Born in Genoa, raised on Lake Garda, a graduate of the Brera Academy of Fine Arts and subsequently established on the international scene, Vanessa Beecroft is today one of the world’s best-known Italian artists. Her track record is impressive, with performances staged in the world’s most prestigious museums. But behind this façade of legitimacy and gentrification, there seems to lie a dynamic of pressure and objectification, in the frantic search for a reaction from the public.

All these issues came into sharp relief before my eyes a few months ago in Venice, during the launch of her latest book, Jane bleibt Jane. In conversation with Lorenzo Marsili, director of the Berggruen Institute Europe, Beecroft gave an interview that was deeply uncomfortable. The questions, which were already rather accommodating in themselves, were met with evasive answers, often ending in pointless musings. And even when the audience intervened, her attitude did not change; she avoided the central issue and never revealed too much of herself.

Her “white martyrdom” finds one of its most emblematic expressions in the work VBSS.002: a photograph depicting Beecroft herself as an immaculate Madonna nursing two Sudanese twins. Curator, symbolic mother yet also coloniser, Beecroft appears to proclaim herself the scapegoat “for the entire white race”, with the stated aim of “triggering” the viewer. The intent is fully realised: the work provokes anger, revulsion, indignation. But beyond the shock, what remains? And perhaps this is precisely the central problem of her practice: an art that, whilst deconstructing and sexualising the female body, constructs no alternative discourse.

This void becomes emblematic of a creative process that seems to proceed more out of inertia and a desire for visibility than out of conceptual necessity.

It must be said, however, that although Beecroft never really clarified the reasons behind her work during the meeting, more detailed explanations can be found online. Her works are presented as a critique of the excesses of fashion and advertising, an attempt to reflect on the exploitation and objectification of the female body, interwoven with personal experiences, such as her struggle with anorexia. The critique, however, can come across as ambiguous due to the artist’s abdication of responsibility, delegating everything to models, performers and a vast production apparatus.

Understanding Beecroft’s art seems to be a pleasure reserved for us white Europeans – Italians, perhaps. Since moving to Los Angeles, the artist has described herself as a ‘victim’ of cancel culture, which prevents her from being creative and practising her art freely. We Italians, on the other hand, are supposedly more inclined to recognise the women in her paintings or sculptures. Although it is true that Beecroft receives a great deal of attention in Italy, phrased in this way it almost sounds like an accusation: as if we were still stuck in the cult of ‘beauty for beauty’s sake’.

And what about the United States? Americans seem to have a real problem with Vanessa Beecroft. It is hard, however, to blame them: seeing the bodies of black women, naked and motionless, placed in a museum by a white European woman, cannot help but evoke real historical violence, even if it is well hidden behind the term ‘criticism’.

Further complicating matters is Beecroft’s relationship with Kanye West: in recent years, the artist has collaborated on numerous projects linked to Yeezy, directing fashion shows, music videos and even his wedding to Kim Kardashian. This is a clear aesthetic symbiosis, which we will discuss in greater detail later on.

She may have served as a scapegoat in the past; but now Vanessa Beecroft is the embodiment of ‘letting others do all the work’.

And throughout all this, according to the collective, Beecroft was not present. Control was exercised remotely, via a production team, allowing her to maintain a clean, detached façade, thereby sidestepping any emotional responsibility that might have called her creative process into question.

And throughout all this, according to the collective, Beecroft was not present. Control was exercised remotely, via a production team, allowing her to maintain a clean, detached façade, thereby sidestepping any emotional responsibility that might have called her creative process into question.

This is precisely the criticism most often levelled at her: namely, that she never engages in active performance in her work, unlike great performers such as Marina Abramović or Yoko Ono, who have done so historically.

There is, however, a reason for this: Beecroft does not yet seem ready to truly confront herself, preferring instead to observe and reveal her true self through others. Indeed, the artist has no trouble identifying with people of different ethnic backgrounds, even going so far as to believe she has African roots, thereby justifying her ability to ‘work so well with African Americans’.

If Vanessa Beecroft’s persona doesn’t seem controversial enough as it is, let’s throw a bit of Kanye West into the mix.

Ye, who has attracted attention in recent years for his pro-Nazi tweets, has established a very close working relationship with the Italian artist. Beecroft has directed the video for ‘Runway’, many Yeezy fashion shows, Kim Kardashian’s wedding, and even the documentary on Bianca Censori, a potential victim of abuse and control at the hands of her ex-husband. Kanye calls on her for practically every project, seeing in her a sort of alternative version of himself.

This relationship went on to develop into the direction of the Skims campaign, although Kim Kardashian no longer speaks to Beecroft, after the latter stated in an interview that she was influenced by the “elegance of poverty” and organised subjects according to “skin tone”.

Furthermore, during the interview I attended, Vanessa Beecroft, referring to her work for Skims, said she wasn’t used to working with “such enormous bodies”, accompanying her words with a gesture that outlined their shape.

A final flourish that prompted the audience to ask a question as obvious as it was legitimate: “Why are all your models conventionally beautiful and slim?” Once again, the reply was rather curt, yet almost universal: “My models are ordinary; they remind me, perhaps, a little of myself.”

At this point, one cannot help but wonder what value an art form can possibly have if it is based on such objectifying and dehumanising dynamics, devoted to the wealthy, perfectly integrated into the mechanisms of capitalism, capable of sparking debate but incapable of bringing about real change.

It frightens me to think that, behind the rhetoric of provocation, there lies simply the pleasure of watching naked bodies on display for hours on end in museum galleries, and that Beecroft, in exchange for fame and money, has accepted this deal, whilst remaining fully clothed and hidden.