One night in bed, I decided to stop saving tattoos on Instagram. The more I saved, the more ads popped up, each increasing my fear that most tattoos are badly chosen and badly executed, as if all rules of visual art and even aesthetic pleasure usually policing other artforms are irrelevant.

Too, with the Venice Biennale as a whole, in this unearthliness, the curatorial was a blur of impact and thought. I wasn’t sure if it was possible to achieve anything cohesive. I’m still not sure if it’s possible to look at, en masse like this, the variety of mediums, ideas, and cultural contexts and get it and not just be overwhelmed, weary, and clueless.