Design Federation sent Miss Pigelle to Venice to unmask the Biennale beast.

Venice – Flamboyant, vital Venice. The magical backdrop to the Biennale drapes her buildings and boats in posters like heraldic flags, shouting wonderful, and often nonsensical, messages from the art world to the bewildered visitors. In some ways, the posters are enough art for your average tourist to chew through than the actual exhibitions themselves. But I was undaunted, marching across the island determined to see what has been dubbed by the arteratti as the “Biennale Lite” due to scaled down finances and slim pickings.

The Giardini Publicci another world city park, at the far eastern end of this madcap floating, sinking city. Get lost in shrubs and, just like in Hyde Park, Central Park or the Englischer Gardens, one can stumble upon lovers rolling in the cigarette butts and twigs, overly exposed sunbakers, backpackers enjoying a cheeky joint and determined sight see-ers resting their sensible walking-shoed feet.

But unlike its botanical colleagues, every two years the Giardini hosts the oldest and one of the most prominent international visual arts events on the planet.

So there I was, traipsing about La Biennale di Venezia, in flip flops no less (which turned out to be wise because the full moon tides flooded San Marco square destroying designer sneakers everywhere) through the park, when I met a pirate. Shy along with her merry band of shabby chic New Yorkers had sailed their rickety raft to be present at the festival as part of a group called The Swimming Cities of Serenissima, who were putting on a performance spectacular called “The Clutchess of Cuckoo” incorporating live music, shadow puppetry and storytelling.

The Adriatic coastline was dotted with installation pieces afloat and absurd. It seems for these few weeks Venice is home to artists everywhere, conspiring to stretch the imaginations of the spectators. Some of the luxury yachts provided an artistic presence unintentionally, with Roman Abramovich’s looming boats appearing around corners in dramatic sweeps, much to the delight of Chelsea F.C. fans and other happy snappers.

The crisis means toned down parties this year (apparently) so I didn’t feel so bad about not being invited to any. But that doesn’t mean that the Ukraine pavilion wasn’t generously splashing the prosecco about, which I found myself sipping with arty types (cropped hair, black attire, axe-wound slash of red lipstick and grim disposition seems to be the uniform here.) Their opening party was attended by Naomi Campbell, the artists Jeff Koons and Antony Gormley and the gallery owner Jay Jopling.

There was a lot of chatter and attention around this pavilion, most notably due to its terrifying curator, Wladimir Klitschko the 6ft 5in tall, former world heavyweight boxing champion and Olympic gold medallist… and his poster. The Accademia Gallery was cloaked with his image promoting the Ukrainian Pavilion, which is bankrolled by a steel magnate who made no secret about his hopes for the exhibit to claim the Golden Lion, the top prize at this year’s biennale. Hopes dashed by the standout exhibition by U.S. artist Bruce Nauman’s Topological Gardens organised by the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

In the thickening crowds, ducking into a quiet exhibition often had more to do with respite than art but these were the occasions that presented the most serendipitous discoveries. “The Temple of Sublime Beauty – Made in Taiwan” exhibition was most certainly my favourite stumbled-upon moments of the event. Seeking shade I entered San Giovanni ePaolo, Venice’s oldest cathedral, to be greeted by Wonderwoman and Yang Maolin’s solo exhibition. Endorsed by the Museum of Contemporary Art, Taipai and curated by German Dott Felix Schoeber, Maolin transformed this sacred space into a fascinating study of pop culture. His bronze sculptures turned comic book heroes and manga characters into deities of the modern world, with King Kong at once passionately embracing Ann and holding his new, extra arms in the position of a sacred Buddhist mudra (hand sign). Playing with the concepts of hybridisation and re-interpretation Yang reworked Mazinger Z, Peter Pan and Snow White as gods and goddesses displayed in their shrines.

“For many of us, these comic book heroes and heroines are companions while we are growing up and figures we worship and identify with,” the artist commented, “Doesn’t religion play the same role in many people’s lives?”

Australians, my be-thonged friends, were found milling about the Ludoteca like a Sunday afternoon at the pub. The  once-removed exhibition curated by Felicity Fenner, featured a series of installations linked by themes of Aboriginality, environment and displacement. The standout by a long shot was Vernon Ah Kee’s powerful CantChant (Wegrewhere.)

The Queensland-based, Indigenous artist’s multimedia world features a brilliant seven-minute film exploring ideas of Australia’s national identity and questioning racial issues by subverting the “Bronzed Aussie” surf-culture stereotype. His playful yet moving use of a hanged surfboard and huge, angry black text on white walls defiantly demand attention as they spit a disturbing picture of post-colonial social issues. “We Grew Here” makes haunting reference to the 2005 Cronulla riots, an incident which exposed the racism at our cultural core and turned the beach into a battlefield.

There was much fuss surrounding the Sydney artist Shaun Gladwell’s applauded MADDESTMAXIMVS at the Pavilion but with restricted viewing on the day I was there, I missed out. Not to worry though, Ah Kee’s brilliant contribution was pride-swelling enough. Here is an artist who is successfully expressing the dark truths of racism. As he told The Australian last year, “I’m expanding the idea of what it means to be Aboriginal and what it means to be human. A lot of the problem this country has with Aboriginal people is that it struggles to see Aboriginal people as fully human.”

Then, of course, there was the popular story about Belgian artist, Jacques Charlier, with his crude little genital pictures publicity stunt. The Biennale authorities declined to display his depiction of participating artist’s naughty bits, Charlier cried “Censorship!” and whipped up a storm in the canals. Touring through Venice on a boat he would dock so he and his groupies could distribute booklets of his drawings and hand out prizes to those who could pick the dick, so to speak (if you could identify 20 artists you earned yourself a free t-shirt.)

The Venice Biennale runs through Nov. 22. For more information, go to http://www.labiennale.org

Tags: 53rd International Art Exhibition, Ah Kee, Biennale, Venice