The 61st Venice Biennale was supposed to be a triumph of global voices and "Foreigners Everywhere." Instead, it’s a mess. Walk through the Giardini today and you won't just see avant-garde sculptures or experimental films. You'll see shuttered doors, heavy security, and a palpable sense of exhaustion. The world's most prestigious art gathering is currently choking on the very geopolitical tensions it tries to curate.
It's not just the rain. While grey skies have literally loomed over the opening week, the real dampener is a series of protests and high-profile departures that suggest the Biennale’s old-school model might be broken beyond repair. If you think art is a peaceful escape from the news cycle, you haven't been paying attention to what's happening in Venice right now. Meanwhile, you can read similar stories here: The Breath Held Underneath the Persian Gulf.
Why the Israel Pavilion remains a ghost town
The biggest story isn't what’s inside the pavilions, but what’s locked away. Ruth Patir, the artist chosen to represent Israel, made a choice that sent shockwaves through the lagoon. She refused to open her exhibition, "Motherland," until a ceasefire and hostage release deal is reached in Gaza.
It was a move that caught everyone off guard. You can walk up to the pavilion, but you'll only see a sign in the window. It’s a silent protest from within the system. This decision followed months of intense pressure from the Art Not Genocide Alliance (ANGA), a group that gathered thousands of signatures demanding Israel’s exclusion from the fair. To understand the bigger picture, check out the recent article by The Washington Post.
The Italian government and the Biennale board resisted those calls, citing the importance of "freedom of expression." But Patir’s self-imposed lockout effectively neutralized that argument. It’s a stalemate. On one side, you have activists who say the pavilion shouldn't exist at all this year. On the other, you have a national representative who feels she can't show art while people are dying. The result is a literal dead zone in the middle of the world's biggest art party.
The Russian Pavilion is now the Vatican of the East
If the Israeli pavilion is a site of protest, the Russian pavilion is a site of strange bedfellows. Russia hasn't participated since the invasion of Ukraine in 2022. Their building, a prime piece of real estate in the Giardini, sat empty—until now.
This year, the keys were handed over to Bolivia. It's a strategic move that reeks of "the enemy of my enemy is my friend." By hosting Bolivia, Russia keeps its footprint in Venice without actually having to show up and face the music. For Bolivia, it's a chance to have a massive presence they otherwise couldn't afford. It feels cynical. It’s a reminder that even the "Olympics of the art world" is susceptible to backroom deals and diplomatic maneuvering.
Resignations and the rot at the top
You can't talk about the 61st Biennale without talking about the leadership vacuum. The lead-up to this edition was marred by the sudden exit of several key figures. The most notable was the departure of the long-standing technical staff and curators who felt the institution was becoming too beholden to the right-wing Italian government’s cultural agenda.
Pietrangelo Buttafuoco, the new president of the Biennale, is a figure who polarizes the room. His appointment by Giorgia Meloni’s government sparked fears of a "cultural takeover." Critics argue that the Biennale is losing its independence. When the people who actually run the show start quitting because they don't like the political weather, you know the foundation is shaky.
Artists are feeling this shift. There’s a sense that the "Foreigners Everywhere" theme, curated by Adriano Pedrosa, is a safe, academic umbrella that doesn't quite cover the storm happening on the ground. Pedrosa’s focus on Indigenous, queer, and outsider artists is vital and overdue. Honestly, it’s some of the best work the Biennale has seen in years. But it’s being overshadowed by the fact that the institution itself is struggling to stay neutral.
The climate of fear and the heavy police presence
Walking between the Arsenale and the Giardini usually feels like a stroll through a creative utopia. Not this time. The security is intense. There are water police everywhere. Pro-Palestinian protesters have staged "die-ins" and marches, clashing with the curated, high-fashion vibe of the VIP previews.
I talked to a few gallerists who admitted they were "on edge." There’s a fear that any exhibition could become a target. This isn't just about the Middle East, either. Climate activists are also using the high-profile platform to highlight Venice’s own precarious future. The city is literally sinking, and the Biennale—with its massive carbon footprint and influx of private jets—is an easy target for accusations of hypocrisy.
What the critics are missing about the 61st edition
Most reports focus on the drama, but they miss how the drama is actually shaping the art. For the first time in a long while, the art feels secondary to the context. That’s a problem for the artists. When you’ve spent years preparing a career-defining installation only for the headlines to be about a resignation or a protest three pavilions down, it stings.
The "Foreigners Everywhere" theme is meant to celebrate the displaced and the marginalized. But the reality of the 2024/2025 political climate makes that celebration feel heavy. It’s hard to toast to "the global south" when the logistics of the event are being squeezed by "global north" power plays.
How to navigate the Biennale right now
If you’re heading to Venice, don't expect the usual polished experience. It’s gritty. It’s tense. And it’s arguably more "real" than it’s been in decades.
- Skip the main Giardini queues first. Head to the Arsenale early. The scale is massive, and the curation there feels more cohesive and less interrupted by the national pavilion drama.
- Keep an eye on the collateral events. Some of the most poignant responses to the current global state aren't in the official pavilions. Look for the off-site activations in Cannaregio and Dorsoduro.
- Acknowledge the silence. Spend a moment at the Israeli pavilion. Whether you agree with the protest or not, the empty space is a powerful testament to the limits of cultural diplomacy.
- Support the Ukrainian pavilion. Their presence is a feat of sheer will. "Net Making," their exhibition, is a masterclass in how art can function as a tool for survival and community building during wartime.
The 61st Venice Biennale will be remembered as the year the world wouldn't stay outside the gates. The "dark clouds" everyone is talking about aren't just weather patterns; they are the reality of a globalized art world that no longer has the luxury of pretending politics don't matter. The institution is at a crossroads. It can either evolve into a more transparent, flexible entity, or it can continue to buckle under the weight of its own prestige.
The next few months will determine if the Biennale remains a relevant cultural barometer or becomes a relic of a bygone era of "safe" diplomacy. Stop looking for the polished press release version of this event. The cracks are where the actual story lives. Go see the art, but keep your eyes on the shut doors. That's where the real conversation is happening.
