The Hollowing of Biennales
Natasha Sauvage’s recent piece on the terrible state of biennales is, as always, unflinchingly accurate. These once-auspicious gatherings, meant to be global forums for living ideas, have become bloated, theatrical productions that prioritize spectacle over substance. The biggest international biennials are no longer about art. They are about producing photogenic moments for Instagram, short-form video content for streamers, and glossy backdrops for luxury-brand activations. The work itself is secondary, often reduced to props in a larger lifestyle narrative
Dressed in Cultural Clothing
From Shanghai, Shenzhen, Chengdu and Beijing, where new collector energy is surging, the pattern is painfully clear. Several major global biennials now function as real-estate marketing events dressed in cultural clothing. Developers and city planners use them to rebrand districts, launch “art-infused” luxury residential towers, waterfront parks, and creative business zones. One prominent international biennale has been accused of functioning more as a vehicle for urban development and elite market promotion than as a platform for meaningful artistic exploration. Critics point out how elevated venue costs and event-driven tourism create an inflating effect on local property values, benefiting developers and city planners far more than artists or the public.
Tourism and Economic Claims
Local tourism boards play their part by dramatically inflating economic-impact and visitor statistics, often bundling every hotel booking, restaurant visit, and taxi ride into “event-related” figures, even when many attendees never engage with the actual art. These exaggerated claims help justify massive public subsidies and private investment, turning the biennale into a promotional tool for tourism brands and urban redevelopment rather than a genuine celebration of creative work.
The Sensory Overload
The largest events have been described as chaotic, grandiose displays full of confusing pretension, where the emphasis falls on viral, photogenic installations designed primarily for selfies, short videos, and online sharing rather than depth or lasting impact. The result is an overwhelming presentation of tech-heavy theatrics and performative works that prioritize shareability and visual shock over thoughtful or enduring content. Certain flagship biennales have been faulted for sprawling, disjointed presentations that create sensory overload and confusion, with sound bleed, thematic vagueness, and an overabundance of ambitious but muddled contributions. The focus on broad, moralizing signals and political posturing often overshadows viewer experience, leaving audiences with little clarity or meaningful engagement beyond the event’s surface-level drama.
Collectors in Search of Intimacy
Meanwhile, the true collectors in China (the ones who actually buy artworks) have grown wary of this model. They no longer equate visibility at a biennial with quality or longevity. A work that survives only as a backdrop for influencer selfies rarely holds meaning in a private collection. Serious buyers; especially the post-80s and post-90s generation are shifting their attention to artists whose work can be experienced intimately: tactile surfaces, layered compositions, pieces that reward sustained looking rather than a quick scroll. They want art that lives in the home, not just in the feed.
The Power of Living Artists
The quiet power Natasha describes; the unmediated, process-driven work of living artists is precisely what is missing from these splashy shows. Biennales today favor scale, shock, and social-media shareability over depth. The result is a glut of temporary spectacle that evaporates the moment the exhibition closes. Real artwork, by contrast, endures because it was made with intention, not for virality. It carries the weight of the artist’s time, materials, and thoughtfulness; not the weight of a developer’s marketing budget.
Final Thoughts
It is time to admit the obvious: many of the world’s biggest biennales are no longer about art. They are about promoting new real-estate parks, luxury districts, and tourism brands. The art is incidental. True significance, as Natasha has argued, lies elsewhere: in the studio, in the slow accumulation of craft, in the quiet dialogue between artist and collector. That is where the future of meaningful collecting is being built; not on biennale lawns, but in living rooms and private spaces where beauty and labor still matter.