In the lagoon, superyachts are moored one after another like food trucks at a festival. People want to “get together” here one last few times before this city, destined to sink, meets its end. In the hotels, where corporate discounts bring the cost of a night’s stay down to just 2,500 euros, deals are struck with mega-collectors; royal families and superstars are ferried in directly by private water taxis, and right in the middle of it all are artists, curators, and journalists—the previews are THE who’s who of the art world.

And so, as the author of this article, I too must be realistic enough to acknowledge that Numéro Berlin is probably not the place to look for the best-researched art highlights. And of course, designer brands like Bulgari, Dries van Noten, and Prada are also hotspots for events at the Venice Biennale. But they all—just like the Biennale itself—have one thing in common: art is not the focus. Sure, curatorially, spatially, and ostensibly, art is the focus. After all, everyone gathers in the small port city every two years for the sake of art, navigating through the Giardini, the Arsenale, dinners, lunches, breakfasts, openings, receptions, connections, conceptions, and inceptions via gondolas and water taxis. But if you take that infamous step back and take a sober look at the situation—including the media coverage—it immediately becomes clear that the Biennale Preview, in particular, is all about who got to see the most popular and promising pavilions first, and in some cases didn’t even have to wait in line. Who shared the first photos on Instagram? Who’s already been to which pavilions?

The conversations are predictably the same: “So, what’s been your highlight so far?”
“And have you been here since Monday, too? I like to take a day to really settle in first.”
“What else can you recommend? No, I mean outside the country pavilions.”
Or: “Will we see each other later at the Guggenheim reception?”

In the spirit of this logic of representation, it only makes sense to proceed this way in a lifestyle magazine like Numéro: Who did I meet? Who am I connected to? Who do I at least pretend to be connected to? That’s why here’s a series of selfies with personalities from Berlin’s cultural scene whom I met in Venice and on whom I imposed my selfie request.

It all started with gallerist Katja Kamilla Andreae, already on the plane. Admittedly, we’re personal friends, and our encounter on the flight sparked the idea for this photo series in a very natural way: “WHAT, YOU’RE HERE? We have to capture this.” Arrival in Venice at 10 p.m., first night staying with friends—my hotel had unfortunately already closed check-in. Note to myself: Next time, save money somewhere else.

First morning. The day begins—how could it be otherwise—with a cappuccino at Campo de l’arsenal. Well, well, a chance encounter with Pola van den Hövel, the curator and director of Villa Schöningen. We last met briefly at the opening of an exhibition I curated. Before that, we’d been in a three-person Instagram group for about a year, where Charlie Stein had tried to introduce us to each other. We spend the whole day together. Despite all the sarcasm I direct at this event, it’s encounters like these that make all this stuff worthwhile. Great person, great conversations.

By late afternoon, hunger sets in. The hours fly by as we devour, minute by minute, so much art that could easily sustain several years of engagement. We’re at an absolute low, energy is at its limit—of course we forget to eat. At the table at Osteria San Isepo, we sit with Petra Hart, a Dutch artist with whom we share a table due to space constraints and thus get to know each other. During lunch, we laugh until we cry. In a veritable burst of energy, Hans Krestel and Laura Helena Wurth come fluttering around the corner from the Giardini, heading straight for us. “Is there a table free here? No? Okay, we’ll move on!”

Still just enough time for a selfie. I’m not sure if it’s the food or the euphoric energy of this duo, but I feel more energized than ever—the Biennale can continue.

At the Arsenale, in the Saudi Arabian Pavilion, I run into Bonaventure Soh Bejeng Ndikung, the artistic director and chief curator of the Haus der Kulturen der Welt (HKW). We had both recently attended the memorial service for Henrike Naumann, who, together with Sung Tieu, represents the German Pavilion. He delivered a poetic speech there, full of hope.

In that very same German Pavilion, I run into Katja Kamilla Andreae and Jan Gustav Fiedler, the director of the Spark Art Fair in Vienna, accompanied by Jennifer Braun, TheGenZArtCritic. Just moments earlier, I’d had the idea for the selfie feature. Naturally, that’s the first topic of conversation between us. “And what do you think of the Pavilion?” “Yeah, great, really, really good.”

Later, we move on to what is likely this year’s most-visited pavilion: Florentina Holzinger’s Austrian Pavilion. Or as Klaus Biesenbach announced on Instagram on the very first day of the Biennale: “and the Golden Lion goes to”—the Biennale’s highest honor, which this year, due to the jury’s collective resignation in protest, will be awarded via a “democratic” vote.

“Mr. Biesenbach, do you have time for a selfie for Numéro Berlin?”
“If you can do it in less than 30 seconds.”
Yes, Mr. Biesenbach, of course, Mr. Biesenbach. What an honor. Those 30 seconds felt like at least 40 to me.

Just before closing time, I stumble out of my friends’ apartment, where I’d just picked up my suitcases to check into my hotel. Kristian Jarmuschek’s arms catch me as I fall, so to speak. Always a pleasure. The director of Positions (and Art Karlsruhe) and chairman of the BVDG is a true powerhouse of Berlin’s cultural scene and always up for a friendly but unobtrusive chat. “We’ll surely run into each other again!” A kiss on the left, a kiss on the right, and off we go.

On the second day, taking selfies has practically become a mission. Who can I get on board for this today? The conditions are perfect—today is the opening of the German Pavilion, along with the reception and after-party of Studio Henrike Naumann. There they all are!

Not entirely unexpectedly—in fact, it was completely planned—I run into the artist Charlie Stein. She had just come from the ISCP breakfast, essentially the Biennale’s talent incubator. She’s the next person who, thanks to her remarkable fashion sense, belongs in magazines like Numéro Berlin. Not to mention her fabulous art.

The next few hours are filled for me with something that many in these circles don’t know, never had to know. Gainful employment work, ewwwwww. A few hours pass before I find my next selfie buddies at the reception for the German Pavilion. The reception itself is wonderfully unpretentious at the Chioschetto St. Helena, just a 10-minute walk from the German Pavilion. Thank you! On the first day, I covered at least 20 kilometers—almost a half-marathon. NO JOKE.

At the reception, I run into Julia Grosse, Julie Schemann, and Maurin Dietrich. Here—as expected—it all comes together: cultural figure/art historian, collector, curator. None of the three knew me before; why should they? Still, they’re more than happy to pose for a selfie.

It was the next queen, Julia Boxler, who introduced me to them. The shared last name is pure coincidence; we actually know each other from Instagram and are distantly related. Still, we claim everywhere that we’re siblings. Julia Boxler was a longtime friend of Henrike Naumann and collaborated with many others on the production of the German Pavilion. As a journalist and cultural activist, she has helped bring various media formats to life, including Arte Tracks East and the PostOst podcast X3.

Johannes Büttner, currently a doctoral candidate at the HfbK Hamburg, is nonetheless very active in Berlin and, above all, lives there. That’s enough for me. The filmmaker and director is also ready to take a selfie with me. The circle around Henrike Naumann is gathered here; the atmosphere is not just relaxed and breezy. There’s also a sense of relieved melancholy in the air. Henrike Naumann would probably have really liked all of this. At this reception, everyone is mostly wearing Prada.

Matthias Lilienthal, artistic director of Berlin’s Volksbühne for about a year now and a world-renowned theater maker, is sitting alone on a bench. After hours of conversations and being monopolized, he wanted to treat himself to a quiet moment here, answer a few messages, check the news. Not with me.
“Mr. Lilienthal, could I get you to pose for my selfie for Numéro Berlin?”
“What for?”
“For a magazine.” I briefly explain the idea to him.
“Yes, fine, but without an interview?”
“Without an interview.”
“Ok, I guess?”

Just before they leave, I manage to get Gregor Hildebrandt and Alicja Kwade to pose for a selfie with me. Alicja Kwade participated in the 2017 Biennale. For me, that was the first Biennale I had the chance to visit. Gregor Hildebrandt was part of a group exhibition in Venice last year; in 2024, Galerie Wentrup dedicated its first solo show on the island to him at its Venetian location. That was shortly after the reopening; the art market was still somewhat more reliable back then than it is today. In the first draft of this text, the word “stable” appeared in the preceding sentence. In the meantime, the gallery has closed its Venice location again.
“Can I get you guys to pose for a photo?”
“But only with sunglasses on.”
They actually put on their sunglasses in synchrony. That was pretty cool.

Now, I could certainly write about the Pussy Riot and Femen protests in front of the Russian Pavilion, or about the political statements made by other pavilions regarding the U.S., Israel, and Russia. Or about the resignations from the jury, or the untimely death of curator and artistic director Koyo Kouoh. About the increasingly prominent video installations or the truly magnificent Czechoslovakian (sic!) pavilion centered on Jakub Jansa’s film work, in which the national comic figure of the mole—known throughout Eastern Europe—appears in a tragic role that makes the essence of Biennale art cinematically tangible. But it’s not really about the art. Nor is it, in a hippie-style inclusive way, “about the people.” Of course it’s about the people, but only about select ones. As I wrote at the beginning, art may be in the spotlight, but ultimately it is also the framework meant to bring all these people together here to seismographically predict the shifts within institutional exhibition practices and the art market for the coming years.

And so two days of previews are drawing to a close. On the third day, more selfies will surely be taken, but it’s also the day this text is set to go online. They’ll be found somewhere on Instagram. Just like everything else that happens at this Biennale. Whether you were there or not.

P.S.: All this sarcasm is just my way of coping – and a FOMO vaccine for all readers who, unlike the private water taxi and superyacht guests, can’t afford to come to Venice. Of course, neither the internet nor television can replace the physical experience of encountering art. That’s what makes this whole circus worth it.