O n Tuesday, the Russian pavilion at the Venice Biennale was full of activity. Several pallets, piled high with cases of prosecco and a few boxes of good old English Gordon’s gin, had been delivered outside. Inside, Ensemble Toloka, a group of “young folk performers and professional researchers of Russian authentic music”, were singing, balalaikas at their feet, the first in a programme of performances staged for the preview days of the art festival. When I sent a few seconds of footage of this to a friend, a close and critical observer of Russia who lived there until recently, the reply came quickly, a succinct review: “Ethnic shit to cover up their war crimes.” Later, I saw DJs at the decks and a handful of people dancing. At pretty much the same time, the city centre of Kramatorsk in eastern Ukraine was being bombed in broad daylight – six dead. You have to hand it to Russia. It had much to celebrate with that prosecco.…