When I think of art, I instantly think of freedom. A blank canvas, open space, nobody telling you “this is allowed, that isn’t.” And yet, subtle shadows move around this freedom.
Censorship That Doesn’t Shout (Not Yet)
In the West, censorship doesn’t shout… not yet. It rarely appears as an explicit ban: it disguises itself as a regulation, an administrative choice, institutional caution. The result, though, is the same: a message disappears, an artist gets excluded.
Sometimes it takes even less: a raised eyebrow, an algorithm deciding what to show and what to hide, or the little voice inside whispering “better not.” It’s a whisper, yes, but over time it can weigh more than a scream.
(For a general overview of censorship, here’s an external source.)
Concrete Cases: Lucca and Australia
Examples are not far away. In Lucca, they covered Stefano Pierotti’s sculpture Oltre le radici with plants after he had added a Palestinian flag and a protest message for Gaza. A very creative gardening intervention, yes, but also a quick way to silence an uncomfortable message.
On the other side of the world, with Venice in the middle, they excluded Lebanese-Australian artist Khaled Sabsabi from the Australian Pavilion of the 2026 Biennale and, as a domino effect, suspended one of his shows back home. The reason? Works labeled as “controversial.” Translation: art is fine as long as it doesn’t touch the wrong nerves.
Personal Experience
Personally, I haven’t experienced major cases of censorship. At most, a few male jokes in front of a nude I painted years ago — as if painting the body was somehow more scandalous than reality itself. Small things, yes, but revealing: censorship doesn’t always come with a ban, often with a chuckle or with a silence heavier than words.
Creative Resistance: Art That Opens Windows
Maybe that’s what art is meant to do: crack open windows when someone has closed all the doors. It won’t change the entire world, I know. But it can change someone’s gaze, and sometimes a crack in the gaze is enough to let fresh air in.
Every creative act, whether it wants to or not, turns into resistance. Because choosing a color, writing a sentence, dancing a movement means saying: “Here I am, and my voice too.” It doesn’t matter if it irritates, if it doesn’t fit the canon, or if someone would rather place decorative plants over the message.
Conclusion: Choosing to Expose Yourself
Freedom doesn’t live only on gallery walls: it lives in artists. It’s up to us to decide whether to bow or to keep exposing ourselves. We can accept filters, or break them. We can smooth everything to please everyone, or accept that disturbing, sometimes, is a duty. Every exhibition, every shared image, every color we choose is already a small act of rebellion. Small, maybe. But necessary.
Freedom cannot be preserved in silence: it’s defended every time we choose to expose ourselves.
Want to know more about my journey and artistic vision? Discover it in the About section.
