Seaworld Venice: The Sh*t You Don’t See

“SEAWORLD VENICE” is the most viral artwork in the world right now. But no one is talking about what’s really going on… so here’s your exclusive from someone literally knee-deep in shit.

“Ok, so please sit down — whether you have a penis or not. Please no solids in the loo: no poo, no tampons, and no paper. If you do use some paper, pop it in the little bin there. Otherwise, enjoy, and thank you for your urine donation!”. That’s my script as I welcome guests to donate their pee in the Austrian Pavilion at the 61st Venice Biennale.

Never heard of Florentina Holzinger before? Maybe you’ve seen her upside down as the ringer (or clapper) of a two-tonne bell, suspended from a crane by now? Exclusive number one: myself and four other women do this on the hour, every hour since previews last Wednesday. We’ve been receiving an incredible torrent of viral commentary, yet, not a single news outlet has credited even one of the 25 performers in the entire pavilion. The bell is just one of seven elements here and as your insider, I want to tell you what’s really dropping.

Element two seems to be the favourite: a jet ski ridden in a never-ending circle. Three: a 12m weather vane with five brass statues of cast members (Hanna Finn, Paige A Flash, Luna Duran, Florentina herself, and Xana Novais), which we entangle ourselves on, blasting through the roof of Josef Hoffmann and Robert Kramreiter’s 1934 building.

Four: a room now dedicated to problematic drone dogs and contortion. Five: the affectionately named “shit storm” room. And six — the centrepiece — a beautifully dystopian 10,000-litre tank: an aquatic bedroom featuring an artist on a scuba regulator for 4–8 hours a day, living in your piss.

Yes. You read that right. Two iconic blue Portaloo’s frame the main space. Throughout the day, visitors (who’ve been queuing for up to three hours this week) can donate their piss. Their urine is purified through a reverse osmosis filtration system and fed back into the tank and all subsequent rooms. And keeping the art alive we say.

But these are mere design elements. They’re all background to a secret seventh element — so hidden that not a single press agency has written about the actual secret performance. Most of the visiting public haven’t even clocked it. The online audience are too busy fretting over nudity, , misogyny, “this isn’t art,” vomit emojis, and calling the bell satanic to do any research.

The real performance comes from the people who are always ignored: the ones who are there all the time, cleaning up your shit. Keeping you safe. Helping you understand what’s going on. Protecting the exposed performers from the men who can’t behave.

It’s the cleaning ladies.

This pavilion is as much about social position and classism as it is about climate change. The two are intrinsically linked. What you ignore now will be something you wish you’d paid attention to later.

The cleaning ladies are not pavilion assistants. They are the cast and crew from all of Florentina’s productions. Instead of being on stage, separated by the safety of the fourth wall, we are here in your faces. Our job is to educate and explain the genuine filtration system, with the direction: “This is our house, and we calmly, cleanly welcome you into it.” We’re also there to protect it. Like climate change, the more you choose to ignore it, the more likely you’ll encounter it when you least expect. And I personally adore this position of being ignored and hidden. We overhear the best and the worst. The previews did not disappoint in clearly presenting that the stereotypes of art world, the 1%, and those who strive to be part of it are ignorant to reality. The rich, the influencers, the entitled would have been catatonic  if they’d realised Florentina herself was wandering around the pavilion — both nude and cleaning. They clamber to film the “nude performers” for clickbait on their profiles and proving they were there. I was asked several times if I was aware of or friends with the artist. I was called a bitch for removing a man who jumped the queue. And I happily brushed dirty rainwater onto the perfectly white socks of an influencer who “didn’t dress this good just to stand in line” while she glared at the roped entrance.

This pavilion is designed to showcase the real issues of human actions, waste, and pollution — with their consequences played out in real time. But the unplanned byproduct is the slurry of waste that was once pure curiosity and consciousness. And I, my lovely readers, will be here like a safari documentarian, catching the highlights.

I’m left asking: can we be trusted with something as major as climate change when right now we can’t even notice the art — even when it invites us in? In just four days of activation, four men couldn’t even be trusted not to take a shit. Which, of course, we predicted.

For now, I live in hope — and in your piss.

Performance: Achan Malonda, Andrea Baker, Annina Machaz, Audrey Merilus, Bláthin Eckhardt, Bärbel Warneke, Constanza Pérez de Lara, Courtney May Robertson, Fibi Eyewalker, Fleshpiece, Florentina Holzinger, Hannah Finn, Helena Botelho Jørgensen, Keity Meier, Laura Pante, Linnéa Tullius, Lucifire Tusk, Luna Duran, Maartje Pasman, Netti Nüganen, otay:onii, Paige A. Flash, Renée Copraij, Renée Eigendorff, Sophie Duncan, Veronica Thompson, Xana Novais

Sophie Duncan

Choreographer, Creative Director and Performer -UNITED KINGDOM