Sweet Dreams - seventh Havana Biennial exhibition, Cuba

Art in America, Oct, 2001 by Grady T. Turner

The Seventh Havana Biennial addressed the theme of "communication, "which many artists interpreted in terms of escape or migration.

A young man is seen from behind, his face turned away as he gazes at a sunset over the sea. A young woman is similarly posed, her arms held in front of her body. Looking past her bare shoulders, we share the view, perhaps also noting the tattoo that peeks over the edge of her tank top. For the duration of the Seventh Havana Biennial, these images, enlarged to the size of billboards, were attached to the crumbling walls of buildings in Old Havanna, the historic center of this port city.

Titled Seeing Otherwise, the photographs were made in Puerto Rico by the team of Jennifer Allora and Guillermo Calzadilla, who divide their time between that island and Brooklyn. But in the context of the Biennial, one might naturally have assumed that the subjects were contemplating the 90 miles that separate Cuba from Key West, while standing at the Malecon, the five-mile-long seawall and public gathering area that protects Havana from the advances of the Straits of Florida. Many other young people have considered that view and decided their fate: to risk their lives by sailing to the U.S., or to adapt to the strictures that kept their parents and grandparents on Cuban soil.

For outsiders accustomed to tales of Cuban repression, the images were striking. In the aftermath of the Elian Gonzalez saga, why did local officials tolerate such a blatant meditation on escape, displayed in so public a setting? Only a yanqui would ask this question. Habaneros appreciated the multiple interpretations of the photographs. Perhaps the man and woman were contemplating escape; perhaps they were simply admiring the sea; perhaps they were lonely and would find one other along the Malecon. Locals comfortably harbor many contradictory, ideas--about life, about politics, about art--that undermine any easy stereotypes of Cuba.

That nuanced attitude has helped to make the Havana Biennial, with only seven outings since 1984, one of the most significant art events in this hemisphere. This has been true since the Fifth Biennial of 1994 [see A.i.A., Oct. '94], when the legalization of the dollar encouraged U.S. critics, collectors and curators to join colleagues from the Caribbean and Central and South America. Word spread that there was something unique in Havana: the Biennial's emphasis on emerging artists from developing countries has introduced U.S. viewers to art that might otherwise have gone unnoticed in North America.

Featuring some 170 artists from 40 nations, the most recent Biennial was installed in dozens of museums, historic sites and public spaces throughout Old Havanna. This ambitious event was organized by the small staff of the Centro de Arte Contemporaneo Wifredo Lam, named for Cuba's famed modernist painter. The center's director, Nelson Herrera Ysla, posited the exhibition's ostensible theme, communication, in a thoughtful essay in the Biennial's thick but otherwise superficial catalogue.

If "communication" was a bit ironic as a theme for this Tower of Babel, it was all the more so because of the restrictions and complications faced by several artists. Participating in a major international art event in Cuba means accepting certain difficulties. Foreign artists, especially those dependent on electronic equipment, have to make contingency plans on the chance that imported items might be confiscated by customs officials. Their installations, once set up, are then subject to the electrical blackouts that have been a regular feature of Cuban life since 1991, when the collapse of the Soviet Union meant the end of oil subsidies for Cuba. And on occasion, issues of overt or implicit censorship may still arise, for Cuban and foreign artists alike.

A number of established international artists were included in the Biennial. Susan Hiller (England) transformed a darkened gallery into a confessional for macabre and irrational stories. Tiny speakers dangled from the ceiling on long cords, creating a dense forest of whispering vines. In English, French, Spanish and Portuguese, the speakers recounted odd incidents like alien abductions and poltergeist sightings. Less clearly connected to the show's theme were works by William Kentridge (South Africa), who was represented by a video from his recent work with silhouettes, and Annette Messager (France), who created a new installation incorporating cannonballs found nearby and an array of stuffed exotic birds acquired at considerable expense from a local taxidermist after a planned loan from a natural-history museum fell through. Strong as such contributions were, more excitement was generated by the work of many lesser-known artists, especially those from Cuba, where art schools are remarkably successful in graduating skilled young artists, and where mature artists tend toward a complex blend of pathos and conceptual wit.

Communication Breakdown

The greatest number of works in the Biennial were installed in the two colonial-era fortresses of the Parque Historico Morro y Cabana, situated on a seaside cliff across the bay from the old city. The two structures have served the martial goals of commanders from Philip II to Che Guevara, whose guerrilla forces occupied the buildings in 1959. Even today, the Morro-Cabana remains an active military base. In a locale so thoroughly infused with military history, it was perhaps unavoidable that some artists would draw official censure.