"Violence Kills Culture"

Never in the 73 years that Venice has played host to the art world's equivalent of the Olympics had the skirts worn by female artists and Biennale camp followers been so spectacularly brief. Alas, they were almost the only spectaculars on view. Gone altogether were the champagne gaiety, the busy art politicking and the horde of wealthy patrons who normally flock to the chic pre-opening parties in the palazzos along the Grand Canal. Instead, the opening of the 34th Venice Biennale had become a social and artistic shambles. This dubious achievement was yet another milestone in this spring's overlong marathon of student rebellion.

Snipes & Snarls. Exactly what angered Venetian students about the Biennale has not so far been clearly explained. Three months ago, they occupied the studios at the Academy of Fine Arts and the School of Architecture, began demanding a boycott of the Biennale on the grounds that it was a "capitalist" institution. Early this month, demonstrators in Milan occupied the Triennale building, housing a 13-nation exhibit of architecture and design. Though they were evicted by police, the event apparently unnerved the Venice Biennale's steering committee so much that it "postponed" the opening of two major historical exhibits.

Last week Biennale artists and revolution-minded students from Madrid, Paris and other points began deplaning in Venice. The students called on the artists to refuse to let their work be shown. In a few cases, they added threats to destroy work on display but surprisingly often the plea alone fell on sympathetic ears. For years, the Biennale has been about as popular as the only roulette wheel in town. Italians complain that the bureaucrats who administer it, under a Fascist law originally enacted in 1927, discriminate against Italian artists whom they dislike. Foreigners gripe about the oversize Italian pavilion and the reams of red tape. In the 1950s, when the Grand Prix was awarded to established artists, the avant-garde snarled about outdated academism. In the 1960s, when the prizes went to raffish radicals like Robert Rauschenberg and Julio Le Pare, the rear guard sneered that Venice was falling prey to fashion and backstage conspiracies.

Aided by such latent discontent, the students achieved maximum results with a minimum of effort. Several dozen pranced sporadically around and through the exhibition grounds. Others countered the tenors serenading tourists' gondolas by singing the Internationale or scuffled desultorily with police in the Piazza San Marco. The commissioner of the Swedish pavilion backed them up, explaining that the 1,000 police swarming about the grounds created "a spiritual climate in which we could not present works." The Russian exhibit arrived late. Three of the four artists in the French pavilion closed their exhibits. So did 20 of the 23 Italians, and artists in the Danish and Yugoslav pavilions. A group of 97 artists and critics demanded the resignation of the Biennale's organizer, Professor Gian-Alberto dell' Acqua. The awarding of prizes was postponed indefinitely.

Largely ignored, amid the catcalls, was the fact that the other 29 nations' exhibits were open for business. Many were well worth a look. Bridget Riley's candy-striped canvases and Philip King's stylish minimal sculptures might have won Britain prizes. Jiro Takamatsu's perspectival platforms and Tomio Miki's huge bronze earlobes were potential prize-and attention-getters, though rarely seen outside Japan. Red Grooms's superpop Chicago (TIME, May 3) drew guffaws in the U.S. pavilion. Yet all would remain threatened throughout the summer by further demonstrations. The reaction of many was summed up by Italian Painter Mario Nigro, who scrawled on the paper draped over his paintings: "Violence kills culture."

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