Filmmaker Amei Wallach on ‘Taking Venice’

In 1964, during the Cold War, it was believed that Robert Rauschenberg – who was yet to be taken seriously for his street junk-influenced art – could win the Grand Prize at the world’s most prestigious art exhibition, the Venice Biennale. All eyes turned to the scandal, and art critic-turned filmmaker Amei Wallach uncovers the tangled truth behind the story in her new film, Taking Venice. Art tells stories, and is responsible for challenging and asking questions of our society. In Taking Venice, Wallach introduces us to the American artists of the 1960s who did just that. The cast of characters ranges from artists Robert Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns, to curator Alan Solomon, to dealer Leo Castelli, and to Alice Denney, a close friend of the Kennedys who changed the definition of art in the 1960s up until today.

We sat down with Wallach to chat about the effects of marketing and PR on the creative industry, what the true definition of great art is, how American consumerism and politics suddenly rerouted the course of culture, and what happens when we finally open our eyes and look around us.

You’ve had a rich and eventful journey between art critic and filmmaker. How did you arrive where you are today, and what inspired you to make your new film Taking Venice, about the 1964 art scandal at the Venice Biennale?

I was an art critic and writer for decades, and loved it. I loved telling stories about art and showing that art is part of the whole texture of life. I told stories that played into larger questions. I was doing the PBS MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour and writing about Louise Bourgeois. She wanted to be on the NewsHour and dropped some hints at that. I was fascinated by her and her whole life, which was the story of the 20th century. She was born [during] World War I. I said “I would like to make a film about you,” and she said yes. I knew nothing about filmmaking, so I hooked up with a wonderful filmmaker, Marion Cajori. We worked on that film starting in 1993 at the Venice Biennale. Louise Bourgeois was the American representative, at the time. Films are expensive, and you can never get enough funding. We were shooting on film, and then put the film in the refrigerator. It would stay there for months and years. Louise then reached a point where she wasn’t leaving her house. We would come, Marion would film, and I would interview her. We filmed her for 12 years. Marion, unfortunately, had cancer and passed away at the age of 56.

I then went to people and said, “Do you want this film (Louise Bourgeois: The Spider, the Mistress and the Tangerine, 2008) or not?” Then we managed to raise the money. It’s a film that’s still shown everywhere. Afterwards, I made a film about Ilya Kabakov (Ilya and Emilia Kabakov: Enter Here, 2013), who was born and raised in Stalinist Ukraine, when the Soviet Union was starving the country. He was never allowed to show his art publicly. I met him in the Soviet Union in 1987. He came to the West in 1988 and became a great artist from that period. He never wanted to return until 2007, when Russian curator Dasha Zhukova persuaded him. He had exhibitions in seven venues in Moscow. At that time, I was meeting the producer, and said, “Do you have any ideas for a film?” She said, “I was at the 1964 Venice Biennale.” I realised that it was a big story. I could tell [the story of] art in a way that it deserved to be told.

The Cold War was a rather tumultuous time in the US. For the arts, it was also a time of opportunity and uncertainty. The US government knew this and got involved. It’s not always well-received when politics mixes with art, and many people might agree that the industry should not be manipulated by those in power. Where do you stand on this?

I don’t think the art itself gets manipulated. The artists have nothing to do with that. The government likes to use it. During the Cold War, the message that the US wanted to send was that we had freedom. Artists could do anything. Anyone could do anything. Artists were already doing that. They saw an opportunity. During the Cold War, the Soviet Union was winning the cultural wars with the Bolsheviks. The Marshall Plan was a US-sponsored program to rebuild Europe after World War II. People also called it the “Coca-Colasation” of Europe. If we were consumer culture, what would we know about art? That was a big thing that had to be proven. Art is part of the fabric of life, and so is politics. Artists know what they are doing, but then they make something and send it out into the world.

The marketing & PR stunt that the US government pulled off is something Europe hadn’t seen before. They swerved off the beaten path and turned art into a business where money and power suddenly became important. We see the advantages of it in the film, but as a curator, do you think some artists become overrated because of the power of marketing?

Robert Rauschenberg was certainly not overrated. He was a great artist, and he innovated a lot of things that a lot of artists are still following today. I don’t think Pop Art was overrated. Marketing and PR create a lot of damage, as well as a lot of good. It’s almost like there are several art worlds now, and it wasn’t so much the case back then. When you think about Clement Greenberg, that wasn’t marketing or PR. It was “my way or the highway.” There was only one kind of art that you were allowed to be making. It was a certain kind of abstract art. I saw a great exhibition in Berlin after the fall of the Soviet Union by Boris Gorys. He was showing that we had ideas about what art should be, whereas the Soviet Union had ideas too. They were just the opposite. That’s not marketing or PR. It is a way of getting it out there once you have made it. Yes, of course, some reputations are ridiculously out of whack. I don’t think that was true in 1964.

Rauschenberg was perceived as a clown and jokey artist before winning the main prize in Venice. Was he aware of what he signed up to? Would you agree that the most unforeseen and unfamiliar things tend to change the course of a creative industry?

Rauschenberg didn’t know what he signed up for. He was as ambitious as anyone else was. He didn’t understand how big this was, and wasn’t there when all of this was going on. He arrived for the last two days when it was already in motion. He was a guy who liked to win, but he didn’t have a dog in this game. It upset him. When he did realise how big it was, he was afraid that he would become part of these manipulative forces. Rauschenberg didn’t want to be manipulative. He wanted to be a free artist who could do whatever he wanted. He then cabled or called his studio and had his assistant destroy all the silk screens that he had there, so he wouldn’t be tempted to use them and repeat himself.

It’s the same idea when talented filmmakers are destroyed by the major film studios who want them to do franchise films their way.

Sometimes, I think the filmmakers manipulate the situation. I thought Greta Gerwig used that situation to create Barbie.

It doesn’t happen very often.

On the contrary.

There’s a quote in the film by Alfred Barr, “Most people dislike what they think they ought to understand, but they don’t.” It’s still relevant today. Is this why the world is such a mess? People try to turn others against the things they don’t understand as they can’t imagine why anyone would. Was Robert Rauschenberg’s art so comprehendible, or where did this divide come from?

I think you are right. It also depends. There are definitely artists who do get this type of response. Perhaps fewer now because people are so used to artists trying unexpected things.

Most of the successful artists in the 1960s happened to be men, such as Robert Rauschenberg, Jasper Johns, etc. Where were the women?

There were plenty of women artists. They just didn’t get anywhere except for a couple, such as Elaine de Kooning and Helen Frankenthaler. There were a few women who made it despite everything, but even then… I remember in the early 2000s, Elizabeth Murray had a retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art. Her work was selling for a fraction of what much less talented men were selling for. People were afraid to collect or show women because there was no market and future for them. That would be betting on the wrong horse. That was true for black artists as well. I think this has changed now. We made sure to represent women in the film, but it was easy.

Leo Castelli sold Jasper Johns’ 2 beer cans as art, and as a joke. Is this not a prime example of why some people don’t take the arts seriously?

It’s a beautiful piece! Those cans are gorgeous! Much of Jasper Johns’ and Robert Rauschenberg’s art was about making things from what you see daily. They are as worthy of attention as a Van Gogh. Open your eyes and look around you! Both of them were doing that.

The same applies to Rauschenberg’s white paintings.

The white paintings were brush strokes that didn’t show. What mattered was what a passing shadow would do, a leaf or dust falling on them. Anything happening in the real world was what interested Rauschenberg. Composer John Cage then took that idea and did 4’33”, where you sit down at a piano, open it, and sit there for 4 minutes 33 seconds. The music comes to be when people are shuffling, laughing, clearing their throats, etc.

As much as Rauschenberg was American and patriotic, it was mentioned at the Venice Biennale in 2022 that the US needs to dispose of the idea of nationalism. It’s a very different approach than what the US had in 1964. What has changed?

Well, I think the US government and the art world haven’t changed since. Rauschenberg said in the 1960s that we should do away with nationalism. But in 2022, Simone Leigh said the same thing. The artists feel that way. There is no centre of art anymore, only a financial one, but I don’t think governments feel that way.

What would you like to make next?

It took 7-8 years to make this film. If a production company said, “Here is a budget to make a film,” I will. But if not then, I will probably write books. I love filmmaking. It’s collaborative. You work with so many people, and it’s wonderful.