Biennale Gherdëina 4

Knock on Wood

The English expression “Knock on Wood” corresponds to our “auf Holz klopfen” and relates to fate and superstitions. Anglo-American culture is certainly less superstitious than ours, yet the need to hold on to something that brings luck is universal.

It is in this spirit that the fourth edition of the Biennale of St. Ulrich in Val Gardena, dedicated to contemporary sculpture, takes place. Five artists were invited: two from St. Ulrich — Bruno Walpoth and Willy Verginer — both with internationally recognized profiles, and three from other locations: Chris Gilmour, an Englishman living in Udine; Sonia Leimer, born in Merano but working in Vienna; and Velasco Vitali, who lives between Milan and Lake Como.

For the first time in the history of the Biennale, artists were asked to create a public sculpture project capable of interacting with the historic center of St. Ulrich, engaging both residents and tourists without imposing itself. There were no restrictions on subject or theme, but the material had to be wood, even though not all the artists are specialists in this medium.

There are three reasons that give the project its poetic meaning. The first: it should establish a clear difference from the numerous exhibitions held elsewhere, emphasizing that this exhibition is possible only here, in Val Gardena. Seeking the specificity of the region and the local cultural tradition does not imply resistance to globalization; rather, it is an attempt to identify roots that inspire greater interest compared to the generic products found everywhere, which look the same regardless of location. From this perspective, art could perhaps learn from the strategies of Italy’s wine and food culture — one of the few sectors still driving the economy — where local specialties are sought instead of imported items like sushi or couscous.

The second reason: realizing these five ambitious projects — which could be called monumental if the term did not carry such self-congratulatory connotations — brought artists, workshops, and small businesses into contact, creating a dynamic cycle with significant economic impact. Contemporary art no longer develops solely in a studio; it involves a range of skills, often highly specialized, both in craftsmanship and the use of modern technologies essential for creating the final work, from concept to execution. While this approach has always been central to conceptual art, particularly minimalism, which often delegates execution to others, other styles require a less automatic transition. Many still imagine sculptors secluded in their workshops, dealing only with tools and dust, when in reality they often function as engineers, organizing workflows and coordinating staff. It is not a matter of favoring one method over another, but the combination of a strong concept and skilled craftsmanship provides ideal conditions for balance.

The third reason: wood is a very particular material, often associated with craft rather than art (at least in contemporary art). It has no high-tech properties but fascinates with its warmth — which is also its limitation. For a time, wood was excluded from the “top” of contemporary art media, although historically great sculptors often experimented with it. Its use declined until a revival of interest in vintage aesthetics, handcraft, and tradition gave it renewed value. This is true not only for visual arts but also for music, fashion, architecture, and design. We have become willing participants in a longing for the past, driven by an uncertain present and an unpredictable future.

For example, music critic Simon Reynolds notes in his essay Retromania how the commercial boom of vintage clothing went hand in hand with trends in furniture and objects being aged artificially in the second half of the twentieth century, while lifestyle magazines celebrated mid-century design classics. In this context, wood, with its extraordinary connection to the past, adds value: it tells stories, guides the viewer’s gaze, and stimulates touch and warmth. More and more artists worldwide are using wood in sculpture or installations — a trend that could even be called a “wood fashion,” if the term did not carry some ambiguity.

Five sculptures, based on the artists’ projects developed during visits to Val Gardena, were installed in summer 2014 along the pedestrian zone of St. Ulrich’s historic center. The artists were interviewed about the journey from concept to final execution, particularly how those without prior experience working in wood adapted to this unfamiliar material.

Sonia Leimer created three carved tables, describing her experience as follows: “When I visited workshops of Val Gardena woodcarvers, I noticed that between the 1970s and 1990s, some religious statues were made for South Africa. One of my tables references this colonial history. A few years ago, I bought a wax print, produced in Ghana, which tells a long story of migration: originally from Indonesia, it came to Europe and reached parts of Africa during Christianization. The design of the fabric is carved into the wood and the workbench and then colored.” On the second table is a piece she calls Black Hole, which also references the formation of the Dolomites around 250 million years ago. The third table, Cross-Fade, depicts a scene from Luis Trenker’s film The Lost Son, showing a mountain landscape overlaid by the New York skyline.

Chris Gilmour was invited because his usual material, cardboard, has a color similar to wood. This was his first attempt to work in a much harder material, requiring extensive discussion about both theme and formal properties of the final work. His final project involved a collection of boxes containing archaeological material that survived a theft or natural disaster. Emerging from the boxes is a figure reminiscent of Saint George and the Dragon, created by an unknown sculptor of the past and awaiting restoration and relocation.

Velasco, trained as a painter, demonstrated remarkable skill in sculpture and installation. His packs of hounds are among the most recognizable images in contemporary Italian art, often placed in unexpected contexts to provoke confusion or shifts in meaning. For this Biennale, Velasco installed a giant hot-air balloon of wood and iron at the entrance to the pedestrian zone of St. Ulrich. Aria (air, also Aric) evokes Jules Verne’s adventure stories and the paintings of Paul Delvaux, themselves inspired by the French author’s novels. Its strongest reference is to the albatross in Charles Baudelaire’s poem, majestic in the sky but awkward on land, highlighting the impossibility of flight.

Willy Verginer’s project was perhaps the most surprising, considering the sculptor’s usual iconographic repertoire, which specializes in depicting figures in relation to objects and landscape. This time he rejected an anthropocentric perspective and created a house — perhaps more a hut or shack — supported by the roots of a tree. It is a precarious balance, yet essentially stable, reflecting on the artist’s own balance between challenges, tradition, and the stability provided by the earth — a truly poetic, metaphorical, and highly successful work.

Finally, Bruno Walpoth remained devoted to the human figure. At the start of the five-sculpture route, he installed a large wooden bust, split in the middle and hollowed out inside. Perhaps this is the most immediately understandable work, though the artist’s intentions are far from simple. Walpoth observes human nature attentively, entering the psyche of his figure, which seems like a giant double when compared to human scale. His sculpture stages an inverted vision: from the central village square of St. Ulrich, it observes us, attempting to understand our reactions and thoughts, as if we were the Gullivers of today — tireless travelers in the realm of art.