Posts Tagged: koc holding

Deniz Gül — Comments Off
18
Dec 09

Biennial Time

Biennial Time
DENİZ GÜL
September 2009

This year, the biennial theme chosen by curators WHW (What, How, and for Whom) and the sponsorship of Koc Holding have come under the greatest criticism. What, How, and for Whom – pretty thought, provoking and demanding questions, aren’t they? It’s like they’re providing an integrated marketing communication through an ad campaign.) Accordingly, Koc has chosen the phrase “What is robbing a bank compared to founding a bank?” for its publicity campaign. (Koc owns a bank and, rightly so, pays attention to capital.) And so, WHW answers the question of who this biennial is for in the give-and-take of modern times. We are in the free market under all circumstances and that what is important is the message we send and the effort that we show, is how they deal with the criticism. Avantgard is dead; that’s the truth.
Physical and concrete data have been continuously debated: what is what in the What question, and who the sides are and which has the advantage in the Who question. These two questions in particular are inclined to further the status quo; the difference between them is just methodology. The way in which an action is carried out can change everything. Conseqently, I am interested in the How question.
Vehbi Koc, the honorary president of Koc Holding, sent a letter to the coupist president Kenan Evren on 3 October 1980. After praising Evren’s support of the coup d’etat and the victory of the army, writing “The actions taken by the Turkish army are entirely rightful,” Koc goes on to give the president some advice. He warns, “You may be exhausted, but do not avoid exhausting tasks. If the army is worn out by poor decisions, dictatorship, followed by communism, could take hold in this country.” Ali Bilge and Ömer Madra, in their talk entitled “The Business World and State Relations in Turkey” continue quoting Koc, who says,

“the trials of the anarchists must not be prolonged one moment, laws to punish them must be crafted swiftly, and the police corps’ facilities must be improved. Whatever can be done to this effect must be done as quickly as possible. Otherwise propaganda declaring that ‘the fascist army has come to power, uniting with the capitalists to exploit the Turkish worker’ will be produced. To prevent this slander, laws to sort out employer-employee relations must be crafted as soon as possible. Those hoping for the closing of the Confederation of Revolutionary Trade Unions of Turkey must be relieved of their ambitions.Severence pay must be collected in a special fund. After setting apart the amount that will be paid to workers, the remainder must be made available for public and private investement at low interest rates.”

He believes the coup of 12 September to be reform movement, saying, for example, that “In order for the movement to be successful, bear in mind the continued malevolent efforts of communist parties, leftist organizations, Kurds, Armenians, and a number of politicians; stay alert and obstruct their enterprises.” Leftist organizations, Kurds, and Armenians!
In what context must Koc’s words be evaluated? This in regard should have been the biennial’s biggest question. Despite the biennial’s opening date as 12 September (as the anniversary of the coup d’etat) and the invitation of artists in their 20s and 30s from Iran and the Caucausus who are investigating communism, revolutionism, and collapse, the lack of involvement of artists asking questions on such issues in Turkey is truly unfortunate, disheartening, and erroneous. What a pity that this biennial, a product of us all, presents a such a narrow perspective on Turkey. The biennial, which opens on the anniversary of the coup ans such related issues, leaves out the period which upset the balance in Turkey as if no class struggle ever happened.
As for the other artworks that were involved in the selection, as Stephen Wright has said, a large majority of the artists follow agenda from behind. As usual, Stephen Wright speaks well in his discourse. However, I have recently been to the Caucausus region and have seen the societal and political structure in Yerevan, the strikes in the streets, and I could have thought that people went out for walks in the parks as the video of Karen Andreassian shows. But, not really. Is this an error (as mentioned by the discourse of Wright) in the collective memory of the place as reported by Andreassian, who was born in Yerevan?
Again, we could have thought of the “web of history elementary school exhibition and research” being carried out in the Gulensu and Gulsuyu neighborhoods of Istanbul, within the scope of the biennial, as an unromanticized process absorbing its adjacancies, as its participants have explained. But, no. I do not think that those like me, who have kept up with the transformation in Istanbul, and that particular district over the past three years have been convinced as to why the area was chosen as a work site, what were the benefits of the “socially engaged art project” and their exit strategy. Likewise, academic circles have adopted oral history projects and urban inventory documentation as research methods in for over ten years.
There are two circumstances in which artists, as much as curators, encounter problems and are left helpless: first, “becoming the representation itself”, and second, “skipping out the specificity of art”. The Antrepo, as an exercise in the collection of art, is a performance which does not live up to Brecht’s writings. The first disappointing work that comes to mind is the “café,” the shanty town, Nuclear Bomb Shelter Plan, installations which cannot justify their own state of being. The enormous red grandstand (apparently a copy of a piece belonging to the government of Belarus) whose size dominates the space, meanwhile, acts as its own representation. The installation of Aydan Murtezaoğlu and Bulent Sangar, which featured a girl spraying perfume and a team folding t-shirts, was unable to move out of the cognitive dimension and establish a dialogue with the viewer, ending up stuck in the same quagmire. Could this state of affairs have been knowingly chosen by the curators? Did they want the exhibition to be read like a book, to reflect the spirit of an age?
Fortunately, the Tobacco Depot held some works mindful of representation and artists willing and able to transport the viewer to other places and other questions. Jesse Jones, for example, questions the marginality of political movements and the crisis of valid political action in contemporary post-utopic society, rightly criticizing notions of false freedom with his absorbing istallation. Jinooz Taghizadeh, working with newspapers collected during the revolutionary period in Iran, has created beautiful, simple works touching on many topics. Overall, it seems that the artists are sad, hopeless, and entirely disgusted with the world.
After all, in order for the approach to be transformative, it is necessary to find a narrative that inspires a desire to read. The curators accept it as such.

In taking Brecht as a starting position for developing the Biennial concept, the question of method is crucial. Is it possible to follow Brecht while disregarding his contemporary image of a Che Guevara of the academic Left, or a canonical author of the traditional orthodox Left, nonchalantly paying no attention to 'brechtology' and an apparent cul-de-sac in which countless reinventions of his experiments have ended? Is it possible, instead, to follow Brecht as a kind of (red) thread that leads the way in a search of a form and format for the exhibition, which would be, so to speak, 'beyond looking,' and could transform a viewer into a more productive participant-even accomplice?

This question is theoretical rather than concrete. But the suggestion, stuck in didactics, addresses How this system is implemented. Why doesn’t a cognitive framework so closely interested in the economy, culture, and art production question the economic interests provided for by the exhibition mechanism itself. Must it ask questions absently, following Brecht like a red thread, commenting on yesterday repeatedly in such a didatic manner? Could a team interested in these questions, caught up in its work, distributing its production budget, crafting its exhibition and strategy, ever be able to suggest a different Biennial Economy? An Istanbul Bienial without exhibits? Instead of representation, could an exhibition mechanism mobilize and, much like Brecht, “deconstruct and transform the production apparatus”? The exhibition manifesto says,

Brecht invites us to rethink our position again and again, to see the world as amateur actors, without dulling our critical faculties or our potential for intervention and change by learning the rules all too well. As a writer and a director, Brecht continuously sought to slice open and display, then deconstruct and transform the theatre's 'production apparatus'-it is this approach that should lead us out of the current deadlock of 'contemporary art apparatus.' At this time, the question of 'usability' of Brecht means first and foremost a repeated need to observe the interaction of art and social relations.

This is the part that succeeds in its aims and strikes close to home. Why aren’t artists in this country counseled to carry out their projects like this? Why are we resigned to the damnation of passive viewing? I ask because I am an “artist” who feels she cannot serve herself. When I wake up every morning and ask myself “Do I serve a purpose?” in order to motivate myself to deal with art, I do more than lament, seeing the lack of space for art in this country. How horrible that this comes down to an existential crisis every time. Let’s leave aside our lofty understanding of art and our attempts to make Istanbul a world star. Could the exhibition, the opening, and parties bring forth the moral and material dialogue necessary to create a beneficial effect that would reach the public? This is a situation unique to the Istanbul market. In the rest of the world even the most ordinary exhibits have a meaningful place and are followed not only by artists but also by the public (without fanfare), as much as advertising, fashion, design, architecture, and the other creative industries. Here there are galerists who do not go other gallery openings, collectors who buy art based on advice without going to exhibitions, artists who do not visit the Biennial, a nouveau-riche creative industry which looks down upon contemporary art, a system which has separated political art from apolitical art, etc.
In economics what is demanded is created. In my opinion the artist, as much as the entire ecosystem, has a responsibility to create this demand. If there is no ground we shall create it, if these is no demand we shall insist, if there is no question we shall ask. Frankly, it is exceedingly important and no less difficult to do what your discourse is and to check whether you have done what you said, to forge a language step by step, to be continuous, to be able to vouch for yourself, and to create meaning. Am I able to do these things? That is the effect the Biennial Time generally has on me. Yes, I can do some, but no, I cannot do most. Another obstacle here is this: There is no outsider, no critique, no judgement (preferably professional) to tell you that your words and deeds, or one deed and another, contradict each other. This, in the end, means that you will struggle piteously with yourself.
Getting used to the use of struggling with yourself… First, even if it takes longer, you see that at the end of the road there is nothing besides yourself. Second, from the moment you realize this, you see everything differently, including yourself. Third, you learn that your motivation, both artistic and vital, is not the economy or system which forces your hand, but the chance to create and to share your world view with the others. This can make you strong and free.
The downside of stuggling with yourself, however, is that you are less able to see your desires, or even unable to see them at all! To be able to act naturally, without struggling with inclination, tendency, or identity is as valuable as desire, interest, curiousity, or appetite. The left side of this equation belongs to the place while the right side is the demand’s. The rest is construct.

Note: During the opening party at the Antrepo a young guy was pulled into a room and beaten up by a bodyguard. During another biennial party at a club called XL a woman was assaulted in the open and dragged out the door. These events went unnoticed and were paid no heed in order to prevent a brawl.

Deniz Gul is a visual artist and writer. She lives and works in İstanbul
www.denizgul.com
Adnan Yildiz — Comments Off
18
Nov 09

DUTCH/ENGLISH, 11th ISTANBUL BIENNIAL REVIEW by adnan yildiz, Metropolis M, 2009

What Keeps Mankind Alive?

ISTANBUL

11e Istanbul Biënnale / 11 Istanbul Biennial

12 september t/m 8 november

Door Adnan Yildiz

DUTCH VERSION (scroll down for english version)

Het was een ironisch toeval dat de opening van de 11e Istanbul Biënnale, samengesteld door What, How & for Whom (WHW), een curatorencollectief afkomstig uit Zagreb, samenviel met de 29e verjaardag van de staatsgreep in Turkije, die ervoor zorgde dat de linkse politiek, mensenrechten, democratie en vrijheid van meningsuiting jarenlang op een zijspoor werden gezet. De Turkse militaire coup uit 1980 heeft de legende van de linkse beweging niet alleen afgekapt, maar ook gemystificeerd. We zullen nooit te weten komen of de bevrijdende invloed van de Turkse Constitutie uit 1961 echt effect zou hebben gehad op de ontwikkeling van de linkse politiek in Turkije.

In de context van de globale economische crisis, stelt WHW voor in navolging van de geëngageerde theatermaker Bertolt Brecht van de belangrijkste vragen binnen de moderne filosofie te herformuleren: ‘what makes humankind alive?’ De indringende wijze waarop WHW de vraagstellingen van deze biënnale presenteert, verwijzend naar de old school linkse traditie van het socialisme en marxisme, fungeert ook als een pijnlijke catharsis ten aanzien van de geschiedenis van de Turkse democratie. Het organiseren van een biënnale gebaseerd op Brechts bewering dat ‘een crimineel een bourgeois is en vice versa’, in een land waar veel mensen werden gestraft en opgesloten omdat ze vochten voor een betere wereld; waar anderen werden opgepakt louter en alleen omdat ze als anarchisten of communisten te boek stonden; waar intellectuelen moesten vluchten alleen omdat ze over Marx of Lenin praatten, is al controversieel op zichzelf.

Deze controverse wordt nog groter als je weet dat de biënnale wordt gesponsord door een van de grootste familiebedrijven uit Turkije, die haar marketingstrategie luister bijzet met de slogan: ‘Koc Holding nodigt je uit voor de Istanbul Biënnale.’ Het dilemma dat ontstaat als gevolg van de discrepantie tussen het statement van de curatoren en de rol van de sponsor is niet alleen interessant binnen de context van Istanbul, maar evenzeer een afspiegeling van de hedendaagse kunstpraktijk die is vastgelopen op de vraag: kan kunst politiek en kritisch zijn, terwijl zij wordt gefinancierd door het bedrijfsleven en haar distributie wordt gereguleerd door de markt?

Zoals in veel snelgroeiende metropolen, heeft ook het nieuwe kapitaal in Istanbul ontdekt dat de cultuurpolitiek een van de beste investeringen is om je positie op de wereldmarkt te verstevigen. In deze situatie waarin het nieuwe kapitaal hongerig is naar succes en bereidwillig om elke kunstorganisatie met internationaal aanzien te ondersteunen voor het vergroten van de naamsbekendheid, is het te berde brengen van het Brechtiaanse, politieke model niet zozeer iets risicovols, maar een noodzakelijkheid. Zeker nu de erfenis van dit (linkse) gedachtegoed al vermarkt wordt in de vorm van Che T-shirts en koffiemokken met het portret van Mao Zedong, om nog maar te zwijgen over de historische cover van Newsweek (februari 2009) met de tekst: ‘We zijn allemaal socialisten’.

Tijdens de persbijeenkomst presenteerde WHW de inhoudelijke en organisatorische structuur van de biënnale als een soort institutionele kritiek die volkomen transparant was over de financiële structuur, het demografische en het sociale profiel van de kunstenaars. Zo’n statement zijn we gewend zijn van kunstenaars maar niet van curatoren, maar het was in deze context de juiste manier om de communicatie met het publiek te openen.

De biënnale vindt plaats op enkele locaties, waaronder Tütun Deposu (Tobacco Warehouse), dat bestaat uit twee tentoonstellingsgebouwen. In het eerste gebouw daagt een lyrische combinatie van de conceptuele werken van Mladen Stilinovic,Vyacheslav Akhunov en Hamlet Hovsepian en het collectief What is to be done?, ons uit de mogelijkheid van een nieuwe avant-garde te overdenken door van andere vormen van verzet te tonen en manieren om de politiek te veresthetiseren. Zoals in de film Chronicles of Perestroika van Dmytri Vilenski waarin het volksverzet in Rusland uit de jaren tachtig in beeld is gebracht. In de volgende ruimte wordt de spanning zichtbaar tussen Cengiz Çekils kranten uit de jaren zeventig, waaruit alle tekst is weggehaald zodat alleen het beeld overbleef, en Jinoos Taghizadehs hologram collages, die Iranese kranten uit de tijd van de revolutie vermengt met beelden uit de westerse kunstgeschiedenis. De kloof tussen deze twee werken wordt opgevuld door het geluid van Taghizadehs video Good Night, waarin Iraanse slaapliedjes uit 1979 te horen zijn. Ook in tijden van oorlog, exploitatie en ellende proberen moeders hun baby’s vrolijk te houden.

De tentoonstelling in het Antrepo gebouw bij de Bosporus heeft een meer didactisch karakter. Er is sprake van een heldere structuur die het publiek makkelijk door de tentoonstelling leidt en die je bij de les houdt, net als je dreigt je aandacht te verliezen. Er zijn enkele werken die de toeschouwer onmiddellijk onderdompelen in hedendaagse, politieke werkelijkheid. Hrair Sarkissians in documentaire stijl gefotografeerde Execution Squares toont stadspleinen in Syrië waar openbare terechtstellingen plaatsvinden. Artur Żmijewski’s film Democracies bestaat uit videobeelden van publieke politieke gebeurtenissen in diverse steden. Ze transformeren de discussie over de openbare ruimte tot een contextueel gevoelige vorm van politieke actie.

De derde locatie van deze editie is de Griekse school (Feriyeköy), die in 2002 werd gesloten door gebrek aan inschrijvingen. Het heeft nu alle trieste kenmerken van een verlaten, stoffig gebouw. De beslissing om de werken te integreren in de context van de school pakt in visueel opzicht erg goed uit. De vrouwelijke psyche in het werk van Nilbar Güneş, Lisi Raskin, Sanja İveković en Ruti Sela & Maayan Amir is een voltreffer die de bezoekers de trappen van de school op laat stormen. Doordat de tentoonstelling hier de persoonlijke momenten uit onze collectieve herinnering weet te raken, wordt ook de sociale kritiek op de hedendaagse maatschappij overtuigender, met als hoogtepunt het werk van Sociéte Realiste en Doa Aly. Vanuit de ramen kijk je over het gras uit, je ruikt de verlaten klaslokalen en ziet de afbeeldingen van Atatürk, de Turkse vlag. Alles in de Griekse school vormt tezamen een real life scenario die de vraag ‘what keeps mankind alive?’ van een ander perspectief voorziet.

De posters van de 11e Istanbul Biënnale werden in de stad geplakt op het moment dat het avondnieuws berichtte over de straatgevechten tussen demonstranten en politie, tijdens de internationale bijeenkomsten van het IMF. Het Brechtiaanse toneel bestond hier uit een echt gevecht waar een aantal ‘acteurs’ ook de prijs voor betaalden. Tegen zo’n de achtergrond zou het juist interessant zijn geweest om echt over een alternatieve vorm van de tentoonstelling na te denken, een subversieve strategie die de hedendaagse politiek binnen zou kunnen dringen. In dat opzicht zou je de biënnale van WHW conservatief kunnen noemen, terwijl de titel veel verwachtingen oproept. Vanwege de compromissen die zijn gesloten kan deze biënnale bekritiseerd worden als een treffend voorbeeld van de neoliberalisering van het marxistische gedachtegoed. Toch is deze biënnale waarin vooral kunstenaars afkomstig uit de periferie, met name de Balkan en het Midden-Oosten, figureren, en die de identiteit van en de discussie over linkse politiek centraal, een goede tentoonstelling. Ze betekent nogal wat in een land waar het nog steeds niet mogelijk is om je een betere wereld voor te stellen zonder hiervoor de prijs te betalen.

Adnan Yildiz is kunstcriticus en curator, Berlijn


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ENGLISH VERSION

Opening on the 29th the anniversary of 1980 coup d'état (12 September), that blocked left-wing politics, human rights, democracy and the freedom of speech for many years in Turkey – as an ironic coincidence, and curated by WHW, 'What, How & for Whom' (WHW) Zagreb-based curator collective, the11th Istanbul Biennial proposes to reconstruct the Brechtian stage of politics and aims to reformulate one of the leading questions of modern philosophy, “What makes humankind alive?” in the context of the global economic crises and İstanbul. Slavoj Žižek’s analogy of positioning The Soviet Invasion of Czechoslovakia as the camouflage for the failure of Prague Spring can be possibly borrowed here for the 1980’s Turkish military coup that didn’t only cut off but also mystified the legend of left-wing movement in Turkey; we will never know if the liberating impact of the Turkish Constitution of 1961 was going to provide any long-term effect on the development left-wing politics in Turkey.

WHW’s performative approach of framing the questions of the biennial (referring to the old school politics; Marxism, socialism and left-wing tradition) has also a cathartic potential and a nostalgic pain for the history of Turkish democracy. Having a biennial, which is based on Brecht’s assertion of ‘a criminal is a bourgeois and vice versa’, in a country where many people were kept imprisoned and punished just because they were fighting for a better world; where some others were hunted just because they were labelled as communists or anarchists; where the intellectuals had to escape or were exiled, just because they were talking about Marx or Lenin already provides a controversial discussion platform. A step further, the controversy might look bigger when the biennial is also sponsored by one of the biggest family business monopolies and its PR strategy is based on the emphasis of “Koç Holding invites you to the Istanbul Biennial”… The dichotomy between the statement of the curators and the role of the sponsor (the visual dominance of the logo) is interesting not only within the İstanbul context, but it also reflects the agenda of today’s contemporary art practice that seems stuck on the question of “can art be political and critical at the same time when its production and organization are financed by private economy, and the circulation is bounded by the market?”

As in many ‘becoming cities’, also in İstanbul, the new capital has already discovered that cultural politics is one of the leading fields for investment and can broaden the borders of control in the global competition of branding. Since the new capital is so hungry for success, and ready to support any kind of global art organization for self-branding, bringing the Brechtian stage of politics or the Marxist discourse to the table is not something risky, but maybe a need, or a demand, when the ghosts are becoming a marketing tool, something like a Che t-shirt or a Mao coffee mug, especially after the historical cover of Newsweek; “We are all socialists…” (February Issue, 2009) In their press meeting and publication, WHW presented the institutional, economical and organizational structure of the biennial as a kind of institutional critique transparently displaying the financial structure, demographic and social profile of the artists and contributors as well as the allocation of the resources. We are used to similar statements of institutional critique from the artists, especially in the context of monster exhibitions; but here starting to communicate with the audience through talking about the backstage (the invisible part of) of a biennial as an institutional critique, coming from the curators and available for the audience (also printed in the guide), seems to be the right move…

Tütün Deposu (Tobacco Warehouse) is composed of two exhibition buildings; and the first one seems to develop a conceptually consistent perspective on the question of WHW, especially focusing on the art historical references from Balkans. The waxing lyrical combination of some conceptualist pieces such as Mladen Stilinovic, Vyacheslav Akhunov, Hamlet Hovsepian and “What is to be done?” challenge us with the possibility of another avant-garde, another avant-gardist art history, other forms of resistance and unique languages of aestheticizing the politics. Especially, Dmytri Vilenski’s “Chronicles of Perestroika” that shows demonstrations from Leningrad, Hovsepian’s short films that record simple human actions such as yawning or itching as gestures of everyday life, and Akhunov’s matchboxes that are full of images from his journals and artist books, together form a critical space that Dostoyevsky’s soul meets Marx’s ghost. In the next door, there is a tension between Cengiz Çekil’s newspapers (from 1970’s) that only show images without their texts and Jinoos Taghizadeh’s hologram collages that transforms the Iranian newspapers from the time of the revolution within the Western art history, and the gap between the histories is filled with the sound of Taghizadeh’s video, “Good Night” playing political lullabies about 1979’s Iran… In the age of wars, exploitation, and misery, mothers always try to keep their babies alive and happy. After listening to Stephen Wright, who is defining today through an ontological crisis, or crises of being, in the video piece from Karen Andreassian, the female saints from Jumana Emil Abboud’s series of drawings smoothly start to fall on you, and you feel the need to re-check Jesse Jonas’s “For Mahogany”, a remake of the final scene from Brecht’s opera.

The installation at the Antrepo building, by the Bosphorus, can be considered more pedagogical or didactic; there is a structured pattern that easily takes the audience inside, sometimes leaves on themselves, several times repeats itself, and gets exciting at the point when you lose your attention, so the pattern is strong but there is no rhythm or music inside... There are certain moments when the audience is immediately integrated into the hot spots of contemporary politics, which brings together mostly the recent contemporary documentary languages. Hrair Sarkissian’s “Execution Squares” that displays images of Syrian city squares, where the capital punishment of civil punishment takes place, and Artur Zmijewski’s “Democracies” that is composed of video footage of public political events from diverse cities transform the discussion of public space - inherited from the ninth İstanbul Biennial- into a contextually sensitive form of political action. The theatricality of Etcétera (Errorista)’s installation includes a performative narration inside, Yılmaz Güney meets Sigmund Freud; you feel like ordering a drink, but there’s no bar, waiter or table service around. Trevor Paglen’s “Celestial Objects” maps the satellites over Istanbul sky, whereas Sharon Hayes decodes the political connotations of love, gender and public space in the Istanbul context. Canan Şenol’s animation of Anatolian tales titled as “Exemplary”, Yüksel Arslan’s ‘artures’, Hüseyin Bahri Alptekin’s “Don’t Complain” (even it has been de-contextualized from its original installation, the argument still works due to its oxymoron proposal), Rabih Mroué’s “I, undersigned”, Danica Dakic’s “Isola Bella” and Murtezağolu & Şangar’s “Unemployed Employees” are the pieces that hold the audience in front of them reconstructing a critical stage of politics through their reflexivity and narrative quality.

Like Deniz Palas from 9th İstanbul Biennial and AKM (Atatürk Culture Center) from 10th İstanbul Biennial, the ready-made context of this biennial is the Greek School (Feriyeköy), which was closed down in 2002 due to the lack of students, and now releases all the stories of sadness and the dust of abandonment, through transforming the question of the biennial, “What keeps mankind alive?” into a critical panorama of the Neo-Marxist discourse, referring to the Theory of Reproduction of the Society. The curatorial decisions regarding the integration of the works into the context of the school visibly operate on an efficient level, so the exhibition at the Greek School manifests a critical perspective on how individuals are internalizing the social processes and educational contents by challenging the hidden curriculum. The female psychic rising from the works of Nilbar Güneş, Lisi Raskin, Sanja İvekovic and Ruti Sela & Maayan Amir hit the ground, and besiege the audience on the stairs of the school. Bringing the personal moments of our collective memory to the surface, the exhibition escalates the social critique of contemporary society through education, gender and identity and reaches its peak with Sociéte Realiste and Doa Aly... Looking at the garden through the window; smelling the abandoned classrooms; seeing Ataturk’s handwriting and pictures, Turkish flags and all the other things left from the Greek School provide a real life scenario in order to re-contextualize what keeps humankind live...

The posters from the 11th Istanbul Biennial covered the city when the evening news was broadcasting the street fights between the anti-IMF demonstrators and cops in İstanbul during the international meetings of the IMF. This time, the Brechtian stage was set for a real fight, and some actors paid the cost. By coincidence such a political agenda would be really interesting if it had an alternative form of exhibition making rather than a museum/gallery installation or a subversive strategy that penetrates into the everyday politics. What you see at WHW’s biennial might be considered as conservative, since you expect so much from its title since it whets your appetite, it can be criticized as an example of neo-liberalization of the Marxist language through its compromises and negotiations with new capital. However the exhibition, which is composed of artists coming from the periphery, especially the Balkans and Middle East, works that have a gender issue consciousness, and discussions around left-wing politics is a good one. It also is a big step for a country where it is not still possible to imagine a better world without paying the costs.