This year, for the first time, I took part in the Biennale Arte preview with Cottura Creativa. And it was a very different experience from what I’d always experienced as a mere visitor.

On the one hand, there was the incredible beauty of Venice; on the other, there was a constant feeling of being overwhelmed. During the preview, it was estimated that around 4,000 people had turned up, including accredited journalists, artists, curators, collectors, creators, gallery owners, professionals and VIPs. And you could feel it everywhere.

Endless queues.

People rushing from one opening to the next.

Events overlapping.

Phones raised everywhere.

Stories, Reels, a constant stream of content.

At one point, I felt as though I was suffering from a kind of seasickness, even though I was standing firmly on dry land. Dizziness, a loss of balance – a very strange sensation, especially for someone who loved art so deeply.

Amidst that overwhelming density, it was difficult to really engage with the works. Not so much because there was a lack of interesting pieces, but because it almost felt as though everything going on around us had become too overwhelming to leave any room for reflection.

Rather than simply experiencing the pavilions, one had the feeling of constantly navigating a maze of people. We sought out gaps in the crowds, tried to make our way in, and passed through spaces teeming with people, noise and images.

And gradually the works began to fade into the background.

And that was perhaps what struck me most. I was looking at two pieces of content about the Biennale, and suddenly the algorithm was only showing me Biennale-related content. Pavilions, openings, people, articles, Reels, Stories, rankings, a constant stream of content. An endless flow.

And you could clearly sense that everyone, in one way or another, was there mainly to prove they were there. To be first. To publish first. To feel part of the flow.

The only time I really felt like I was slowing down happened almost by chance.

Walking through the narrow streets of Venice, which were absolutely teeming with people, I entered one of the many pavilions scattered around the city, away from the main Biennale site. It was "The spirits of maritime crossing 2026".

Inside was a video installation that explored climate change, the fragile relationship between humans and the land, and the sea slowly reclaiming what we had believed to be permanent.

And standing before that work, my thoughts immediately turned to Venice. To the city, to the crowds, to the overwhelming sense of excitement that hung in the air at this huge international event, where everyone wanted to be there at the same time.

I fully understood that the art world needed visibility, media attention and connections.

But as I left the Biennale, the question that lingered in my mind was a different one: does it really make sense to cram more and more people together in the same places for just a few days?

Perhaps the real challenge was to work out how to foster a more ongoing, more human and more genuine relationship between people and art throughout the year.