Federico Florian

In our age, marked by growing anxiety over a world that is disappearing and by the sense of living in a state of permanent crisis, ecology represents a frontier of possibility, drawing on intelligence, attentiveness, care and creativity. The term, initially technical and academic, has now become ‘branched out’, coming to encompass movements of resistance and regeneration.Filipa Ramos, tracing the history of the divide between humanity and the environment, tells us of artists who have centred their work on ecological issues, offering transformative proposals. Before them, in the 1960s, a number of pioneers – Joseph Beuys, Nancy Holt, Ana Mendieta, Joan Jonas – used various artistic languages to raise public awareness, anticipating the most recent generations.In these pages we read of attempts to interact with seal pups, of spiders displayed in a museum as masterpieces, of the revival of pastoral traditions and of river journeys to rediscover forgotten sounds. We learn to respect the enigmatic nature of certain peoples, that right to privacy all too often violated by the colonial gaze. And above all, we learn to move beyond our outrage at the state to which we have reduced our planet and to start afresh with those – such as Britta Marakatt-Labba, Tomás Saraceno, Eduardo Navarro, Pierre Huyghe or Tabita Rezaire – who are at the forefront of the fight against the devastation of the Earth.

How do we look at art today? In a very different way from just a few decades ago. We alternate between moments of total immersion in the works and others in which, smartphone in hand, we take photos and videos, scan QR codes or share on social media. The 21st-century viewer’s experience is a hybrid one, a constant oscillation between physical presence in the exhibition space and remote connection to a technological elsewhere.To describe this, Claire Bishop analyses four different practices of contemporary art, whose structures and expressive strategies respond to new modes of perception and attention characteristic of digital culture: ‘research-based art’, with its overload of information to be sifted through, typical of web browsing; exhibition-performances, designed to be viewed live but also captured on a mobile phone; ‘interventions’, a category historicised and theorised here for the first time, for which the public dimension, online circulation and the resulting virality are indispensable; finally, the fascination of many artists with modernist iconography, whose déjà-vu effect once again points to digital media and their endless collection of decontextualised images.At the heart of every discussion lies what Bishop calls ‘disordered attention’, a form of spectatorship based on complex dynamics between the subject, time and technology, as well as on the questioning of thought patterns, dominant narratives and exclusive rules. Without the obligation of depth or absolute concentration, dictated by modernist norms such as the white cube and their corresponding social models, the artwork of the new millennium lends itself to a freer and authentically collective experience.

In recent decades, there has been a proliferation of artists who, in shunning technical virtuosity, have produced works that challenge the very definition of painting. Enormous canvases overflowing with smudges and failed attempts bear witness to an intense struggle with the medium. Works of modest dimensions are further diminished by an uncertain hand and a sloppy style. Others still opt for self-sabotage, concealing their content behind torn canvases. Why on earth should painters sign paintings doomed to failure? Perhaps to free art from the yoke of the market and the expectations that have weighed upon painting for centuries.Artists such as Albert Oehlen, Mary Heilmann, David Hammons, Christopher Wool, Michael Krebber and Raoul De Keyser choose the path of impermanence, moving away not only from the idea of the ‘masterpiece’, but also from any semblance of completion. After all, Cézanne, with his tormented reinterpretations of Mont Sainte-Victoire, or Giacometti, with his unfinished portraits, already demonstrated a certain distrust of the finished work. The history of modern art is studded with acts of negation, of radical rejection: an attitude that finds resonance in Asian arts and philosophies, where the “unfinished” is perceived not as a flaw but as a quality to be appreciated and sought after.In the essays collected here – published from 2009 onwards – Raphael Rubinstein traces a genealogy of ‘provisional painting’ and explores an art capable of asserting its own transience as an authentic value.Afterword by Luca Bertolo

Established in 1895, the Venice Biennale is not only the oldest international art exhibition, but also the most eagerly awaited event. A coveted destination for every artist and curator, it has always imposed itself as a mirror of the contemporary and, at the same time, its subversion. This is well known by Massimiliano Gioni who, well before he was the youngest to lead the lagoon kermesse, every two years interviewed the Biennale's directors, meeting them at Caffè Paradiso, the historic café at the entrance to its Giardini.Through recollections, anecdotes and confessions, Gioni recounts a 30-year history from the point of view of those who conquered the Biennale and experienced it first-hand. He recounts the challenges common to all - the struggle against time and a budget that is never enough - and those specific to each, such as the choice of artists or the difficulties at the time of the Covid epidemic; the inspirations drawn from his own, or others', experience; the various attempts to establish a dialogue between present, past and future; the desire to break down traditions and bring a new vision of curating as well as of the Biennale itself. But most of all, what emerges from these conversations is the unmistakable imprint that each of them has left on their edition.Like snow crystals, in their complex and ever-changing weave, in the same way each Biennale is a universe of its own to which each director has wanted to do justice, thus describing an ever-changing world.

A sense of euphoria and invigorating plenty pervade the world of Jeff Koons and his body of work addressing the allure of mass-consumer goods, banal objects whose almost erotic enticement is further heightened by his use of mirror-like materials that turn the pieces into voluptuous temptresses who seek to seduce viewers by getting them to heed the same siren song which they themselves purvey.As brilliant and intense as his sculptures, Koons talks about himself and his work during these conversations with Massimiliano Gioni, held between 2018 and 2021. The interviewer’s critical insight prompts the artist to review key chapters of his past, from his childhood in Pennsylvania to his encounter with Duchamp, from his travels in Italy in search of the most skilled ceramics craftsmen to his recent commissions in Paris and Qatar. The underlying philosophy to art, which combines avant-garde tradition with an outlook of openness and acceptance of the world at large, is laid bare. Embracing a typically American form of eccentricity, Koons accepts his own history, taste and desires, even. His freedom from any distinction between high and low culture allows him to draw with equal ease from both home appliance stores and Italian renaissance art, with which he has always dealt on an equal footing. In total freedom.

In this lucid and concise essay, David Levi Strauss explores the relation between truth and photography. Based on the assumption that "we only need to see in order to believe", Levi Strauss examines the figure of Saint Thomas in the Gospels, investigates the relation between faith and the Holy Shroud – considered by some scholars as the first proto-photographic image in history –, and discusses the contributions to the subject by critics and philosophers such as Walter Benjamin, John Berger and Roland Barthes.A relevant portion of the book is dedicated to the writings of Vilém Flusser and his “technical images” and to the intersection of magic and technology, while the last chapter is a reflection on contemporary times: in a world inhabited by deepfake, how has the relation between faith and photography evolved? Can we still believe images?

You’ve always dreamed of being an artist and are almost convinced that you’ve got what it takes but when it comes to the point, you are too petrified to take the plunge. A little jeering voice tells you that you’re not really all that good, your CV isn’t up to it, you’re too stupid or in any case not very original, you won’t fool anyone and they’ll all see that you’re a phony. If these demons attack, get to work straight away. The only way to defeat the scourge of creative block is by trying and exposing yourself to the terrifying probability of being a flop. This guide crammed with useful advice and practical exercises by Jerry Saltz invites you to enter the darkest and most threatening depths of your psyche, to discover the resources you have deep down inside you, to give free rein to your vision and find the courage, in the name of art, to present it in public. And if it is true that everything becomes possible when you go from hesitation to action, don’t worry about doing it well, just do it. Have faith in your taste even when it’s a source of embarrassment. Make imagination your mantra. Break free of the tyranny of conventions and turn them to your own ends. Never forget that while art is a vessel into which you pour yourself, it is also and above all a strategy of survival, an activity just as urgent as eating or breathing.