Alright so this whole art festival trip started cause I was scrolling late night and felt that itch, you know? That “man I need some real inspiration” kinda feeling. Saw this headline screaming “BEST GLOBAL ART FESTS FOR CREATIVE SOULS” and thought, yeah, let’s do that.
First thing Monday morning, grabbed my laptop and a giant mug of coffee. Figured I’d just pick one fest and book everything fast. Easy, right? Wrong. Opened like twenty tabs. Venice Biennale… Art Basel Miami… Glastonbury’s artsy side… Tokyo Art Fair… My brain almost melted. Coffee spilled. Twice.
Decided to just pick the loudest one my gut screamed about: Venice. That place screams “artsy.” Bought the flight same day, didn’t even check the weather. Big mistake. Packed my camera, my sketchbook, and exactly two pairs of socks. I am a genius planner.
Flew into Venice. Immediately got lost. Twisted streets, canals everywhere, dragging my stupidly heavy suitcase over like fifty bridges. Sweating like crazy. Finally found the main spot – Giardini della Biennale. Saw the ticket line wrapped around two buildings. Stood there for what felt like three lifetimes. Ate three granola bars. Felt creative already? Not really.
Finally got inside. Jam-packed. People shoving to see some flashing lights in a dark room. Some dude muttering “profound” about a pile of rocks. I just felt hot and confused. Tried sketching a weird sculpture – kid next to me drew way better. Crushed.
Figured maybe smaller = better. Flew to Japan next. Heard about Naoshima Island. Got there after trains, ferries, more sweating. Found that pumpkin thing on the beach – everyone taking the exact same selfie. Explored these concrete art houses. Some rooms totally empty except one tiny painting. Felt like a secret mission to find art. Honestly? Half those installations felt like the artist just went “meh, good enough.” Bought some squid jerky. Creative snack, I guess.
Okay, Lessons Learned? (The Messy Truth)
After living that circus, here’s what dropped in my head:
- Forget “soul searching.” These fests? More like giant art mosh pits. You go for the chaos, not quiet zen moments.
- That headline calling me a “creative soul”? Total bait. Felt like basic prey when my credit card got charged at Basel for a $25 lemonade. Saw people wearing shoes worth more than my camera. Soulful? Nah.
- Smaller/local stuff often punches harder. That random street mural in Lisbon hit me harder than a whole fancy Basel hall. Less hype, more heart.
- Your sketchbook stays mostly blank. You’re too busy surviving queues and heat. Snapped phone pics of crowds instead. Peak creativity there.
Honest moment? My phone pic of confused tourists staring at some modern blob got way more likes than actual art shots I tried. Posted it semi-accidentally while jetlagged, woke up to notifications exploding. Captioned it “Creative Souls? More like Lost Souls @ Biennale.” Suddenly “viral.” Irony tastes weird, tastes like stale airplane pretzels.
Would I go again? Yeah, actually. But differently. Skip the flagship names sometimes. Embrace the weird side alleys. Pack twice the socks. And lower those soul-saving expectations. Sometimes the messy crowd, the cheap squid jerky, the getting hopelessly lost… that weirdly feeds you. More than a perfect curated exhibit ever could. Still craving that overpriced lemonade though. Art hurts.
