In a bold statement against repression, the Belarus Free Theatre (BFT) is making waves at the Venice Biennale with a groundbreaking installation that encapsulates the chilling realities of living under a totalitarian regime. Titled *Official. Unofficial. Belarus.*, the project transforms the iconic art festival into a platform for dissent, showcasing the haunting experiences of those who have suffered at the hands of Belarusian authorities.
A Vision from Exile
Nestled within a studio in Warsaw, a group of former political prisoners are meticulously crafting components for their ambitious installation. Among these is a striking sculpture made from banned books—works by renowned authors such as J.K. Rowling and Svetlana Alexievich—stacked to form a massive sphere, symbolising the suppression of thought and expression in Belarus. The project is a collaborative effort, with contributions from artists, composers, and even Rasmus Munk, the world-renowned chef, who has devised a dish designed to evoke the sensations of imprisonment.
The installation, which lacks a traditional performance element, is the brainchild of Daniella Kaliada, daughter of BFT co-founders Nicolai Khalezin and Natalia Kaliada. At just 26, Daniella is navigating the complexities of overseeing a project that intertwines art, politics, and personal trauma. Her family has faced the brutalities of the Belarusian regime first-hand, an experience that fuels the urgency of their artistic expression.
The Weight of Trauma
The Kaliada family’s journey is marked by harrowing memories, including a terrifying incident when masked men raided their home. Daniella recalls the moment vividly: “I looked through the peephole and saw six men wearing masks. We sat in the house for six hours, with the doorbell continuously going.” The fear and uncertainty that loomed during those hours have shaped her understanding of the stakes involved in their artistic pursuits.
Natalia shares her own story of detention and threats, painting a stark picture of the psychological toll that authoritarianism exacts. “You go numb,” she reflects, highlighting the pervasive sense of powerlessness that accompanies such experiences. The installation aims to convey this duality—the emotional numbness of the detained and the anxiety of those left behind—while also addressing broader themes of surveillance and the erosion of personal freedoms.
A Counterpoint to State-sanctioned Art
Unlike the official pavilions at the Biennale, which require endorsement from a country’s cultural ministry, *Official. Unofficial. Belarus.* is classified as a “collateral event” at the Chiesa di San Giovanni Evangelista. This distinction underscores the oppressive atmosphere that has stifled artistic expression in Belarus, particularly under the rule of President Alexander Lukashenko, a close ally of Vladimir Putin.
As Daniella points out, the installation serves as a poignant critique of the current political climate: “Belarus is a unique authoritarian combination, but we can all relate to the idea of surveillance.” In stark contrast, Russia is exhibiting an official pavilion for the first time since its invasion of Ukraine, an act that Natalia describes as a “failure of international law.” The Kaliada family hopes their installation will ignite discourse around the Biennale’s policies and challenge the legitimacy of state-sponsored art.
A Call to Action
The installation’s ambitious scope encompasses not only visual elements but also auditory and olfactory experiences. Composer Olga Podgaiskaya, who faces her own trauma from her husband’s abduction in Belarus, has crafted an organ piece for the exhibition that resonates with the visceral emotions of loss and fear. “Evil lives very close by,” she reflects, hopeful that her music will convey the weight of their collective suffering.
As the artists labour over their work, there is a palpable sense of urgency. Nicolai Khalezin’s metaphor of Sisyphus—a rock eternally rolling back down the hill—serves as a chilling reminder of the relentless repression faced by dissidents in Belarus. “When books are banned in Belarus, they are shredded and buried in the
