by Hajnal Nemeth is about how a singular moment can be slowed down in your memory, and the recollection of that one moment is stretched into an opera. Grandiose opera blasts from speakers all around the room, as I stare at the wrecked car. This, along with all these other assorted moments, are all part of the surreal experience of being here.

*Side note: the Venice Film Festival has begun. George Clooney and Jude Law are in town. Nat, Sze and I have gotten tickets to see two films tomorrow night at Lido Beach. Now, I finally understand why the theaters at Shaw are called Lido!

xo Steph Teo