The 81st Whitney Biennial closed on August 11th. This year, curators Chrissie Iles and Meg Onli spent eleven months conducting investigations and research, visiting over two hundred artist studios, and ultimately selected 71 artists to participate in the show, including video projects. Remarkably, sixty-eight of these artists are making their debut in the exhibition. This biennial significantly showcases the emerging generation of artists in American contemporary art, highlighting their artistic styles, directions and the social and political issues they are concerned with.
The title of this year’s Whitney Biennial is Even Better Than the Real Thing. The curatorial statement begins by addressing the impact of artificial intelligence (AI) on our understanding of reality and further emphasizes how today’s rhetoric about gender and authenticity continues to heighten transphobia and restrict bodily autonomy in society. The statement appears to respond, albeit indirectly, to JK Rowling’s controversial tweet, arguing that her notion ignores the fact that the sex/gender binary has significant potential to harm both men and women by asserting what is “real” for the two categories. This rhetoric of authenticity thus severely limits our imagination when we endeavor to solve current sex/gender issues in society. The curatorial appeal of this Whitney Biennial is to encourage the audience to reflect on, question, and resist the “reality” currently defined by mainstream power, paving the way for sexual emancipation.
While introducing concepts of reality, AI, and sex/gender, the curatorial statement gives the impression that the exhibition might draw heavily on Donna Haraway’s Cyborg Manifesto and showcase high-tech hybridity, breaking binary sex/gender structures with the application of new technology. However, strictly speaking, the only work directly related to AI in the show is Holly Herndon and Mat Dryhurst’s xhairymutantx Embedding Study 1 (2024). Two other pieces that utilize technological materials to address sex/gender issues are P. Staff’s Afferent Nerves and A Travers Le Mal (2023) and Seba Calfuqueo’s Tray Tray Ko (2022). The former sets up an electrified grid under the ceiling of a yellow exhibition room, representing the highly tense, anxious, and dissociated living state of transgender people. In the latter, the artist puts on electric blue fabric and pulls the same material along a river in a South American forest, symbolizing the contrast between human form and natural elements with an ecofeminist approach to rethinking the sex/gender binary.
Dala Nasser, Adonis River, 2023, Photo by Chu Feng-yi.
More works concerning gender/sex in the biennial have fewer technological applications. In Sharon Hayes’ video work Ricerche: Four (2024), three groups of elders from the LGBTQIA community share stories about their lives, love, and identities. Carmen Winant’s photo wall The Last Safe Abortion (2023) showcases the artist’s daily portraits taken in an abortion clinic. Harmony Hammond uses blood-stained cotton cloth in her painting Patched (2022), referencing the repeated and ongoing violence against women. Julia Phillips’ series of paintings Mediator (2020) and sculpture Nourisher (2022) take maternal love as the main theme. These works suggest that when deliberating the concept of the real, it is not necessary to adopt approaches such as cyborg, STS (Science, Technology, and Society Studies), or discourses about AI.
In fact, sex and gender are not the key subjects for many of the works presented in the biennial. Considering the diverse composition of the participating artists from various cultural backgrounds, ethnic diversity could arguably be the hidden theme for this year’s biennial, perfectly echoing the fact that America is an immigrant society. This diversity is vividly revealed in the styles and techniques used in the paintings by artists from various ethnic backgrounds. For example, Takako Yamaguchi, who has a Japanese cultural background, uses simple and recognizable elements to depict fickle seaside weather. Her large geometric patterns with gradient colors are reminiscent of Eastern Zen philosophy. Eamon Ore-Giron, who has a Peruvian background, creates geometric abstract works to reimagine deities from ancient Peru and Mexico. The depressive colors and eerie figures in Maja Ruznic’s paintings reflect the artist’s childhood memories in an Austrian refugee camp after escaping the war in Bosnia.
Contemporary artists engaging in multiple media, on the other hand, tend to highlight collective predicaments, particularly systemic problems, in their works. Mary Kelly, born in 1941, dates the deaths of her friends and relatives on a calendar and transforms it into her work Lacunae (2023), addressing the aging problem in the United States. Next to it, Carolyn Lazard’s sculptural installation, which consists of metal medicine cabinets filled with Vaseline, reveals issues of medical privatization and inequality of medical access in America. According to a survey, more than 50% of low-income households have forgone medical services due to unaffordable costs.[2] The flaming red neon texts in Demian Diné Yazhi’s work urge people to pay attention to issues such as deforestation, displacement, surveillance, genocide, fascism, and capitalism. The flashing letters in the neon words form a hidden message, an appeal which takes courage for an artist nowadays to say: “Free Palestine.” Kiyan Williams creates a large-scale outdoor installation on the balcony of the sixth floor of the museum—a dilapidated building that symbolizes the White House—representing the current crisis of systemic failure. In a similar vein, Diane Severin Nguyen’s feature film Her Time (Iris’s Version) (2023-24) features a young actress working in a studio in Hengdian, Zhejiang, China, playing roles in anti-Japanese dramas for which the studio is known. This work critically questions the role of the nation-state in producing historical narratives and realities.
Western-centric colonialism is another crucial subject that appears in many works in this year’s biennial. Clarissa Tossin’s Before the Volcanoes Sing (2022) introduces the ancient Mayan culture that is no longer practiced in modern society. Isaac Julien’s five-channel video installation Iolaus/In the Life (Once Again… Statues Never Die) (2022) questions the mainstream Eurocentric aesthetic in the global modern and contemporary art scene. Ligia Lewis’s work A Plot A Scandal (2023) traces the origin of colonialism back to the emergence of modern ideas of liberty and private property.
Another impressive feature of this year’s biennial is the inventive use of materiality by artists to express the interrelationship between architecture, the capitalist environment, and the psyche of modern people. Dora Budor’s Lifelike (2024), a short film shot at New York’s Hudson Yards, employs a shaky camera to evoke the disorientation caused by capitalist real estate development. Charisse Pearlina Weston suspends a giant smoked glass in the exhibition hall, symbolizing the strategic obstruction in the African-American civil rights movement and the fragility of the current racial inequality. In Paloma Blanca Deja Volar (2024), Eddie Rodolfo Aparicio creates a large-scale wall made of amber—a material secreted by plants when injured—and combines it with objects found near his studio and documents related to activist movements for justice in Central America. The wall gradually crumbles over the course of the exhibition. Another work that changes over time is Lotus L. Kang’s In Cascades (2024). The color of the large-scale films hung by the artist shifts due to light exposure. Alongside daily items such as tatami mats, aluminum dried fish, leaves, and paper knots, the work explores the interactive relationship between time, environment, and personal memories and emotions. Indigenous artist Cannupa Hanska Luger’s Uŋziwoslal Wašičuta (2021-) uses fabric scraps, recycled clay, and various objects to create an upside-down tipi, transforming it into a futuristic “TIPI”: “Transportable Intergenerational Protection Infrastructure,” while also satirizing this upside-down world. Dala Nasser’s large-scale installation Adonis River (2023) employs wood and bed sheets to reconstruct the ruins that symbolize the Lebanese Temple of Adonis, intertwining elements of daily life, politics, war, history, and mythology.
This is the unspoken theme of the biennial this year: the convergence of artists from different regions and with diverse ethnicities and gender identities, using various media and aesthetic concepts to not only express their individual life experiences but also to highlight the challenges and pressing issues they face while living in the United States. The “reality” critiqued in the curatorial statement extends beyond the sex/gender binary in mainstream society, focusing instead on the American Dream. It uncovers the hidden problems often overlooked in the pursuit of this ideal—issues such as gender inequality, racial discrimination, post-colonialism, heightened class inequality driven by neoliberalism and capitalism, and social polarization resulting from the dysfunction of socio-political systems. Despite mentioning AI, sex/gender issues, and the contested notion of reality, the curatorial statement appears to maintain a safe distance from these topics. Many art critics have noted this “safeness”: Lauren Klotzman observes that the exhibition “sought to play it safe;” [3] Martha Schwendener describes it as “sedate”;[4] Emily Watlington highlights this view defensively: “Various white men whose names happen to start with the letter J have called the show ‘tepid’ (Jerry), ‘bland’ (Jackson), and ‘low-risk, visually polite’ (Jason)”;[5] and Hakim Bishara has challenged the description, saying, “stop calling this biennale ‘safe.'”[6]
Why has this Biennale adopted such a cautious, low-risk curatorial strategy? The answer may lie in these self-contradictory criticisms: Travis Diehl describes the art of the biennial as mostly “riskless,” “careful,” and “quiet,” but notes it will “appeal to those who want to hear from marginalized voices.”[7] He sarcastically suggests that the show will “affirm your beliefs about the evils of racism and colonialism,” leaving readers to wonder what type (or perhaps color) of people in American society would hesitate to denounce these toxic ideologies. Sebastian Smee characterizes much of the show as “flimsily political,” yet full of “didactics.”[8] He adds satirically: “If you think, as I do, that scolding, identity-based ‘activism’ feeds a reactionary impulse toward populist authoritarianism […], you might be less inclined to humor this Whitney Biennial.” Ben Davis, on the one hand, describes his initial impression of the biennial as “meh,” criticizing the show in line with the 2022 biennial’s title: “Quiet as Ever.” [9] On the other hand, he suggests that “the reckoning” is the implicit main theme of this biennial, continuing from its predecessors.
Sharon Hayes, Ricerche- four, 2024, Photo by Chu Feng-yi.
Yes, for the privileged class, this year’s Whitney Biennial may seem quiet, low-risk, and boring, yet also “too loud” at the same time. It’s no wonder curator Meg Onli felt compelled to declare, “[i]n organizing this biennial, Chrissie and I have had to consider a political moment as feverish as the culture wars of the 1990s. Artists are still struggling to make sure they are not essentialized.” [10] Martha Schwendener also aligns with the curatorial team by critiquing the focus on identity:
“This is a well-researched, well-intentioned, beautifully installed, if sedate, edition of the biennial. We all need a rest in this moment of upheaval and change, when being a person can feel as complex as creating an artwork. But as the trans activist and legal adviser Stephen Whittle has pointed out, we’re moving ‘into a new world in which any identity can be imagined, performed, and named.’ The next step, of course, is a world in which no demarcating ‘identities’ are needed at all.” [11]
However, the reality is that when you choose to rest, they mock your quiet ‘meh’ and complain that it’s not silent enough. For the privileged class, the mere existence of identities and experiences different from their own feels like a denunciation and reckoning. Their self-centeredness leads them to focus solely on their own feelings of discomfort (i.e. guilt), rather than appreciating the diverse life experiences shaped by different ethnic and cultural backgrounds.
I don’t believe artists should have to “conform to distinct identity stereotypes” to succeed in the art world, [12] nor should we cater to the fragile sensibilities of the mainstream by denying the unique cultural backgrounds and experiences of people from various ethnic groups. The works in the biennial demonstrate the artists’ skillful use of materials to express their emotions, experiences, and perspectives on pressing issues. It is a big mistake that biennials have given themselves over so completely to one vibe, [13] especially when the exhibited works display greater courage than the exhibition itself. As Ben Davis points out, political statements in art can lead to potential professional consequences. It is our collective duty—museums, art institutions, curators, critics, and others—to steadfastly support these brave artists. —[SCR]
[1] “If sex isn’t real, the lived reality of women globally is erased. I know and love trans people, but erasing the concept of sex removes the ability of many to meaningfully discuss their lives.” The link of the tweet is at: https://x.com/jk_rowling/status/1269389298664701952.
[2] Dana Miller Ervin (2021), “In The U.S., A Health Care System Rich In Resources, Poor In Outcomes.” WFAE 90.7: https://www.wfae.org/health/2021-08-17/in-the-u-s-a-health-care-system-rich-in-resources-poor-in-outcomes.
[3] Lauren Klotzman (2024), “At the Whitney Biennial, Expansive Representations of Age, Gender, and Technology Are Subtly on Display.” Boston Art Review: https://www.bostonartreview.com/read/whitney-biennial-even-better-than-the-real-thing-lauren-klotzman.
[4] Martha Schwendener (2024), “It Could Be Weirder Than the Real Thing.” New York Times: https://www-nytimes-com.translate.goog/2024/03/13/arts/design/whitney-biennial-review-museum-art.html.
[5] Emily Watlington (2024), “A Whitney Biennial with No Heroes and No Villains.” Art News: https://www.artnews.com/art-in-america/aia-reviews/whitney-biennial-review-heroes-villains-carolyn-lazard-isaac-julien-1234701030/.
[6] Hakim Bishara (2024), “Stop Calling the Whitney Biennial ‘Safe’.” Hyperallergic: https://hyperallergic.com/901709/stop-calling-the-2024-whitney-biennial-saf.
[7] Travis Diehl (2024), “Is This Biennial a Mirror, or a Window?” New York Times: https://www-nytimes-com.translate.goog/2024/03/13/arts/design/whitney-biennial-review-museum-art.html.
[8] Sebastian Smee (2024), “A Superb Whitney Biennial, Marred by Flimsy Politics.” Washington Post: https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/art/2024/03/16/whitney-biennial-2024/.
[9] Ben Davis (2024), “The Whitney Biennial Can’t Go on Like This Forever.” Artnet.com: https://news.artnet.com/art-world/the-whitney-biennial-cant-go-on-like-this-forever-2459278.
[10] Elena Goukassian and Benjamin Sutton (2024), “The 2024 Whitney Biennial in Five Key Themes.” The Art Newspaper:
[11] Martha Schwendener (2024).
[12] ibid.
[13] I borrowed a sentence from Ben Davis’s (2024) article.
*The articles in this editorial feature selected artists and curators interviewed by Taiwanese curator and researcher Feng-Yi Chu during his curatorial residency at ISCP in New York. His residency program, “Applications of Mysticism in Modern and Contemporary American Arts,” is sponsored by the Ministry of Culture, Taiwan.
** The Chinese version of this article is published on Artouch.
***Header Image: Diane Severin Nguyen, In Her Time (Iris’s Version). Photo by Chu Feng-yi.
