Expanding the Dialogue: A Non-American’s Take on the Whitney Biennial
Visiting the Whitney for the first time, I was expecting a very typical distillation of American Art — bold, attention-grabbing, and loud, as per the stereotype. While there were pieces that did hit these notes, I was more so struck by a prevailing theme of American disillusionment and turbulence, not unexpected after witnessing the first presidential debate of the year.
Aptly described by the curators as existing in a “Dissonant Chorus”, the 81st edition of the Whitney Biennial featured numerous American artists attempting to address the perpetual agitation that currently plagues the nation. Even as an international student with no ties to this country, the feeling of inevitable doom still loomed over me as I walked through countless pieces that collectively converged on a similar critical lens.
Stepping into the first exhibition space, we were greeted by a suffocating yellow light, accompanied by a web of electric wires that hovered over us — an unsettling introduction orchestrated by P. Staff’s “Afferent Nerves.” This installation immediately set the tone for the whole exhibition, evoking a visceral unease that compelled us to cowardly maneuver beneath it.
This highly abstract expression of anxiety was later offset by Carmen Winant’s photography collage, “The Last Safe Abortion.” Shifting the focus away from the patient to the healthcare providers that support them, Winant’s rare imagery normalizes the routine aspects of the procedure — oddly refreshing given how often discussions of women’s health and rights are sensationalized.
Rather audaciously, the Biennial went on to feature the White House in a state of ruin, slanted and decaying against the backdrop of the Hudson River. Created by performance artist Kiyan Williams, the hardened sculpture serves as a very literal metaphor of America’s current turbulence. Unaware of the underlying symbolism, I chose to trample on the ruin with much oblivion and joy (as intended by the artist). However, the same could not be said for the Americans around me, who stared at the ruined White House in jaw-dropping disbelief.
If you still aren’t convinced of America’s inevitable trajectory, the Whitney further drives this notion home with Eddie Rodolfo Aparicio’s crumbling wall of tree resin. Shaped by gravity and the sun, the crumbling structure could be interpreted as a literal symbol of America’s self-inflicted dismantling. For enthusiasts of Buddhist philosophy though, consider this piece a reflection on impermanence and the ways political norms and bureaucracy often overshadow the transient nature of individual lives.
Aside from political reflections, the Biennial also did manage to somewhat comment on AI’s omnipresence in 2024. Nikita Gale’s “Tempo Rubato” features a piano that, while maintaining mechanical gestures, produces no sound. This silent instrument symbolizes the increasingly inhuman approach to art and intellectual property that complicates our understanding of reality — which is rather vital with the current state of governance.
Despite occasional bursts of turbulence throughout the exhibition, the rest of the Biennial felt largely restrained and guarded. Perhaps by “playing it safe”, the curators have successfully captured the anxiety-ridden moment we’re finding ourselves in — where fear and uncertainty overshadow boldness and innovation.
Ultimately, the Biennial could have done a lot more. In attempting to tackle so many subject matters, the exhibition ended up only scratching the surface with very literal and obvious depictions that offer very minimal room for nuanced thought from the viewer’s end. If this is the state of American Art in 2024, I find myself yearning for a more international perspective and presence that can challenge this pretty dulling dialogue.
