#biennale.no


#biennale.no is a biennial that doesn't take place and which disseminates works which don't exist. It is headquartered in the small village of Gol in Norway. It is a contemporary art biennial that themes virtuality, and is virtual itself. To pitch it further, the biennial has a motto that it both takes place and doesn't take place, and in all possible places simultaneously. The biennial is distributed and decentralized as collaborative nodes, and based on artist-driven DIY practices outside of institutions.


Theme 2020: The unbearable lightness of internet


Dates: From November 1, 2020 to January 1, 2021


Open call to be published soon with more info with ways to participate and collaborate.
We're looking for works that don't exist, projects that neither, and collaborating nodes to organise the #biennale.no as a network for a contemporary art biennale that doesn't take place.



   "Dead letters! does it not sound like dead men? Conceive a man by nature
   and misfortune prone to a pallid hopelessness, can any business seem
   more fitted to heighten it than that of continually handling these dead
   letters, and assorting them for the flames? For by the cart-load they
   are annually burned. Sometimes from out the folded paper the pale clerk
   takes a ring—the finger it was meant for, perhaps, moulders in the
   grave; a bank-note sent in swiftest charity—he whom it would relieve,
   nor eats nor hungers any more; pardon for those who died despairing;
   hope for those who died unhoping; good tidings for those who died
   stifled by unrelieved calamities. On errands of life, these letters
   speed to death.
   Ah, Bartleby! Ah, humanity!"
   -- Herman Melville, Bartleby, The Scrivener


   What is a mathematician? “A mathematician is a blind man
   in a dark room looking for a black cat which isn’t there”
   -- Charles Darwin


   A feather falling in a vacuum 
   falls as fast as a heavy stone
   -- #biennale.no


   (Jaromil often had vicious dreams that he had to lift something 
   terribly light, a teacup, a spoon, a feather and couldn't, that he 
   was so much weaker than the object was lighter and that he 'sank 
   under its lightness'; he experienced these kinds of dreams as a 
   nightmare and he woke up sweating; we seem to have been dreaming 
   of his light face, drawn with cobwebs, which he in vain tried to 
   lift off and throw away.)
   -- Milan Kundera, Life is Another Place
 
 
   To cut off Medusa's head without being turned to stone, Perseus 
   supports himself on the very lightest of things, the winds and 
   the clouds, and fixes his gaze upon what can be revealed only 
   by indirect vision, an image caught in a mirror. ... Lucretius 
   is the poet of physical concreteness, viewed in its permanent 
   and immutable substance, but the first thing he tells us is 
   that emptiness is just as concrete as solid bodies.
   -- Italo Calvino, Six Memos, "Lightness"
 


#biennale.no is organised by noemata