Giardini as Commons
To paraphrase Slavoj Žižek, it is easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism. Similarly, it seems more plausible that Venice’s Giardini will be swallowed by the sea than that entrance to the Biennale would ever be free of charge. Even harder to envision is an event organised outside the logic of national representation and the global art market – one where the Giardini could transform into a commons, accessible to all and not dominated by a select few. In such a vision, the Giardini would not be a marketplace of flashy gadgets and fleeting artistic trends, but a shared space rooted in dynamic exchange, self-governance, and active collaboration among artists, art workers, and attendees in shaping the collective artistic imagination.
Our imagination still stumbles through the corridors of Hotel Polonia, a dystopian vision of the ‘afterlife of buildings’ by Nicolas Grospierre, Kobas Laksa, Grzegorz Piątek, and Jarosław Trybuś, awarded the Gold Lion at the 2008 Architecture Biennale. It is easier for us to imagine libraries as shopping malls, office buildings as graveyards, cathedrals as waterparks, and gated communities as slums than to implement a retirement security system for artists. Yet, we live in times that, like a desperate thirst for rain, urgently require practically-oriented utopias – what Immanuel Wallerstein calls ‘utopistics’.[1] These solutions, which may seem improbable because they stretch the limits of common sense, are essential if we are to navigate the mounting crises – inequality, poverty, exploitation, hunger, mass migration, fascism, war, and natural disasters – that have become our daily reality in the age of the Anthropocene’s collapse and the twilight of globalisation.
It seems that, unfortunately, we are heading in the opposite direction, as is evident in the structure of the Biennale itself. Over the last decade, we have witnessed a further decline in political imagination, a trend diagnosed in 2011 by the authors of A Cookbook for the Political Imagination.[2] This collection of conceptual recipes, dedicated to the Jewish Renaissance Movement in Poland (JRMP), was composed by Sebastian Cichocki and Galit Eilat for Yael Bartana’s exhibition at the Polonia Pavilion. Bartana’s work transcended the narrow confines of a film triptych. Together with a group of artists, curators, and intellectuals, it launched a phantom social movement that was both art and, in a sense, not entirely art. It promoted a vision of the mass return to Poland of 3.3 million Jews. The recipes collected in A Cookbook for the Political Imagination oscillated between messianic manifestos, critiques of Polish and Israeli nationalism, and the evocation of post-Holocaust spectres. They were a utopian call to reimagine the public space beyond capitalist exploitation and the limits of nation-states.
The current geopolitical situation starkly illustrates what the atrophy of imagination and political impotence can lead to. We continue to face two alternatives: democratic socialism or authoritarian barbarism, a world order based on human rights or murderous nationalism, the commons or neoliberal exploitation. From this perspective, we can also consider an alternative organisation of art, keeping in mind that it never operates in a political or economic vacuum. As Carl Andre wrote, ‘The art system has the same relation to the world system that a seismograph has to an earthquake. You cannot change a phenomenon by means of the instrument that records it. To change the art system, one must change the world system.’[3]
Though ideas for an alternative structure of art systems are rooted in visions of a better, different world, I will not delve into broad post-capitalist dreams here. Thousands of books and millions of articles have already been written on the subject. There are countless proposals: from taxing wealth to introducing a guaranteed basic income, from regulating capital flow to opening borders, from green transformation to the widespread abolition of debt, from shortening the working day to ensuring social services, from feminist economies of interdependence to common goods. The diagnoses have been known for years, as have the solutions, but the will to implement them remains lacking.
Carried on a utopian breeze, I will sketch an alternative vision of the Venice Biennale. I begin by examining its social, political, and economic foundations. I emphasise the commons because they are organised in opposition to the apparatus of nation-states and market mechanisms, the two driving forces behind the Biennale. It is worth noting that, even among its radical critics such as Marco Baravalle, the Biennale is considered a relatively social-democratic institution, especially when compared to the thoroughly gentrified Venice.[4] The La Biennale di Venezia Foundation, which runs it, is one of the few employers in the Venetian Lagoon offering jobs in the cultural sector – usually low-paid and precarious – and is required to adhere to Italian labour laws. This is not the case for national pavilions or private foundations, which often operate in the grey economy.[5] The Biennale functions within a public-private partnership and is not focused on generating revenue through speculation or property rental (the typical business model in Venice), but rather on organising the exhibitions themselves, maintaining, and making the archives accessible. It also has an expanding educational program, with tens of thousands of children and young people visiting the Biennale in the autumn. The number of its visitors (700,000 in 2024) is but a drop in the ocean of tourists flooding Venice (30 million annually). These are ‘higher quality’ tourists though, more likely to stay for several days than for a mere 24 hours, to accommodate in the city rather than on large tourist ships, and to stop by local restaurants for dinner or drinks, thus contributing to the local economy.
The Polonia Pavilion is efficiently run by Zachęta – the National Gallery of Art, which, as a public institution, maintains a relative autonomy from the art market, though it remains susceptible to the risk of political influence in decision-making and potential censorship. The work involved in production and exhibitions is fully compensated. Proposals are selected through transparent competitions, open to nearly anyone – neither an artist’s citizenship nor their ethnic background presents an obstacle, as evidenced by the winning proposals from the past decade. With a budget of 500,000 zlotys (ca 120.000 euros), it stands as not only the most prestigious but also the best-paid public commission in Poland’s art scene. Yet, not everything is ideal; procedures can always be improved or exploited. We must counteract conflicts of interest, which arise when individuals closely connected to Poland’s major galleries sit on competition juries. We can reduce the risk of privatising public resources by making it harder to introduce works produced with public funds into the art market.
However, on the level of the pavilion itself, it is almost impossible to change the rules of the harsh art economy in which it is inevitably embedded. The same goes for the Biennale, which is trapped in the process of Venice’s gentrification, a process to which it also contributes. It serves as a crucial link in the extractive art economy, a position from which it benefits. Therefore, before moving on to fiery manifestos for the commons, it is time for a cold critical shower, so that the hot air we generate, not only blows the whistle on the supposed hypocrisy of the global art world, but rather drives the machines of utopian theory and practice.
The nations and the market
The Venice Biennale is anchored in two foundations: nation-states and the global art market, both of which follow a distinct spatial logic. The axis of national representation revolves around the national pavilions, concentrated in the Giardini, extending to the Arsenale, and scattered across Venice. This spatial organisation is accompanied by a hierarchy of prestige. The most prominent pavilions are located along the main paths of the Giardini, while the less important ones are relegated to the outer edges of the lagoon. The second axis, which has emerged over the past three decades, is shaped by the logic of a globalised, market-driven art circuit. Its engines are found in the cross-border exhibition spaces of the Arsenale or the international pavilion in the Giardini. The great art centres dispersed across the lagoon belong to this system as well, with the largest ones managed by leading figures in the creative industries, such as the Prada and Pinault foundations. These are the most notable among a hundred smaller foundations or art galleries. The flagship vessels of this fleet are the luxury yachts of collectors, which dock near the Giardini during the opening week. These yachts serve as stark illustrations of the deep connection between the international art market and the global plutocracy, as Andrea Fraser has sharply pointed out in her critique of the contemporary art world and its organic ties to the financial oligarchy.[6]
The Biennale continues the tradition of the nineteenth-century world exhibitions, in the image of which it was initiated in 1895. These exhibitions aimed to showcase the progress of European civilisations in the best possible light, even as they were brutally colonising the rest of the world. In fact, it was at the world fairs, often accompanied by art exhibitions, that Tony Bennett traces the origins of the ‘exhibitionary complex’ that lies at the core of contemporary art institutions such as museums, national galleries, and, indeed, national pavilions. The point is not so much that this complex facilitates the exhibiting and viewing of art, which would seem the obvious purpose, but rather that within these institutions, individuals exhibit themselves and are seen by others as those who admire art and are knowledgeable about it.[7] The nineteenth-century exhibitionary complex, as a social machine, created an ‘enlightened’ audience. Bourgeois art enthusiasts considered themselves more civilised than the brutally colonised non-European nations or the exploited working class. Today, this complex creates an audience of globalised consumers and precarious art nomads. In Venice, who consumes otherness in the safe form of spectacular art, while enjoying the privileges afforded by citizenship in the same countries that close their borders to unwanted arrivals.
Giardini is an interesting case because the logic of the world exhibition, which has been obscured through the evolution and mutation of the Western art system, is on full display here. The Giardini, as the most prestigious space, is dominated by European powers, accompanied by a few other countries, mainly from the Central Europe or the Far East, trying to align themselves with the Western bloc. The countries of the global South, which, with a few exceptions, have not joined the ranks of the world’s leaders, have their pavilions outside the Giardini, or are, at best, invited to the Arsenale. It is worth remembering that, since national pavilions are anchored in property law, the host country can always withdraw invitations to the Arsenale. Thus, the spatial logic of the Venetian microcosm reflects the hierarchies of the globalised world.
This is just the tip of the iceberg. All those visiting or working at the Biennale enjoy the freedom to travel and have access to the resources that make such trips possible, thereby generating a considerable carbon footprint. The flights of Biennale visitors alone produce around 75,000 tonnes of CO2 (according to my own estimate), which is about as much as ca. 100,000 average inhabitants of Sub-Saharan Africa produce in an entire year. The irony of this situation is that, in the long run, the very flight industry that is crucial for the high attendance at the Biennale contributes to the flooding risks that threaten its grounds. Many regulars of Venice have waded through its flooded banks and know that a slightly higher tide is all it takes for the Giardini to be submerged as well. No one seems to mind, which serves as an interesting starting point for a discussion on social consciousness and the lack of political will in the face of the climate crisis. Yet, in this context, the more dangerous connections lie between the Biennale and the global plutocracy, whose luxury consumption (private yachts or jets) is responsible for a disproportionate amount of environmental destruction.
Venice is located on the same sea that was turned into a graveyard for tens of thousands of people on the move, trying to reach Fortress Europe to seek asylum. In Italy, as in many other European countries, the far right currently holds power, having come to office and maintained it by using anti-migrant rhetoric and stoking xenophobic fears. At the same time, the exhibitions in Venice sustain the liberal illusion of a borderless world. The national pavilions or the main exhibition, this year titled Foreigners Everywhere, recall shrines dedicated to the cult of diversity, where minority and refugee identities are celebrated. Meanwhile, real refugees are either selling knock-off handbags, serving Aperols, scrubbing toilets, or confined to camps or turned away at the borders of Fortress Europe. Even participation in the main or national exhibition does not necessarily guarantee that the individuals involved – unless they are citizens of the ‘first world’ – will receive a visa or have the means to attend. As Lesley Lokko, curator of the 2023 Architecture Biennale’s main exhibition, wrote in her critique of the Italian authorities’ refusal to grant visas to the Ghanaian curatorial team: ‘This is not a new story. It’s an old and familiar tale … It has happened to my family. It has happened to my friends. It has happened to collaborators. I think everyone in the global south understands this story only too well.’[8] Restricting the right for asylum or the freedom of movement is not the exception but the rule in the ‘global’ world. Of course, this situation is criticised at the Venice Biennale exhibitions. However, this does not change the fact that the space is only superficially open; it is based on exclusions that lie at the root of both the capitalist world and the harsh economics of art.
In the arts community, mobility and the associated discrepancies in access are key mechanisms for generating and maintaining inequalities, which drive the global circulation of art. The stakes in this game are to find yourself in a space that ensures a specific type of visibility – to fight to be noticed and appreciated. However, simply showing your work in the Giardini does not automatically translate into a position in the global art market. In what Luc Boltanski refers to as the capitalist management of art circulation, the Biennale exhibition plays a significant role, but it is just one of many events, the pace and reach of which define artists’ careers.[9] To achieve success, artists must then be invited to other international exhibitions or projects, particularly those hosted by more prestigious arts institutions. Above all, what counts is selling works to major collections, presence at art fairs, and – for the stars – at auction markets. The major players, such as private galleries and large collectors, ensure that these events run like a well-oiled machine, providing support to the artists within their circles.
The Venice Biennale is a link in a cruel economy of art, in which the winner takes all. The hyper-visible constellation of art stars eclipses a mass of lesser-known artists, whose aspirations uphold the system. It looms over the thousands of art workers, whose unpaid labour fuels this harsh economy. It dominates the entire ecosystem of artistic ideas and cultural idioms that feed into the works shown at the Biennale.
As we see from research conducted as part of the Biennalocene project, led by the Institute of Radical Imagination, in the Venice Biennale, hyper-visibility is connected to the hyper-exploitation of the artistic workforce.[10] While La Biennale di Venezia still observes Italian labour law to some degree, the organisers of the various events or pavilions often try to avoid adhering to labour regulations. They hire workers on the promise of a brighter tomorrow or on slave wages, sometimes illegally, with no respect for the employee’s basic rights. This is what makes the merry-go-round of contemporary art go round.
At the same time, the Biennale plays an essential role in shaping the aspirations of artists, curators, and other art workers. Some of them agree to slave wages in the hopes that, one day, ‘they’ll make it’ and earn a ticket to the global art world. The conditions may well turn out to be somewhat disappointing. As Hito Steyerl writes in ‘If You Don’t Have Bread, Eat Art!: Contemporary Art and Derivative Fascisms’, there’s just more of the same old thing: exploitation, precarity, moral disgrace, and forced overproduction.[11]
The frenetic pace of this economy is driven by constant competition for visibility and attention, which are granted temporarily and maintained only conditionally. The national pavilions rely on highly restrictive selection processes. In the Polish Pavilion, this is an open competition, though much more often pavilions operate by invitation. In every case, from tens of thousands of artists active within a given country, one proposal is chosen (it makes no difference to my argument whether it is better or worse, or selected more or less transparently). Upon selection, the competition does not end. The Biennale is dotted with various rankings and assortments, both formal and informal. From the viewer’s perspective, these help make sense of the multitude of works on display; for the producers, they represent further stakes to compete over. Showing your work at the Biennale is just one link in a chain of contingencies – it can pave the way to building a more significant global career (purchases for collections, invitations to exhibitions or projects), but it need not. This is why they vie for the attention of those higher up in the art world hierarchy: critics, collectors, curators, and directors of institutions and foundations. Relationships with them are built not only through exhibitions but also through parties, meetings, and dinners. This is why the opening of the Biennale is not merely a social occasion – it is primarily a professional opportunity. Being present in the consciousness of this small community (the opening day is attended by around 25,000 people, less than 5% of the entire Biennale audience) – this special social visibility – is a prerequisite for continuing to circulate within the global art world. Its absence equals exclusion.
Competition for attention, fundamental to the ‘economy of visibility’, also impacts the shape of works created for the Biennale. They must be both spectacular and based on a simple concept that can be boiled down to a single sentence and explained in a two-minute conversation. The works cannot be too complicated, as artists and curators should not expect viewers to have the time or focus required for a more reflective or contemplative approach. Some fascinating works are shown, but mostly only if they are able to grab the viewer’s attention, with meanings that can be communicated in an Instagram post, a brief conversation, or a snippet. The economics of attention favours pieces impressive in scale, such as this year’s works by Pierre Huyghe, Christoph Büchel, or the earlier Damien Hirst exhibition, shown at the Prada and Pinault foundations. Hundreds, if not thousands, of people are involved in their creation, with production costs running into hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of euros. At the same time, these works continue to foster the cult of individual authorship, presented and received as if the stars themselves had created them. The result is a series of replicable singularities, with the primary distribution system being the upper echelons of the global art market. This scenographic turn in contemporary art affects the general perception of artistic quality. The Biennale shapes the expectations of critics and curators, which in turn influences their evaluation of other art projects outside Venice, often deeming them insufficiently spectacular or too complex.
Originality is valued only to certain extent. Recognition is more likely to come from minor innovations within a spectrum of recurring formal solutions and predictable content references, the accepted repertoire of which is driven by seasonal trends. The Biennale plays a crucial role in regulating this consensus, emerging as a result of the relationships between the key players in the field, formal choices (curators who put someone on the art map), and informal conversations. The outcome helps determine what is considered bad and good art – that is, what is worthy of exhibition and recommendation.
One can argue that, in this circuit where the Biennale is ‘only’ one of the more visible links, idioms drawn from cultural commons or streams of social life are utilised as a resource in the creation of individual works. The artist is regarded as the guarantor of quality and the potential value of a work of art. In art, what matters most is individual authorship. That which is held in common – even if essential to the creation and meaning of the artwork – is often treated as a free resource, its significance obscured. This dynamic holds true whether the works displayed originate from marginalised cultures or draw upon the stylistic and formal repertoire of art history.
However, this tension becomes particularly pronounced in discussions of activist art. The art world prizes individuality, skill in navigating global networks, and the capacity to identify and artistically articulate cultural trends. Yet, these same traits are often met with scepticism within social movements, which rely on loyalty and steadfast convictions, frequently grounded in grassroots, anonymous, and continuous ‘field work’.
This creates tension between contemporary art and the commons. Artistic circuits draw heavily from the latter, yet only a few artists or art institutions feel obligated to sustain and strengthen them. This extractive logic – treating culture, history, and ways of life as resources for private benefit – is characteristic of the ‘enrichment economies’ described by Luc Boltanski and Arnaud Esquerre.[12]
Venice is the epicentre of this economy: a fully gentrified city where the primary business model revolves around the privatisation and rental of space. The Biennale contributes to this dynamic, expanding with each edition and increasingly colonising additional spaces. This economy is deeply stratified, rooted in stark inequalities between property owners (who control attractive real estate) and those who work for low wages to maintain these structures. The descendants of the former often occupy high-ranking roles in culture and art, while the latter labour in ways that perpetuate economic systems driving their further impoverishment.
Cultural resources are treated like raw metal ore: they must be isolated, extracted from their natural environment, processed, artistically enriched, and commodified before being displayed on the global marketplace of artistic ideas. In this way, the concept of the world exhibition resurfaces, reimagined in a hyper-spectacular and globalised form.
The commons
In the theory and practice of commons, they are seen as an alternative to both private and state property, relying on self-managed, communal models of generating or maintaining shared resources. Contemporary commons can take physical forms, such as co-operatives, fisheries, community gardens, shared parks, or self-organised centres for artistic or social activities. Equally important are non-material commons, like the public domain or Wikipedia.
Only some of these resources are actively managed as commons. Many exist in an embryonic or raw form, such as natural resources, ecosystems, cultural and artistic heritage, or the unique ambience of cities. While these are often created or sustained through dispersed efforts, they are frequently exploited for private gain rather than being managed equitably to benefit all stakeholders.
As modern Marxist theorists point out, this raw form of commons often exists within capitalist modes of production. The exploitation of shared resources – such as lifestyles, city ambience, social communication, or cultural and artistic heritage – is a key driver of extractivist forms of capitalist accumulation, spanning industries like social media, fashion, tourism, real estate, and the art market. These industries treat resources as mines treat coal deposits: extracting them cheaply and selling them at a premium, without regard for environmental, social, or cultural costs.
In Venice, for instance, property owners derive their rents from the city’s unique ambience and architectural heritage. Similarly, even the most radical artistic ideas, minority cultures, and identities – commons in their raw form – are transformed into privately ‘owned’ works of art, which are then exhibited, sold, purchased, and collected on the global art circuit.
To avoid falling into excessive criticism and fatalistic pessimism, it is worth turning to the ideas of feminist economists J.K. Gibson-Graham and Kelly Dombroski.[13] They advocate shifting focus away from modes of exploitation and instead searching for forms of empowerment, emancipation, and communalisation that infiltrate the capitalist system from below, creating grassroots alternatives. These alternatives are simultaneously situated and widespread, unfolding here and now, and grounded in practical actions such as everyday acts of care, cooperation, and mutual aid. They embody the logic of community economies, which are built on respect for the interdependencies of all participants in a collaborative network, including non-human entities. These approaches emphasise the sustenance, rather than the exploitation, of ecosystems – whether natural, cultural, or social.
In such self-organised models, the aim is not vertical growth but horizontal expansion, exerting grassroots pressure on lifestyles, management practices, and the social imagination. This pressure helps to foster a climate in which political decisions can effectively address the impacts of the Anthropocene’s collapse and the decline of globalisation.
Collaborating with Kathrin Böhm and the Center for Plausible Economies, we sought to apply these tools to reimagine the interdependent art worlds that resist the dominant logic of the extractivist art circuit outlined above.[14] Inspired by feminist thinkers, we prioritised practical experimentation and worked to map the values underpinning these interdependent art worlds, sustained daily by tens of thousands of people across the globe. Moving between politics and economics, aesthetics and ecology, we identified their guiding principles: equality, radical pragmatism, self-management, artistic democracy, the social applicability of art, the commons, and stylistic pluralism.
This list is not the product of abstract theorising but rather a reflection grounded in the lived practices of alternative art-supporting communities. Such a grounded approach enables us to anchor the utopian social imagination discussed earlier. In this spirit, instead of constructing theoretical models of ‘Giardini as commons’, I will stretch my imagination to envision how such concepts might manifest in artistic and organisational practice
Let’s imagine the exhibitions in the national pavilions are brought in suitcases, with instructions communicated by email or word of mouth, carried out collaboratively with local networks of cooperation. Let’s imagine the pavilions are filled with events in which Biennale visitors actively participate, engaging with the space and activities rather than merely observing the art and the pavilions themselves. Let’s imagine that the pavilions can also be used as dormitories, daycare centres, auditoriums, kitchens, workshops, places for meetings and discussions. Let’s imagine that all art workers are paid fair wages, and that on-site childcare is provided so that artist mothers can participate in the Biennale. Let’s imagine the Biennale is visited for a week, not just two days, giving people time to engage with and use the space for mutual exchange. Let’s imagine admission is free for everyone willing to contribute and share in its use. Let’s imagine the Biennale council is radically democratic, randomly selected from all stakeholders, including those in transit, people without citizenship, workers, and residents of Venice. Let’s imagine that participants form equal, interdependent relationships with the cultural, social, and natural ecosystems of the lagoon. Let’s imagine the Biennale as an opportunity for international gatherings, not only serving as a platform for intellectual and artistic exchange but also as an activist space. Let’s imagine anti-fascist rallies, plenums for carers, or feminist seminars being held at the exhibitions. Let’s imagine the Biennale having a shared budget, managed by its participants. Let’s imagine the pavilions being made available to other nations, stateless persons, people in transit, and persecuted minorities. Let’s imagine Giardini and Arsenale as spaces accessible only to those who renounce violence, respect human rights, workers’ rights, and the right to self-determination. Let’s imagine the Biennale as a place relatively shielded from the commercialised art circuit, organised like a cooperative, with profits shared equally among all participating artists. Let’s imagine the pavilions as spaces that host workshops for mapping and sustaining the commons in art and beyond. Let’s imagine the Biennale as an event where neither money nor social status determines participation. Let’s imagine the Biennale as a place for contemplation, aesthetic reflection, a space to focus on small gestures and perform them collectively, to read and speak, to share in silence and raise a ruckus, to dance, drift, cruise, and flow. Let’s imagine that instead of rolling out the red carpet, it is occupied in defiance of extractive industries and global plutocracy.
In fact, there is no need to merely imagine all these things, as they have already occurred over the past decade, to varying degrees, often in their early stages, and typically outside the framework of the official Venice Biennale. These practices have emerged through grassroots initiatives and large international projects. They are set in motion by dozens of informal collectives and major institutions that are practically testing new models of artistic commons, contributing to the development of interdependent art worlds. Here, I reference the actions taken by Venice’s S.a.L.E. docs and Institute for Radical Imagination, the European museum coalition L’internationale, ruangrupa during documenta 15, Myvillages and the Rural School of Economies, the Community Economies Research Network, the Museum of Arte Util, the Berlin-based collective Staub zu Glitzer, the Solidarity House of Culture Słonecznik, the Consortium of Post-Artistic Practices, the Carers’ Plenum, and the experiments with constituent and radically democratic models of museums undertaken by institutions such as the Museum of Modern Art in Warsaw or Museo Reina Sofía in Madrid, along with many, many other groups worldwide.
I have shared these examples to emphasise that utopistics should not be mistaken for theoretical fantasies. They are grounded in practical efforts that have already taken shape over the past decade, emerging from years of collective experimentation and community-driven models of the commons. Rather than offering definitive answers to the lack of political will or strategies to overcome this inertia, I leave you with a challenge: Let us collectively imagine what it would take to spread these practices, within the art world and beyond. What shifts in organisational, economic, and political models would be required to apply these practical lessons – not just at the Venice Biennale, but across the broader cultural and social ecosystem? The task is ours to consider, and perhaps to act upon. We can only hope that these changes come to fruition before the surging waters of the lagoon overtake the Giardini, submerging the very opportunities to rethink our artistic and social futures.
[1] Immanuel Maurice Wallerstein, Utopistics, Or Historical Choices of the Twenty-First Century, New York: New Press, 1998.
[2] A Cookbook for Political Imagination, ed. Galit Eilat, Sebastian Cichocki, Warsaw: Zachęta Narodowa Galeria Sztuki; Berlin: Sternberg Press, 2011.
[3] Strike, ed. Gavin Wade, Liam Gillick, London: Alberta Press, 2002.
[4] Marco Baravalle, ʻOn the Biennale’s Ruins? Inhabiting the Void, Covering the Distanceʼ, in Institute of Radical Imagination [blog], 2 May 2020, https://instituteofradicalimagination.org/2020/05/02/on-the-biennales-ruins-inhabiting-the-void-covering-the-distance-by-marco-baravalle/ (accessed 20 December 2024).
[5] Marco Baravalle, ʻNotes on Performative Investigationʼ, Arch+, no. 252, 2023.
[6] Andrea Fraser, ʻL’1%, c’est moiʼ, Texte zur Kunst, no. 83, 2011, pp. 114–127.
[7] Tony Bennett, ʻThe Exhibitionary Complexʼ, New Formations, Spring 1988.
[8] Lesley Lokko, ʻCurator of Venice Architecture Biennale Denounces Italy’s Denial of Visas to Three Ghanaian Curatorsʼ, ArtReview, 22 May 2023, https://artreview.com/curator-of-venice-architecture-biennale-denounces-italys-denial-of-visas-to-three-ghanaian-curators/ (accessed 20 December 2024).
[9] Luc Boltanski, ʻOd rzeczy do dzieła. Procesy atrybucji i nadawania wartości przedmiotomʼ, in Wieczna radość. Ekonomia polityczna spolecznej kreatywności, ed. Michał Kozłowski et al., Warsaw: Bęc Zmiana, 2011, pp. 17–49.
[10] Baravalle, ʻNotes on Performative Investigationʼ.
[11] Hito Steyerl, ʻIf You Don’t Have Bread, Eat Art!: Contemporary Art and Derivative Fascismsʼ, e-flux Journal, no. 76, 2016, http://www.e-flux.com/journal/76/69732/if-you-don-t-have-bread-eat-art-contemporary-art-and-derivative-fascisms/ (accessed 20 December 2024).
[12] Luc Boltanski, Arnaud Esquerre, Enrichment. A Critique of Commodities, , Cambridge, UK ,and Medford, MA: Polity Press, 2020.
[13] The Handbook of Diverse Economies, ed. J.K. Gibson-Graham, Kelly Dombroski, Northampton: Edward Elgar Publishing, 2020.
[14] Kathrin Böhm, Kuba Szreder, ʻThe Penfold Principles. Heads up and Hands Onʼ, in Kathrin Böhm. Art on the Scale of Life, ed. Gerrie van Noord, Paul O’Neill, Mick Wilson, Gothenburg: HDK-Valand, 2023, pp. 144–162.
Financed by European Union NextGenerationEU