An Existential Uniting of Classical and Contemporary: Yu Hong’s Venice Biennale Installation

     Yu Hong’s Another One Bites the Dust is simultaneously depressing, uplifting, and moving beyond belief. I left contemplating the very essence of life- birth and death, suffering, the unwavering cycles of human existence. Even I was surprised that some art had made me feel all of that.

     The essence of Yu Hong’s installation is rooted in its location. Running alongside the 60th Venice Biennale, Hong’s works take over a deconsecrated church dating back over a thousand years. The Chiesetta della Misericordia is spectacular to behold, steeped in history and a perfect home for Another One Bites the Dust.

     We approached over a series of little bridges in a quiet corner of Venice’s main island. There was an energy as soon as we crossed the threshold. I first noticed the ceiling, adorned with stars, akin to a 9th century starry night.

     The first painting near the entrance was small and exquisitely painted. Nestled in an enclave, the canvas itself mirrored the church’s unique architectural charm. This enchanting small painting is, upon closer inspection, a preamble to the show’s theme of life’s circular journey- birth, life, death. The expressive hands read left to right, from infant to fragile old age.

     Upon entering the main church, Yu Hong’s paintings dominate the space, yet there remains a perfect harmony. The work doesn’t overpower the church, nor vice versa. The paintings seem to belong here. It’s impossible to imagine the them anywhere else. In fact, when researching I found that many of these works have been shown in white walled galleries. Whilst still impressive there, they speak so much more in the church.

     The artwork has a distinct visual language that, although undoubtedly contemporary, aligns with the church and its original artwork still in situ. It’s as if Hong’s paintings and the church are in conversation with each other. The church’s original biblical mosaics complement the paintings, and the paintings harmonise with the mosaics. There is a distinct balance. It doesn’t feel like Hong is taking from the church, but rather enhancing it. I wish the paintings could stay there permanently!

     The altarpiece could almost be the original. Evidently birthed from the rich history of religious frescoes, it is intrinsically linked to centuries of venetian art confronting the same themes of birth, flesh, life and death. I spent a while in the church contemplating, and in this time, it struck me that our human experience hasn’t changed since Titian and Tiepolo were painting their frescoes. We’re still born the same, love and suffer the same, and die the same. As depressing as this seems, it made me feel the opposite. I felt joy in life’s apparent simplicity and comfort that centuries of humans have felt the same emotions that I do.

     Tiepolo’s paintings were fresh in my mind that day after visiting Venice’s Accademia Gallery, so I naturally drew comparisons with his use of movement and composition, as seen below. I think that this combination of radical modernity and strong connection to the past is what I find so utterly compelling about Hong’s work.

     The human journey from birth to death is explored viscerally in oil paint in a series of huge works, suspended in the air on either side of the alter. Before even considering the figures the influence of historical biblical art is apparent. The shape of the canvases and the opulent gold backgrounds transports me back to Renaissance rooms in galleries across Europe, and particularly the Accademia Gallery, which I had enjoyed the previous day. Compositionally I absolutely love the panel with babies in buckets (also they’re very cute) but the first panel in the series particularly provoked in me a strong emotional reaction. With paintwork reminiscent of the rich, visceral works of Jenny Saville, the sheer fleshiness was compelling. Through painting, Hong had got under the skin of the human condition. At the end of the day all humans are is flesh. This sentiment is echoed viscerally in the final panel, showing the contrasting hollow fleshiness of death.

     Jenny Saville came to mind again in the writhing bodies of one of the central panels. The female bodies, heads not included, seem to be wrapped in plastic like products. I saw it as a reflection of the sexualisation that is a part of all women’s lives. The bodies are piled on top of each other, many in sexually suggestive poses. ‘Fulcrum’ by Saville feels similar; women are like slabs of meat, packaged for consumption.

     As someone who loves sitting down, I was very appreciative that the church was filled with chairs! It became clear that this was a very deliberate choice; it encouraged visitors to sit, stay for longer and contemplate. This is what most people seemed to be doing- sitting and soaking up the magic of the installation and its powerful themes. About half way through my visit there was a sudden influx of beautiful, biblical choir music. Composed especially for the show, it really changed things. It took the installation from great to incredible and totally immersive. It was completely hypnotic. This is what I wrote in my notebook-

     ‘I’m sat listening to the dramatic music, looking at a huge dramatic painting of a baby being born, and this feels like a spiritual awakening.’

     The painting in question, showing the seconds immediately after birth, is just so guttural. It is hugely impactful; compositionally very simple. No noise, just the shock and physicality of birth. It’s a testament to the power of paint, how it can illustrate life so wonderfully. Not just illustrate- it does more than that. Oil paint embodies what it is to be human- hopes, dreams, suffering. We as humans have explored our existence through oil paint for centuries. Yu Hong’s work is the newest of this ancient tradition, proving that paint is just as relevant in our contemporary world as it was during the Renaissance. My takeaway from the church was that even now in 2024, we as humans are, at our core, just the same as ever.