Foment of the moment

THE citizens of the United Arab Emirates (UAE) do not enjoy a vote but they relish a bit of artistic agitation. Earlier this month, Art Dubai, a fair, coincided with the preview of a sprawling group show, the Sharjah Biennial. In the lush ballrooms of Dubai's Madinat Jumeirah hotel, around 80 galleries from more than 30 countries exhibited their wares. A half-hour drive north, in the bookish, alcohol-free emirate of Sharjah, three curators had installed the work of artists from 36 nations in a range of ruins and cultural heritage buildings as part of a show called “Plot for a Biennial”. For a short while the two emirates were the hub of the contemporary art world.

On March 14th, as the shows were about to open, the political unrest sweeping the Middle East drew in the UAE. Along with Saudi Arabia, the Emirates sent troops to Bahrain. An uncomfortable question pervaded the art-filled rooms: how do contemporary art and democracy connect? The answer is not entirely obvious.

The offerings at Art Dubai suggested that political art in the Middle East may well fill the void left by the nudes and sexy bachelor-pad art that litter so many fairs elsewhere. A number of galleries showed politicised work and a few even devoted whole stands to the recent uprisings. Artspace, a Dubai gallery that represents many Egyptian artists, changed the concept of its booth at the last minute, opting for colourful representational paintings that its director described as “a testament to freedom and the spirit of revolution”.

This only went so far. The fair's patron is Sheikh Mohammed Bin Rashid al-Maktoum, the ruler of Dubai. In advance of his arrival, a member of his entourage visited every booth to make sure that nothing might cause offence. The censor proved to be more tolerant this year than last, objecting to just one work rather than three.

Yet the lone offender said much about UAE sensitivities. Installed on the stand of the Parisian Galerie Hussenot, “The Lost Springs” by Mounir Fatmi consisted of a row of national flags. Whereas the Tunisian and Egyptian flags were held up by brooms, the other Middle Eastern flags, including those of the UAE, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Iran and Bahrain, were hung on the wall. The sculpture was wonderfully puzzling. Should old regimes be brushed away? Will the new democracies be cleaner? Despite the ambiguity, Galerie Hussenot was instructed to remove the brooms every time a dignitary walked past.

Up the dusty highway, the Sharjah Biennial also exhibited a range of different political work. The star of the show and a winner of the Sharjah Biennial prize was Imran Qureshi, an artist based in Lahore. “Blessings Upon the Land of My Love”, a floor painting, evoked the violence of Pakistan's troubled parliamentary republic. In a large brick-lined courtyard, Mr Qureshi created a crime scene—at once both horrifying and beautiful—in which red paint was used to look like pooling blood or life-affirming foliage. “The role of art is not miraculously to right all the wrongs of the world,” said Suzanne Cotter, one of the biennial's curators. “It is about recognising the world's complexity.”

A handful of artists who weren't exhibiting in the biennial complicated its official opening by distributing flyers bearing the names of the people killed in Bahrain. Public protest is illegal in the UAE but the activists (none of whom was an Emirati) claimed it was an artwork. The local police arrested them before they could make much of an impact. They were questioned for half a day before being released.

Jack Persekian, director of the Sharjah Art Foundation, was philosophical about the disruption. “Artists, like other intellectuals, question taboos, challenge norms, bring enlightenment,” he said. Mr Persekian, who describes himself as a Palestinian-Armenian-American-Arab, is well versed in walking political tightropes. His boss is Hoor Al-Qasimi, the daughter of Sharjah's ruler who, in a gesture of art-world egalitarianism, dropped her sheikha title from her byline in the show's catalogue. She made no comment about the protest, but in her preface to the catalogue she advocated the importance of doubt and the “necessity of progress”.

Much of the art in the biennial tended to whisper rather than shout its democratic leanings. But “Strike Oppose”, an exhibition at the nearby Barjeel Art Foundation, displayed more confrontational works, including Kader Attia's neon piece (see picture above) from the private collection of Sultan Sooud al-Qassemi. A cousin of Sheikha Hoor, Mr al-Qassemi has never used his sheikh title. “Arab artists are in touch with the people,” he said. “Their work reflects the emotions of the street before state media or government can do so.”

There was more political art on view in these Emirati shows than you would ever see at the Basel Art Fair or Venice Biennale, some of it even quite strident. Contemporary artists around the world insist on their independence and their right to free speech. These shows marked a change of mood, but in the Middle East the loudest voices may not yet have been heard.