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“The horrible questioning of Khaled is over,” says the chair of federal funding body Creative Australia, Wesley Enoch, reading a message from Australia’s arts minister, Tony Burke, at the opening of Khaled Sabsabi’s exhibition, conference of one’s self, at the 61st Venice Biennale on Wednesday.
In Venice, at least, these words ring true. A crowd of international art world notables listens attentively from the brutalist black block that is the Australian Pavilion. Perched beside a Venetian canal, this sweet spot was snatched up in 1988 as the last permanent pavilion allocated among the 28 others in Giardini de Biennale.
Fifteen minutes away is the second official venue of the world’s biggest art show: the 900-year old naval complex, the Arsenale, with water, water everywhere. The line is so long, I’m told to skip it and walk 20 minutes to enter through the exit. My maps app, however, has me veering down shoulder-width alleyways groaning with age and past nonnas sweeping doorsteps with twig brooms. But lo! Fears I’m lost dissolve at the next turn as a phalanx of arty hotties advances carrying pavilion tote bags.
In an Australian first, Sabsabi is exhibiting in the Arsenale too, assisted by the curator Michael Dagostino. He’s one of only three artists in the Biennale’s 131-year history to do both. Sabsabi was invited to exhibit Khalil (Arabic for a particularly intimate friend) in the high-profile main exhibition, In Minor Keys, when the late curator Koyo Kouoh found out he’d been rescinded in a shock decision by Creative Australia in February 2025.
Given Australia’s itty-bitty ripples on the world stage, some guests at the opening aren’t across the furore and don’t know which “horrible questioning” Burke means. The irony is that the majority of the questioning ended up aimed at Creative Australia by Australia’s artistic community, aghast at the decision. No one seemed keen to take the poison chalice of Sabsabi’s evicted spot, either.
“Standing here a year ago … I remember thinking this pavilion could stand empty in 2026,” Dagostino says at the opening. “But Khaled never withdrew his hand from Creative Australia. His palm always remained open.” Sabsabi was eventually reappointed as Australia’s representative at the Biennale in July 2025.
“I’m happy to say it bluntly, you don’t want to piss off the art sector,” Dagostino says. “Because they come out. The values they hold dear, such as artistic freedom, they’re willing to defend. So when you break that bond, there’s a vengeance that happens.”
Wheeling back again to last February, after the rescinding, Sabsabi and Dagostino had decided to continue the original project, which was Khalil (the work that landed in the Arsenale). Trying to block out the noise, Sabsabi relocated to the loaned Bangkok studio of a fellow artist, Abdul Abdullah. “I finished [Khalil] way ahead of schedule,” Sabsabi says. “And then the next work came to me in a dream.”
Sabsabi describes his Biennale works as “one body with two limbs”. Both are monumental multimedia installations that incorporate droning meditative sound and use digitised paintings as screens for abstract moving images. Both are inspired by Sabsabi’s practice as a Tasawuuf (sufi) seeker. And both, you know instantly and indisputably, are works of great potency made by an artist in absolute command of his message and medium.
Sabsabi says he was able to make them companion works because there was no break in between. “To paint those works again months later, for me, would have been impossible,” he says. “I’ve tried to replicate things before but my body, my hands, my being has changed. Some artists can do that but unfortunately, not me.”
He’s used other sensory aspects too. The scent of black oud wood lingers in Khalil. The black matte walls of conference of one’s self, meanwhile, are covered with lustrous script inspired by Ilm al-Ḥurūf, the Sufi science of letters and numbers. “The script is about the dimensions of mysticism that can be used as amulets,” says Sabsabi. “It was important to me to hold that in the pavilion as a kind of protection.”
Irrespective of how much the viewer delves into Sabsabi’s Tasawuuf inspiration, his Biennale works are objectively beautiful. The eight screens placed in an octagon in conference of one’s self display into a hypnotising slide and glide of colour and shape that evoke everything from geodes to batik, fractals, cracking ice sheets, stained glass and the diffused radiance of looking at the sun with your eyes closed. I can’t even name some of its peachy-green opalescent colours. Khalil, meanwhile, is the first work visitors encounter upon entering In Minor Keys, and the whole sprawling Arsenale site.
It’s an achievement worth pausing on. To do so would also be honouring Kouoh’s vision to slow down; a vision the Biennale continued after her death, helmed by a team of five curators. Her curatorial text is lead by this mantra: Take a deep breath, exhale, drop your shoulders, close your eyes.
In a Biennale buildup defined by tragedy and protest, Australia is telling a different story; one of unambiguous positivity. Thanks to Sabsabi, Dagastino and the broader team and community of supporters they’ve not once neglected to thank, Australia has weathered the storm of political controversy and emerged as a showcase of resilience (of artist) and redemption (of arts institution). The ending can be happy, this story says.
It already is for Sabsabi. In 2024, Australia’s representative, Bigambul-Kamilaroi man Archie Moore, won the prestigious Golden Lion for best national participation. That opportunity has disappeared for Sabsabi because the jury tasked with awarding the prize has resigned amid a row over the decision to allow Russia to participate after stating they would not consider entries from countries whose leaders were subject to international arrest warrants.
When asked if they’re disappointed about being unable to compete for the Golden Lion, Dagostino says, “We haven’t even talked about it.” And in his idiosyncratic way, Sabsabi pauses before replying and speaking slowly and clearly, looking directly into my eyes.
“For me, Kate, being here is already a win,” he says. “To realise both works is a first for Australian art. We can take some inspiration from that. Some heart from that. I’m not disappointed. Our experience has galvanised the sector.”
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