Art Biennales as Battlegrounds: Representation, Censorship, and Cultural Identity

In May 2023, the Nigerian pavilion at the Venice Biennale ignited controversy. Titled You: The One Perceived, it was curated by Ayo Thompson and showcased works by Oluwamuyiwa Logor and Fatima Uzoamaka. A mixed-media piece, Lines of Extraction, critiqued the ecological and human costs of oil exploration in the Niger Delta. This work prompted a diplomatic response; a Nigerian official claimed it "misrepresented national economic achievements."

Thompson, speaking to ARTDESENT from her studio, countered this framing: “Art isn’t a press release for state projects. If anything, it’s often an indictment of what we would prefer to conceal. If the pavilion created discomfort, I think it did its job.” This controversy reflects a trend where national representations at biennales serve as battlegrounds for political narratives. Artworks are increasingly viewed as tools for cultural diplomacy or subjects of censorship.

Similar tensions arose at the Sharjah Biennial in the UAE earlier in 2023. The Saudi pavilion, curated by Jameela Al-Farsi, faced backlash for excluding Shia artists. Al-Farsi defended her choices as “representative of cohesive national progress,” but many viewed the omission as a deliberate evasion of sectarian issues. A panel during the Biennial's opening week attempted to address these criticisms, yet excluded artists were notably absent.

The concept of a "national pavilion" has long been contested. Established in Venice in 1895, the biennale format initially reflected Eurocentric hierarchies. The pavilions in the Giardini underscored colonial-era logic, revealing geopolitical aspirations alongside the displayed art. Although globalization has diversified participation—Nigeria established its pavilion in 2017—the underlying tensions persist. Which voices represent a nation? Who decides which narratives are legitimate?

Dr. Yinka Nwosu, an art historian at the University of Ibadan, highlights the persistence of gatekeeping mechanisms. “What we see, time and again, is that biennale politics reflect the politics of the nation-state. Cultural identity gets streamlined, and uncomfortable histories are minimized. The result is often a veneer of inclusivity masking deeper exclusions.”

Exclusion is not the only form of control. Overt censorship can reshape artistic outputs entirely. In 2022, the Singapore pavilion withdrew a commissioned work by Lim Jia Wei due to explicit references to anti-authoritarian protests in Hong Kong. Officials cited "national security considerations"—a phrase now shorthand for state intervention in the arts. Lim expressed frustration in an interview with ArtAsiaPacific: “The biennale was supposed to be a space for dialogue, not compliance. What does it mean for a state to display art when it polices the very act of artistic creation?”

Artists and curators are not passive subjects. Many use biennales to critique their own participation. Ghana’s inaugural pavilion at Venice in 2019, curated by Nana Oforiatta Ayim, highlighted the absence of African nations in prior biennales. Housed in a former boatyard, it featured installations by El Anatsui and Ibrahim Mahama. Oforiatta Ayim described claiming that space as “a refusal to let absence define us.”

However, critique does not resolve the structural limitations of national pavilions. What happens when a nation’s histories are too divided for a single narrative? This question haunted the 2023 Istanbul Biennial, where Turkey’s pavilion avoided direct engagement with the polarizing 2023 general elections. Critics noted the absence of political commentary, interpreting it as a retreat into ambiguity rather than a meaningful statement.

These tensions intensify in regions where national identity is contested. In 2024, the Taipei Biennial will host a panel titled Art in Non-States, featuring speakers from Palestine, Kurdistan, and Western Sahara—territories where artistic practice often substitutes for political recognition. Curator Wen-Yi Huang explained, “We aim to ask: How can art assert presence in spaces where the nation-state fails to?” The panel has already drawn scrutiny from Chinese state actors, who view discussions of Taiwan’s non-state status as provocative.

This friction makes art biennales compelling sites for engagement. As governments leverage art as a soft power tool, artists and curators probe the contradictions of representation. Through critique, strategic omissions, or subversive acts, their work underscores the political stakes of cultural production today.

“The question isn’t whether art can be political,” Nwosu concludes. “The question is whether we recognize its politics even when it makes us uncomfortable.”