If Italian art does not even make it to Venice

These would all be legitimate considerations, it is true, but somewhat deviant. In fact, the truth behind this resounding exclusion and the signal that comes with it come to us loud and clear: Italia does not exist on an international level as far as contemporary art is concerned. It is worth taking note of this. Those who, like me, have lived abroad most of their professional lives know this well. This is nothing new. And the reason is simple. There is no narrative of our art that can capture the attention of anyone beyond the Alps or the sea. The last was the one set up by Celant who wondered what the artists of the first generation who had not been at war were talking about. They were distant, different figures. Their commonalities were sometimes fragile and sometimes radical. Celant wove a thin canvas over them, but it was enough as a compelling invitation to read. From then on, no more than a few flashes, a few boutades (such as the Transavanguardia), the excellent Cattelan, and little else attracted international attention for a moment. No more than flashes. Italia's artistic infrastructure has been switched off for fifty years. The country's artistic present is in the dark. As I have already written in this newspaper, there is no connection of poetics, no critical debate, no political will to create a system or even simply to seek a true dialogue. If we are not even interested in understanding what is interesting in today's Italian art, why should anyone else look into our garden. Good alternative proposals, in fact, are not lacking. South Africa, for example, in addition to the curator expresses no less than ten artists in this exhibition (almost 10% of the total), little Switzerland expresses five and even Nigeria expresses another five. I know those scenes well. They are countries in which I have worked and in which I have been able to see how compactly and how much vision they have invested in their artistic sector. We have not. This is not an accusation. It is a bitter truth. And if we are worth zero in this Biennale, perhaps it is not the fault of others, nor even of our politicians who obsessively repeat 'Italians first' and then are not even capable of getting us to Venice. Nor is it the fault of a museum system that is often accused abroad of not promoting and bringing our artists to the fore. The fault lies in the fact that we have not taken ourselves seriously for too many years. While Italian artists get used to everything. Even to irrelevance.

Koyo Kouoh didn't notice. Perhaps she missed it too soon. But the real artists 'in minor keys', in the end, are us.