If you’ve read Death in Venice by Thomas Mann, you’ll know the protagonist Gustav von Aschenbach dies a self-indulgent painted-fool blinded by his passions. Walking the canals of Venice, I can’t help but think so many of the exhibits at La Biennale reflect a similar foolishness. Tangles of wire cabling and crushed plasterboard are not art, even if you fill an enormous room full of … Continue reading Death in Venice. How I died from overwrought, self-indulgent art.