What will strike you about this issue is an apparent contradiction. On the one hand, the Venice Biennale, the art world’s greatest mechanism for conferring legitimacy. On the other, the stories of women weaving in cooperatives in Khouribga or Bejaâd, and a 70-year-old artist who has been working quietly in her studio in Akouda for thirty years. And yet it would seem that it is these very trajectories that will take center stage. This raises the question: what constitutes authority in the art world today? Institutions? The market? Historic centers? Or the ability of a work of art to convey a story, a memory, and a legacy?
For the first time, Morocco is at the center of the Venice Biennale. It is featured at the Arsenale, where Amina Agueznay presents Asǝṭṭa, a work born of more than thirty years of dialogue with the maâlmate of Morocco and the involvement of nearly 160 of them, hailing from different regions of the kingdom. And in the international exhibition, even though this is not the first time a Moroccan artist has been featured, we discover the weavings of Amina Saoudi Aït Khay, born in Casablanca and based in Tunisia for over forty years, who, at age 70, is making her debut at the Biennale after three decades of quiet work. This Moroccan presence in Venice opens up a realm of collective responsibility.
Since the founding of Diptyk in 2009, the idea of a Moroccan pavilion has been a recurring theme in cultural discourse. This project took a long time to come to fruition. So much the better. The twenty years that separate these discussions from the opening of Asǝṭṭa tells the story of a process of development—that of an ecosystem that has consolidated its institutions, collections, venues, artists, and narratives. This extended period of time has worked in the Moroccan art scene’s favor. And when the country finally makes its debut at the Arsenale, it does so with a proposal whose strength stems precisely from this maturation.
What is at stake in Venice goes far beyond the mere question of national representation. The artists making their mark at this year’s festival are often those whose work challenges established categories. Amina Saoudi does not quite belong to the realm of craftsmanship, nor does she quite belong to the realm of fine arts. Amina Agueznay transforms vernacular skills into a contemporary language without ever succumbing to the temptation of folklore. Finally, Koyo Kouoh presents us with an exhibition that shatters the dichotomies of North-South, tradition-modernity, and center-periphery. This complexity strikes me as infinitely more interesting than the identity narratives to which the art world sometimes all too readily succumbs.
A few days ago, at the Fontainebleau Art History Festival—where Morocco was the guest of honor—I took part in a conversation with Abdellah Karroum centered on one question: How does a journal build its own archives? How is the long term constructed from the urgency of the present? A journal does not merely document its era; it also creates the material that will one day allow us to reinterpret that era. This reflection led us to revamp our “Exhibitions” section. At a time when announcements happen in real time, and our website and its calendar track current events as they unfold, it seemed to us that the purpose of a quarterly magazine lies more in shaping a perspective and forming an opinion. We have therefore chosen to dedicate this section to six exhibitions that our writers have actually seen, explored, observed, and examined. Six exhibitions to which we dedicate full-fledged art criticism essays, because seeing and writing are not two separate acts. Art criticism remains one of the few spaces where a work can still be viewed before it is commented on.
Perhaps this is ultimately where the need for an art journal still comes into play. In the face of the flood of immediate commentary, it’s almost a form of resistance.
Meryem Sebti
This translation was generated using AI. For the original text, please see the French version of this article.
