Manifesta 10, which took place in St Petersburg last year, faced calls for a boycott after Russia passed its controversial anti-gay-propaganda law—but the Berlin-based curator Kasper König, who organised the exhibition, felt it was better to carry on. Here, he explains why.
The 20th anniversary of Manifesta, the roving European biennial founded after the fall of the Berlin Wall, fell in the same year as the 250th anniversary of the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg, providing an opportunity to stage the biennial in its most easterly venue so far. Unlike previous editions, the primary objective was not to present exclusively young contemporary art, but to show contemporary art of the highest quality to a less familiar audience—and without acting like missionaries in a place that has always been Russia’s window on the West.
A year before the opening, complications arose in the negotiations between the Manifesta Foundation in Amsterdam and the hosts. The political situation was changing rapidly and it became clear that agreements would not be reached as they would be in a civil society. However, supported by a largely Russian team, we managed to open the exhibition, which attracted 1.5 million visitors, in summer 2014.
Shot by both sides
The planning of the exhibition was a challenge and a balancing act. We were caught between a rock and a hard place—we were scrutinised by a partly neo-nationalistic Russian press on one hand and by Western critics on the other. Many of the participants began to ask themselves if it was legitimate to take part in an exhibition within an authoritarian regime that made no secret of its resentments.
Shortly after I signed my contract, for example, Russia’s unspeakable anti-gay-propaganda law was passed. But an immediate riposte did not seem necessary, because I had been aware since the early stages of the project that I was not operating in a civil society. It was also crucial for me to avoid any form of self-censorship. And for most of the artists we asked to take part, boycotting the exhibition under the auspices of a new Cold War would have been too simple; likewise, creating new works that articulated only ridicule or provocation.
Installing the show was a rollercoaster of joy, rejection, indifference and total non-understanding (knowing that only a minority of the visitors had an intense experience characterised by new discoveries). It became apparent that although the Hermitage goes far in defending the territory of art, it is out of its depth when it comes to a self-critical approach to artists, and it avoids conflict within the institution as much as possible.
To be able to work in this kind of environment, one has to put aside the expectations that are borne by such an exhibition. A show like Manifesta, even without bringing together provocative works that deliberately set out to challenge the hosts, incites critical debate around different conceptions of art and society. Take, for instance, Francis Alys’s site-specific Lada Kopeika (2014), which contains a lot of potential for irritation in this context, or Kristina Norman’s Souvenir (2014). It has always been important for me to put the work at the centre, to insist on the autonomy of art and to defend it if necessary. This belies a trust in contemporary art as art and a belief in its transformative power, bar any function as political commentary. Such a position, which opposes the ideological function of art, may not be trendy, but it is necessary if you want to do justice to artists and respect their work.
A plea for critical exchange
Some of the works that eventually went on show spoke of vulnerability or a sense of the absurd, rather than direct aggression, provocation or resistance. The fact that the exhibition took place at all, nestling within the legendary collection of the Winter Palace and the public spaces of the city, was itself a statement—a plea for critical exchange instead of isolation or a counter-productive confrontational approach. As Emily Joyce Evans and I wrote in the preface to the catalogue: “It remains a fact that Manifesta 10 is not a protest exhibition, although it does not exclude protest from art. Manifesta 10 is not a political exhibition, although it does not exclude politics.”
It disappointed me that certain Western art critics, who stayed for only a few days, accused us of merely showing well-known pieces; the show was even said to “smack of opportunism”. The perception of some international critics was limited to the main exhibition in the Hermitage and the General Staff Building, while the important public programme organised by Joanna Warsza in railway stations, parks, movie theatres and private homes enjoyed little attention, despite its broad resonance with the local audience. A film by the participating artist Pavel Braila is a fun way of grasping the absurdity of the situation: the Moldavian artist’s Hottest Summer in the Winter Palace, which is currently being finalised, provides a must-see glimpse behind the scenes of the exhibition, as well as a tribute to its wonderful team.
I want to emphasise that I cannot offer instructions on how best to stage an exhibition in a crisis. This depends on each specific location and situation, and must be discussed and reflected upon. But to maintain a dialogue despite conflict, rather than cutting the lines of communication entirely, sometimes seems to be a good way.