Is a picture still worth a thousand words?
A Dialogue on Contemporary Art and the Venice Biennale
A picture is worth a thousand words: this well-known adage established the superiority of the visual art form over the written word, implying that complex ideas or deep emotions can be conveyed much more quickly and effectively through a single image than by reading or writing lengthy prose. While most of us will accept this on its face value, a cursory visit to any contemporary art exhibition will quickly challenge even the most ardent believer. It has become near-impossible to fathom contemporary art without reading a thousand-word preamble first.
The humble plaque
There are certain features of a museum or art gallery that even the most casual visitor would be familiar with. One of these is the humble plaques that accompanies a given exhibit. It is usually a small panel set to the side that outlines the title of the piece, the name of the artist and the year that the artwork was created.
This may seem like the bare minimum of information but it has largely proven sufficient for the audience to engage with pre-modern art (art produced prior to the1860s), as back then it was the art that did most of the 'talking'.
Accurately depicting the natural world or a religious or mythological narrative, with detail that spoke of the artists' mastery of their craft was the hallmark of art from this period. All one had to do to understand it, was to look at it.
As the art movement progressed into the modern era (1860s-1960s) and then onto the contemporary (1960s to the present day), a lot of the strict conventions of the pre-modern period were done away with.
The modernist rallied against the literal and realistic depictions of the past and embraced the abstract, championing the exploration of light, movement and pure forms, colours and media.
Contemporary artists then staged a coup of their own, rallying against modernist principles to further push the boundaries of art. Painting and sculpture remain vital but contemporary artists also embraced new digital media and experimented with mixed media, large public installations and conceptual pieces.
Art was no longer about demonstrating one's craft; it was about the idea. At its heart art become a dialogue about global, social, cultural and political issues. Even the very definition of what constitutes art came to be challenged.
Loss of meaning
While modern and then contemporary artists relished their new found freedoms of expression, it created a difficulty for their audiences, and for the galleries and museums that exhibited them.
Most people who visit art galleries are not learned scholars or intellectuals versed in art history, nor are they practicing artists. They are mostly everyday people who, on account of being human, are interested in engaging in the arts and culture. I count myself amongst this crowd.
For everyday punters like us, modernist and contemporary art became increasingly difficult to comprehend, let alone appreciate. Art institutions, reliant on ticket sales from the general public, had to come up with a solution.
Birth of Artist Statements
The shift towards conceptual art and minimalism in the 1960s and '70s changed the relationship between text and object. When artists began prioritising the idea behind a piece over its physical execution, language became a core component of the artwork itself. Written explanations became vital because the visual object alone was no longer self-explanatory.
The painting no longer did the talking.
In the 1980s and1990s submitting an artist statement–a concise, self-authored text written specifically to accompany a body of work or grant application–became a formal requirement. Driven by academia and the professionalisation of the gallery sector, institutions began expecting artists to articulate their own conceptual frameworks.
Museums and galleries adopted these texts for wall labels (sometimes called didactics) and exhibition handouts to help audiences navigate the complex, pluralistic nature of contemporary art.
The humble plaque grew a little bigger: Visual artists had to become writers, and their audience, readers.
Faux sophistication
At first, these artist statements worked exceptionally well. The descriptions were straightforward. It would take no more than a few seconds to read through and get a good sense of what the exhibit was about. One could move through the exhibit with a clear frame of reference. This made it easier to understand and interpret the art, if not appreciate it. It made modern and contemporary art accessible to the masses.
But as time passed, the artist statement began to take a life of its own…
The plaque on the wall kept growing, morphing first into posters and banners, before becoming so elaborate that entire walls of the gallery had to be dedicated to it.
Straightforward sentences were replaced with elaborately written prose with fancy word play. Even prose soon proved inadequate to express the full depth of feeling encompassed in the artwork–only the most contemporary expression of poetry would do.
All meaning was soon lost in the faux sophistication: not only was the artwork difficult to comprehend, but artist statements often left one scratching one's head.
Yet, art enthusiasts like me persisted. We devoted even more time and attention to reading elaborate artist statements and poetry, refusing to admit to ourselves that the elaborate jumble of words scarcely meant anything...
In the rare occasions that it did, we would be left struggling to find the meaning espoused in the written words in the mash of visual objects that lay in front of us, which, let's face it, was not always aesthetically pleasing.
Even art that utilised highly expressive media such as video became difficult to comprehend let alone enjoy.
The video productions featured in contemporary exhibitions can at times be so drab that one is left wondering whether the artist is trifling with their audience; seeing just how boring, tedious and nonsensical a production they can get away with before even the most pretentious of art connoisseurs will not be able to sit through the entirety of the piece…
I am hardly alone in feeling this way. Many well-meaning, decent folks who are interested and positively disposed towards the arts also struggle with contemporary art. The all-too-common complaint: it is difficult to understand what is going on.
Can't live with it. Can't live without it.
As abstruse as contemporary art can seem, life, especially at the present moment, feels even more so–the chaos of the Trump presidency, the relentless greed of Big Tech, the worsening issue of climate change and the growing risks of AI, against the backdrop of a polarising society that keeps voting against its interests, are truly confounding. Beyond this, the mundane day-to-day routine of life also tends to wear down the best of us.
With many folks no longer relying on faith, religion or spirituality for inspiration and hope, the arts are really one of the last places we can go to seek solace, meaning, or even transcendence; well that, and MDMA!
So I, like many others, persist with contemporary art, which very simply refers to the art that is being produced at this present time. It is the contemporary artist, after all, who, by virtue of occupying the same period in time as us, has the best chance of understanding our predicament and speaking to it. This is what a lot of contemporary art has become about.
Seeing how a creative person understands, interprets and even rises above the issues plaguing society is interesting at a human level. It is what keeps us going back to the museums, and why, when the opportunity arises, I still make a point of going to contemporary art exhibitions.
So when my partner, Darren, who is an illustrator and contemporary artist, mentioned that our trip to Italy this year coincided with the Venice Biennale, the premier contemporary art exhibition in the world, we had to go!
My first Venice Biennale
We arrived in Venice in late June, just as another heat wave was making its way through Europe. Venice was not only hot but, by virtue of being surrounded by water, excessively humid–Not that it mattered.
I fell in love with the city the moment I stepped out of the train station and took in my first view of the canals, buildings and bridges of Venice. Even with hoards of tourists crowding the streets, Venice is a gem of a city. We were looking forward to concluding our 'bucket list' tour of Italy here by indulging in the best contemporary art that the world had to offer.
Two days were spent in the stifling heat and humidity, combing our way through the exhibitions around Venice. The majority are housed in two main areas; the Arsenale, which is a historic shipyard belonging to the Venetian Republic, and the Giardini, a sprawling garden complex that is the historic home of the Biennale. The Giardini features a central exhibition hall and 29 country-specific pavilions (including one for Australia). There were well over a hundred exhibition at these two venues and in select places all over Venice.
We started at the large exhibition hall at the Arsenale. It took all of five minutes for Darren and I to get separated (he did not have a mobile phone–we each carried on, thinking that at worst we'd meet at the exit).
While Darren was able to draw on his education in the arts and quickly comb his way through the sprawling exhibition to find the gems that made it worth his while, I found myself meandering around, feeling increasingly frustrated at the amount of reading I had to do…
I persevered but the same issue cropped up again and again: one, it was hard to decipher the meaning in the written world; two, it was hard to reconcile the meaning in the written word to the artwork that lay in front of me.
At some point in the process, I stopped reading the obscure artist statements and started looked at each piece for what it was. Being a thorough sort of person, I stopped by most (if not all) exhibitions on display. I could count the ones that piqued my interest or earned my admiration on one hand.
I found myself pining, wanting ever so desperately to feel the feelings I had encountered on my very first visit to Musée d'Orsay...
Art nostalgia
My first ever trip to Europe was in 2014. I was still in my 20s and this was perhaps my fifth solo overseas trip. My first four had been to India to 'find myself'… This trip was about filling the gaps in my education, in particular around Western art history.
My first stop was London, where I spent a full leisurely day at Tate Modern and a couple of hours at the National Gallery. After a week-long stay I took the train to Paris where I stayed for another week, systematically working my way through French museums and galleries.
French museums have such an extensive collection of art that they are able to display it in strict chronological order. Just walking along the corridors helps one to see the evolution of Western art over time. Their collection is so rich, in fact, that one can follow the progression of prominent artists of the period and see how their individual art practice morphed and changed with time.
The museums also have excellent audio guides, featuring historically rich and academically rigorous commentary. Listening to these whilst standing in front of masterpieces is simply the best education in art history one can hope for–and I was glad to receive it!
After covering the extensive collection of European paintings at the Louvre, which starts from the 13th century and ends in the mid-19th century, I headed to the Musée d'Orsay. They house an extensive collection of paintings from 1848 to 1914. They also have the world's largest collection of masterpieces by the impressionists, an era that I particularly liked. They have dedicated (at least at the time) the top most floor of the building to paintings by Vincent van Gogh.
I, like everyone else on the planet, was familiar with Sunflowers. In fact, the only reason I had visited the National Gallery in London, was to see the Sunflowers (it remains the wallpaper on my iPhone to this day). Beyond this, I was not very familiar with the man, his body of work, nor his backstory and struggles with mental illness.
I walked into the room not expecting anything. Nonetheless, the moment I walked in, I felt a change in energy: this room felt different. I remember putting the audio guide away and walking slowly to each painting, pausing to take it in, before moving on to the next. By the time I ended on one of the stars of the collection–Nuit étoilée sur le Rhône –I was in tears.
This was a new experience: I had never before, nor ever since, been moved by art so deeply.
The swirling masses of paint spoke of a world that was constantly in flux–moving, shimmering, morphing, and changing. I felt that this man, perhaps on account of his illness, saw and felt more than what the average person does. He felt the harmony of searing beauty and unimaginable suffering, the paradoxical reality of human existence, at a visceral level–and did his damned best to capture it.
I did not need to read an elaborate artist statement to understand what this man was trying to say. I didn't need an art historian to tell me either. The painting spoke what needed to be said–and made me feel what needed to be felt.
Perhaps that is why I was feeling so let down by the Biennale; with the exception of a handful of pieces, the rest felt devoid of feeling, meaning, or even aesthetic intrigue.
The debrief with a contemporary artist
When Darren and I finally reunited (after the organisers made two announcements over the PA system), we went back through the exhibition and shared with each other the pieces that we had independently loved or at least found intriguing. The next day we went through the Giardini together (and made a point not to get separated).
Of the hundreds of artworks exhibited at the Biennale, there were eight that filled our cup. Admittedly, this surprised me. I had gone to the Venice Biennale, expecting to be bowled over by brilliance at every turn…
Over dinner that night, I started quizzing Darren on the matter, trying to understand why there were so few exhibits that stood out.
'Since this is a bi-annual exhibition featuring, supposedly, the best and brightest contemporary artists from around the world, is it not reasonable to expect more brilliance?' I asked.
Darren had a thing or two to say on this account… starting with the acknowledgement that there were indeed a lot of 'bad art'.
Bad Art – And why we need it
'Look, there was a lot of bad art,' Darren acknowledged, 'but what people tend to forget is there has always been a lot of bad art at every point in our history.'
'The public has a very biased view and an unfair set of expectations towards contemporary art because they have only ever seen masterpieces displayed in museums. They use this to wrongly conclude that the artists in the old days were somehow better.'
'What they don't realise is that it took centuries to sift through all the bad art from their era to find the masterpieces that stood the test of time–and are now the headliners that we all flock to the museums to see!'
'If it wasn't for all this bad art,' he continued, 'you probably wouldn’t have all these masterpieces either! Artists have always fed off each other's work and it's this process that helps someone at some point create something that is simply brilliant.'
'Besides it's not like every item you see in a museum is brilliant–95 per cent are pretty ordinary, if not bad art themselves, and most of the visitors to the museum don't even bother to stop to look at these either.'
I found myself agreeing with Darren but had to press–
'I think it is only fair for a paying public to expect more though.'
'The paying public got more than their money's worth!' was Darren's somewhat angry retort at the mention of money.'Even if every piece at the Biennale was bad, it would still be worth having the show and supporting the artists–because this is what it takes to come up with brilliant pieces that stand the test of time!'
I felt Darren sounded more like a venture capitalist than an artist at this point. This is the fundamental principle underpinning innovation in the world of business: Let a thousand flowers bloom–as no one can tell before time which will be the greatest of them all. We don’t question this approach in the capitalist society, even as trillions are poured into seemingly dubious business models and technologies (#AI). However, the appetite to make a similar investment in the Arts simply does not exist.
Ironically, investment in the arts has a much higher and longer ROI than business and tech: just take a trip to Rome or Florence in the height of summer. The investment the Medicis made in Michelangelo is still returning dividends for Florence and Italy more broadly, long after the Medici banking empire has come and gone.
I still had to press though–
'But the Venice Biennale is marketed as the premier contemporary art exhibition and is a curated event. How did so much bad art make it through? Who is at fault here?
Is it the audience who is too illiterate to appreciate the art? Is it the artist who either through lack of skill or will just could not execute the art well enough? Or does the fault lie with the gatekeepers–the art institutions and curators–who have they lost perspective and cannot tell good art from bad?'
Is it the fault of the audience?
In talking about the audience, Darren and I found ourselves revisiting familiar ground: is art all about subjectivity? Was my disappointment simply down to my taste (or lack thereof)? Indeed, was Darren's assessment that there was indeed a lot of bad art also due to subjectivity?
'It is wrong to think art is all about subjectivity,' was Darren's reply.
'The arts are like any other field–for those who have studied and/or are practicing artists, there are objective criteria along which you can assess a piece of work. So when I say it’s bad art, it's not just coming from a subjective view point. I am drawing on my training in design, my masters in visual arts and my 30-year career in illustration, design and art.'
'Well, does that mean that when a layperson like me who is not learned in the arts, is reacting to an artwork, whether it be positively or negatively, it was purely a subjective expression–and one that could be wrong when seen through a more objective lens,' I pressed.
'Well, yes,' was the artist's blunt response.
'To appreciate what is going on in any given domain, it helps to come with a degree of knowledge and understanding–art is no different,' Darren continued. 'Being literate in art history helps one to put what they see in front of them into context. That in itself is helpful to understand the genius or lack thereof in the piece.'
Whilst part of me agreed with this perspective, the whole of me could not–I was uncomfortable with the implication:
Only the initiated were capable of truly appreciating the merits (or lack thereof) in contemporary art.
Even if this were correct, it seemed to support my thesis that the contemporary art has somewhat lost its way ... I don't say this lightly either.
Prior to our trip to Italy, we had spent a month touring ancient Egypt. We visited all the main temples, tombs and pyramids associated with the Pharaonic dynasties which ruled Egypt for over 3000 years.
One of the most fascinating things about the temples, which were in fact, giant propaganda billboards, was that ancient artisan used three distinct media to communicate their messages: carved or painted pictures, writing in demotic script and hieroglyphics
I remember asking the guide: why did they use three different media to communicate the same stories and message?
The explanation went along these lines: the hieroglyphs were the most sacred script and only really understood by the priests and folks of the royal court. The demotic script was more commonly used, and those involved in administrative functions, like scribes, would be literate and able to read it. However, most ancient Egyptians were illiterate–the pictures were for them. This made them the most important part of the decoration and not only did they occupy the most space but also the most prominent place.
Egyptian art was designed to convey the intended meaning without the need to read either the demotic writing or hieroglyphs. Pictures continue to be the way most visitors to Egyptian temples and tombs enjoy the sites today.
It wasn't only Egypt that adopted this approach.
Visual art has historically been the means via which meaning was conveyed to the population at large. It was not the exclusive domain of the learned elites–ironically that is what the written word was reserved for.
'So, if contemporary art no longer speaks to the uninitiated in the same way as art has done in the past, has it not lost some of its original purpose?' I asked Darren. 'Are all of you contemporary artists fundamentally failing to connect with your audience?'
Have contemporary artists lost their way?
'It is really hard to make great art,' was Darren's response to my prodding question..
'There is so much depth and history in visual arts that to come up with a new idea that has never been seen before and meets the expectations of a public, accustomed to seeing the works of geniuses from the past is objectively hard, even for really talented artists.'
'Everyone no doubt did the best they could–some just did not have a good enough vision and others lacked the skills to execute. But the pieces where this all came together were great to see and made it all worthwhile. Besides, your expectations probably were too high…'
It was Darren's turn to press–
'Tell me–what was the last piece of art you saw before you attended the Biennale?'
'The Statue of David,' I replied, smiling inwardly at my good fortune.
'And so, you went to the Biennale expecting to see another Statue of David–forgetting that Michelangelo is a once-in-a-generation order of genius!' Darren sarcastically replied.
'To be fair, I was also pining for the Van Gogh,' I smugly replied.
'Another once-in-a-generation genius– who, by the way, has also made a fair amount of bad art!'
Darren has a repository of photos of the bad art Van Gogh has made ... Just to be clear, he loves the man and insisted that we go visit his grave at Auvers-sur-Oise on our last trip to Paris. It was a moving experience for the both of us.
'Just remember, when the Statue of David was exhibited, it would have been a singular piece amongst hundreds of other really mediocre statues–and that's OK,' Darren continued.
'A lot of bad art will need to be created–even by good artists–before we get to art that survives the test of time. And you can't blame the artists for that. It's just part of the process–and it's the process that we need to support!'
By now Darren sounded frustrated at the need to vocalise something that seemed bleeding obvious to him.
'Fair enough,' I conceded. 'But how do we know that what we got to see at the Biennale was the best and brightest of the lot?'
'How objectively good are the various art bodies, institutions and curators when it comes to selecting these works? How much of a role do institutional bias, networks and nepotism play in what we are seeing displayed in contemporary art museums and exhibitions? Are the curators capable of ascertaining artistic merit? Or wrapped up in their own self-importance and bubble, have they lost perspective?'
Did the gatekeepers get it right?
Artists tend to have a love-hate relationship with (often self-anointed) gatekeepers as a whole. While the public may relish their visits to galleries and museums and laud these institutions for preserving and promoting arts and culture, the reality, as always, is murky.
There is no delicate way to put this so here it goes: The 'business model' of these enterprises is to profit from the works of dead artists–artists that they not only failed to support, but sometimes actively disparaged, during their lifetime…
The next time you see a Van Gogh painting being auctioned off for hundreds of millions at Sotheby's just remember that this man lived and died in wretched poverty–having sold no more than one painting in his lifetime!
Van Gogh was shunned by the art institutions of the day and if it were not for the charity, love and support of his brother, and the enterprising efforts of his sister-in-law, we would not have the pleasure of seeing his works today.
The people who own galleries, curate collections and sit on boards of museums, judge art competitions and critique exhibitions are also prominent gatekeepers in arts–how artists feel about these folks depends on the person.
There are those who, on account of the depth of their knowledge, morals, and unquestionable commitment to the arts, win respect. One such example is the late Robert Hughes, who served as the art critic for Time magazine for over thirty years, from 1970 until 2001.
Hughes authority stemmed from a rare combination of peerless erudition, moral seriousness, and eloquent prose. Hughes did not care for trends, hype, celebrity, nor the 'art market'. To him, art mattered deeply and demanded absolute honesty. He did not compromise on these standards through his esteemed career, and for this he earned the respect of artists.
But when gallery owners and museum administrators don't have a background in the arts, yet, on account of their wealth and networks, anoint themselves as arbiters of taste and culture, and judges of prominent art competition, it turns everyone off. The Archibald Prize in Australia is a prime example of that.
The Archibald is the most prominent art prize in Australia–it makes an artist's career. The judges of this government-funded initiative are the board members of the Art Gallery of NSW.
The board typically includes only a couple of practicing artists. The remaining members of the board are businessmen, bankers and the generally rich and well-connected people, few of whom have any formal training in the arts. While their credentials are appropriate for the administration of the museum and assisting with their fundraising initiatives, it is hardly suited to judging art. Unsurprisingly, their choices have been raising eyebrows for many years …
The art community puts up with the embarrassing charade with a collective sigh. No one can really complain about it too loudly as that will be the end of their prospects of making it as an artist in Australia. But go to any gathering of artists, and you get to hear the consternation that competition causes, as those with any knowledge of the arts can see that it's not the most worthy paintings that are getting hung. Indeed it is connection to the right private galleries that matters more ...
This is a tragedy for arts in Australia as it holds back the arts community at large. Artists feed off each other and when the best and brightest are not being profiled, it's a collective loss. It does not do much for our reputation internationally either.
Curators also inspire mixed reactions. Most curators working in professional galleries and museums today would have the appropriate academic grounding in the arts. However, many artists would insist that it takes another practicing artist to truly appreciate the merit (or lack thereof) in a piece of art. This is especially true of work that breaks new ground.
Unless one has done the hard years of trying to create something new and interesting against the backdrop of a 1,000-year art history, it is impossible to understand the struggle or the genius in a bold new piece of work.
Art education without an art practice creates blinkers: It preconditions one to the conventions of art and often limits one's ability to appreciate new works or, perhaps, overvalue something that may look new and exciting but is in fact terrible!
The reality of the arts is that there are so few opportunities, that the ambitious play whatever card they have or game they need, to get to the top. If they are born into the right families or have the identity that is in vogue at the moment, then all that helps. Nepotism is rife. Networks are key.
And because art has become so intertwined with politics (in many ways, it has always been), the selection of artists in recent years has also become a highly politically charged affair.
So did all the various institutions and gatekeepers and curators involved in selecting the contemporary artists and exhibitions for the Biennale get it right? Did we see the best and the brightest from every country?
It's up to them to answer this: the credentials of the gatekeepers, the process they went through, the criteria they used and their relationships with the folks selected will be telling.
Living art
We settled the bill and set off on a leisurely stroll around Venice. The city is especially beautiful at night. As the summer sun sets, day trippers leave and the crowds dissipate. Lanterns and lamps wash the alleys and bridges in warm light; the noise settles, and the soft sound of water lapping against mossy palazzo walls lulls the historic city to sleep.
Venice is a picture.
Audio & Video Recording Coming Soon.
Written by Reeta Dhar. Cover Art by Darren Pryce.
Written and illustrated at Coogee Beach in Sydney, Australia
Based on travel to Venice in June 2026
First published by Vitalis in September 2026
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