ALICE BUNNY NORTH reflects on the Gaza Biennale, set against the New Contemporaries at the ICA.
On January 14th, some twenty four hours before the Israel-Hamas ceasefire was announced, people in London came together for a new and exciting project. The Gaza Biennale, described as a “collective event” determined to “place art at the forefront of a global awakening”, opened outside the walls of the Institute of Contemporary Arts. Exhibiting over fifty participants, the open air occasion illuminated both party members and passersby to the infernal conditions under which Palestinian artists are working, challenging the art world to “reckon with the weight of genocide”. The turnout was impressive, and not an ounce of mobilisation went to waste—the Biennale was preceded by a demonstration against the ICA on the debut night of their latest show, New Contemporaries.
Previously, during the pro-Palestine demonstrations in October 2023, the ICA stated its position as a space for “water, toilets and shelter from the rain” for protesters. Since then, however, the cultural centre has come under fire after the announcement of Bloomberg Philanthropies as a sponsor for the annual showcase. The organisation faced a similar backlash last year, when, in an open letter to the organisers of the New York Film Festival, dozens of featured creatives called upon the festival to terminate its partnership with the company, alleging it is “directly implicated in facilitating settlement infrastructure in the West Bank and denying Palestinians their basic rights”.
The exhibition preview, which began at 6 pm, was packed. A strange juxtaposition quickly emerged, with visitors for New Contemporaries lining up along the ICA’s wall, mere feet away from the crowd of demonstrators. Some chimed in with the protesters, adding their voices to a chorus of “Free, free Palestine!”. Others tentatively fiddled with their phones, smoked, or craned their necks to get an estimate of how much longer they would remain part of this uncomfortable spectacle. Gazing pleasantly upon the train of activists, a glamorous woman with a neat grey bob could be heard saying to her friend, “I just look at this and think: that’s so inspiring! But me, I’d like to finish this glass of wine.”
I joined the queue, curious about what was unfolding inside, eager to view this moment in history from both sides of the plastic barrier. On the other side of the gallery doors, a line of demonstrators moved through the crowds repeating the same pro-Palestine slogans heard by the queue. Bells sounded somewhere across the river, and music thudded. I sensed that I was in the company of some very important people.
I began to think about where the evening’s events were situated in the age of social media. For Londoners in the art scene, private views can symbolise status and inclusion—attending important openings grants admittance into a hard-to- define social class. They are a “humble flex”, something to be posted without tags on Instagram stories, to be recognised and respected by a select few. Here, I wasn’t sure what was happening. People ducked out of photos, gravely pulling scarves around their faces; guests turned their backs on windows facing the demonstration (and cameras) in front of the building. “I find it so hard to remember normal times”, remarked a man behind me. Yet inside this building, business did continue as normal.
At 7 pm, 28 of the artists participating in the New Contemporaries staged a walkout, and began leafleting for the Gaza Biennale outside. The flyers provided context to the walkout, and quoted artist Jasleen Kaur’s Turner Prize acceptance speech, calling for “the separation between expression of politics in the gallery and the practice of politics in life to disappear”. Leaving the ICA, the crowd was directed with great coordination and grace towards the cultural centre’s western wall, where the protest merged into the Biennale itself. The display of artwork lasted two hours, with all text translated into English. The art was beautiful, harrowing, and deeply important, ranging from sculpture and digital art to photography and painting. Against a veneer of Western wealth and finery was a photographic projection of destruction, neatly contained within its frame against the wall—an image of Gaza, as a faraway place with nothing spilling out. The ceasefire does not mean these artists can return to normal. There will never be, in the words of one New Contemporaries guest, “normal times” again. Of the some 2,250 professional and freelance artists still working in Gaza, many are already looking to move abroad—for who is left to buy their art? What market is there, and which institutions still stand to house it? Times are abysmal. But events like the Gaza Biennale bring much needed hope.
Standing in the crowd that night, I noticed a very light drizzle made visible by the triangular beam of light from the projector. Nobody seemed bothered by the fact it was beginning to rain. In the triangle of light, something previously invisible and darkened was illuminated, and revealed to be stirring, in motion. Something that took to the air like glitter.
Featured image: the Gaza Biennale. Courtesy of the author.
