Adriano Pedrosa with Natalia Gierowska

“Foreigners Everywhere”—the title of the 60th edition of the Venice Biennale evokes the alarmist titles of newspapers from 2012, where Europe faced the peak of the Migration Crisis. The proximity to the economic crisis, which toppled European stability only a few years before, made the concept of crisis one of the most prominent leitmotifs in contemporary public debate. This theme continues to reverberate, as ongoing crises further the political fragmentation and fuel the rise of right-wing sentiments across the European Union member states.

Adriano Pedrosa, the head curator of the Venice Biennale, unveiled an unprecedented international exhibition where the preponderance of the artists selected to participate represent those whom Europe had historically attempted to exclude both in the realm of politics and art. Pedrosa’s exhibition thus confronts the fortified borders of the art world, mirroring those of sovereign states. I had the opportunity to discuss with Mr. Pedrosa the organisation of this politicised, restitutive edition, which focused on highlighting marginalised artists from the Global South.

Kapewe Pukeni [Bridgealligator], 2024. Site-specific installation, 750 m2. Courtesy La Biennale di Venezia. Photo: Matteo de Mayda.">

Natalia Gierowska (Rail): The title you picked for the 60th Art Biennale is “Foreigners Everywhere,” which evokes titles taken from newspapers, especially those in 2012 at the peak of the migration crisis. Can you tell us more about the choice of the title and the theme for this year’s exhibition?

Adriano Pedrosa: The title Stranieri Ovunque—Foreigners Everywhere embraces a dual-language approach, juxtaposing English and Italian, to emphasise the nuances of translation and the inescapable differences between languages. This title is inspired by a series of works by Claire Fontaine, a Paris- born, Palermo-based collective consisting of a duo who have been making these works since 2004. Their series features about 60 neon sculptures that spell out “foreigners everywhere” in various languages and colours. The works are displayed at the docks of Venice’s Arsenale, suspended above the water, in a very powerful new configuration.

The phrase originally emerged from the name of a Turin collective who was combating racism and xenophobia in Italy in the early 2000s. The source of the phrase imbues the exhibition with a strong political message already from its starting point, and in turn makes the theme and the title probably one of the most politically outspoken ones in the history of the Venice Biennale.

Beyond its political dimensions, the title also possesses linguistic and poetic layers, and one can think of several meanings. First of all, no matter where we are or where we go, we find “foreigners” everywhere. But also, wherever we go, we too are also “foreigners,” deep down inside. On the other hand, the expression is particularly meaningful in Venice—a city whose population triples during peak days due to the influx of tourists, a foreigner of a very privileged kind. In addition, the Biennale has always been international, celebrating and welcoming artists and visitors from across the globe. This year, we are hosting pavilions from 87 countries, which is a record for the Venice Biennale, and the International Exhibition, which I curate, includes artists from 80 countries.

Rail: Your extensive career, marked by significant contributions to various Biennales and Triennales, including co-curating the 12th Istanbul Biennial (2011), the 27th Bienal de São Paulo (2006), and serving as the artistic director of the 2nd Trienal de San Juan (2009), presents a wealth of experiences. As a first non-European and non-North American curator, how have these varied roles and the unique challenges they presented prepared you for leading the Venice Biennale? Moreover, do you perceive a thematic or philosophical continuity in your curatorial approach, where insights or ideas from these past projects have influenced your vision and execution for Venice?

Pedrosa: I am actually the fourth non-European and the second curator from the Global South to hold this position, following Okwui Enwezor, the late Nigerian curator who organized the 2015 Venice Biennale but who was based in Germany at the time. Therefore, I am the first curator from the Global South who is still based in the region. I could say that my research has focused on the Global South in general, be it in the contemporary or in the twentieth century, but also on productions that have somehow been marginalized from the main narratives even in the Global South—such as indigenous artists or self-taught artists.

During the research for the Istanbul Biennial, I was quite interested in drawing connections between these two regions that operated largely, in cultural terms, at the margins of European modernity, Latin America and the Middle East, and I feel that my project there was to juxtapose artists from these regions. After Istanbul I decided to embark on a series of research trips through Asia and Africa, even if I did not have at the time a specific project in mind, looking not just at contemporary art but also at twentieth century art. That is where my research in the Global South comes from. In preparing the Biennale I returned to many of these places, and it is in fact easier to return, and more plausible to do that for a very short stay, than to go for the first time.

Crucifixion of the Soul, 1934. Coloured inks on calico. 147.3 × 1061.7 cm. London Borough of Newham Heritage and Archives. Courtesy La Biennale di Venezia. Photo: Matteo de Mayda.">

Crucifixion of the Soul, 1934. Coloured inks on calico. 147.3 × 1061.7 cm. London Borough of Newham Heritage and Archives. Courtesy La Biennale di Venezia. Photo: Matteo de Mayda.">

On the other hand, there are some elements from previous curatorial projects of mine that reappear in the Venice Biennale. I curated the 31st edition of the Panorama da Arte Brasileira (a sort of biennial devoted to Brazilian contemporary art) at Museu de Arte Moderna de São Paulo in 2009. It was quite unique—and polemic—because I selected only foreign artists whose works somehow referenced Brazilian art and culture, questioning the connections between art and nationality, the foreign and the national. It also included a residency program to which I invited Claire Fontaine, who then created two neon sculptures from the Foreigners Everywhere series, one in Portuguese (“Estrangeiros em todo lugar”) and another in Old Tupi (“Mamõyguara Opá Mamõ Pupé”), an extinct Indigenous language from Brazil. The Old Tupi in fact became the title of the exhibition, so in a way I have organized an exhibition with a very similar title, yet a very different project altogether.

Additionally, I started my curatorial career working in the well-known 1998 edition of the Bienal de São Paulo, working with chief curator Paulo Herkenhoff. The Bienal that year also included a Núcleo Histórico and was devoted to Antropofagia, a concept created by Brazilian modernist intellectual Oswald de Andrade in 1928, which is also important to the Biennale’s own Nucleo Storico.

At the Museu de Arte de São Paulo Assis Chateaubriand (MASP), where I work as the artistic director, we devote each year to a specific set of histories, and many of the Biennale’s subjects have been of interest to us. In 2023, we dedicated a full year of programming to Indigenous Histories, with many solo shows—including one of the Mahku collective, the Movimento dos Artistas Huni Kuin from the western part of the Brazilian Amazon, and who now in Venice painted the façade of the Central Pavilion at the Giardini. This year, our entire program is devoted to Queer Histories, so all the solo shows are of queer artists. In addition, every year we organize one large scale group exhibition, which is international and transhistorical titled Indigenous Histories, Queer Histories, etc. So in many ways I have been interested in connecting contemporary works to historical ones, as well as with a keen interest in what in Brazil and Latin American we call the artista popular—who is connected to the outsider artist, but also to the self-taught artist.

Despite my interest in the Global South in general, I did want to show some of the most important female European outsider artists of the twentieth century, and I was lucky to be able to include some of their most iconic works—in the case of Madge Gill, from the UK, and Aloïse, from Switzerland. It is interesting because these are major artists but within a certain niche of outsider art, so they were never exhibited in Venice. The other key European woman connected to outsider art and that is featured in the exhibition is Anna Zemánková, from the Czech Republic, though Massimiliano Gioni, who was also interested in outsider art, showed her work in his Biennale in 2013.

Dios es inmigrante (God Isan Immigrant), 2017/2023. 10 aluminum sailboat masts,black epoxy paint, control lines/steel cable and turnbuckles,marble and bronze plaque. 1500 × 390 × 925 cm. Jorge M. Perez Collection, Miami. Courtesy La Biennale di Venezia. Photo: Matteo de Mayda.">

Rail: I really enjoyed the annotations next to the paintings indicating that many of the artists had never been presented at the Biennale before. It was surprising to see that this applied to the majority of the works in your exhibition.

Pedrosa: Yes, it is certainly the vast majority. In the Nucleo Contemporaneo, there are a couple of artists who had participated previously in the International Exhibition, yet whose work I thought was crucial for this Biennale: such as Bouchra Khalili, Teresa Margolles, and Mariana Telleria. In the Nucleo Storico, a number of artists had participated back in the twentieth century, yet a handful of them in recent editions, including the extraordinary Baya, from Algeria, and the great Ibrahim El-Salahi, from Sudan, only last year, but for me they were unavoidable figures when dealing with the twentieth century in the Global South.

Stranieri Ovunque—Foreigners Everywhere, 2024. Courtesy La Biennale di Venezia. Photo: Marco Zorzanello.">

Stranieri Ovunque—Foreigners Everywhere, 2024. Courtesy La Biennale di Venezia. Photo: Marco Zorzanello.">

Rail:The focus on outsider and indigenous artists suggests re-evaluating art’s canonical histories and hierarchies. Could you elaborate on the criteria and process for selecting these artists, avoiding tokenisation, and how their inclusion challenges or expands traditional narratives of art history?

Pedrosa: First of all I believe it is important to understand that I am coming from a context in Brazil and in Latin America where indigenous artists and arte popular—which is not quite the same as outsider art, but is closely connected to it—have a very strong cultural presence, they are an integral part of our culture, and it is something we are all quite familiar for us. Exhibition programs and collections in Brazil habitually showcase indigenous artists and arte popular. There is a shared effort to show a more diverse and plural panorama of art and culture beyond the productions made by art school-educated artists that are coming from a certain intellectual elite. We do need to learn from these histories, these narratives, these art productions.

I would say in fact that Brazil is among the places where this practice is perhaps most advanced. In the past we have seen exhibitions, collections and books solely devoted to arte popular and indigenous art in the country, but in recent years we felt the necessity of going one step further, and integrating these artists and their works in a wider panorama, as well as giving them monographic exhibitions and publications. MASP has been leading the way in this sense, and we have been organizing exhibitions on these productions since the 1940s. Recently we have brought in Indigenous curators to our team. Take the collective Mahku, for example, who I’ve been working with for ten years, and who painted the façade of the Central Pavilion in the Biennale. They have been in several exhibitions at the museum, we have many works in the collection, and we organized a monographic show devoted to them in 2023, which Ibã Huni Kuin, the leader of the collective, co-curated as well.

Of course in the US we see important exhibitions dedicated to some of these productions, such as the great Outliers and American Vanguard Art, in 2018, curated by Lynne Cooke, and there are books and collections on the subject, yet we do not see as much these artists integrated in group exhibitions or in dialogue with so-called modern and contemporary art, and if they appear in museum collections, they are set apart in distinct galleries or departments, and I frankly don’t see why they need to be segregated. Instead, I see the importance of juxtaposing different epistemologies or worldviews especially in the sites where colonial histories of violence, silencing and destitution ought to be reckoned with. If you look closely at our Afro Atlantic Histories exhibition and its catalogue, which we organized in 2018 at MASP and toured several museums in the US in 2021–24, this approach is very much there—with the inclusion of Philomé and Sénèque Obin, from Haiti, who are also at the Biennale.

It is quite baffling to see how some have reacted to the inclusion of these artists in the Biennale as being “folkloric,” some were disturbed by the presence of Indigenous artists at the opening wearing Indigenous garments—one reviewer even mentioned comparisons made to “human zoos” of the colonial era, which for me is quite shocking. There seems to me like no better place than the Venice Biennale, given the unique and extraordinary visibility of the event, to showcase Indigenous artists, outsider artists, artistas populares in conversation with metropolitan modern and contemporary artists. In a way, seeing this as folkloric, reveals the spectre of colonialism and eurocentrism even in the most enlightened European international circles of modern and contemporary art. It is as if the Global South were welcome in the international contemporary art panorama only if artists can present works that are in line with the dominant aesthetics of Euroamerica, and wearing European fashion. Some may see it as traditional, but I in fact see it as quite radical.

Tela Venezuelana, 2019. Human imprint on cloth, 210 × 210 cm. Courtesy La Biennale di Venezia. Photo: Matteo de Mayda.">

Tela Venezuelana, 2019. Human imprint on cloth, 210 × 210 cm. Courtesy La Biennale di Venezia. Photo: Matteo de Mayda.">

Rail: Considering the Venice Biennale's role in reflecting upon modernism's evolution alongside the emergence of European cultural identities, especially post-fascism, where modernist aesthetics aided countries like Germany, Austria, and Italy in redefining themselves beyond their Nazi affiliations, it's noteworthy that your exhibition dedicates a significant portion to modernism from the Global South. This choice comes at a time when right-wing sentiments are resurgent in Europe. The artists from the Global South, deeply influenced by European modernism—which itself spread globally, often entangled with colonialism—have, as you highlighted, engaged in a process of appropriation and transformation, echoing Oswald de Andrade’s concept of antropophagia. Given this context, could you elaborate on the significance of highlighting Global South modernism in your show, particularly in relation to contemporary political climates and the historical interplay between European modernism and colonial legacies?

Pedrosa: It’s interesting that you mention a perceived role of the Biennale. Some feel that the Biennale should reflect the current state of contemporary art or present a panorama of contemporary art. However, I disagree; I feel there is freedom to develop a more singular project. There are dozens of Biennales and Biennials around the world, most of them with an international scope, and if each one aspires to present the current state or a panorama of contemporary art in this way every two years, they all become somewhat redundant. In fact, I believe that the understanding that one can indeed present the current state or panorama in this manner seems entirely unattainable—there are many states and many panoramas, many viewpoints and outlooks, and perhaps they are all inescapably personal.

In this sense, I feel that each edition of the Biennale the curator should be free to reinvent the program, the framework and the plan, there are no rules (though of course there are limitations regarding budget, time, and space) and that's the beauty of this platform. Each edition should differ dramatically from the next, and hopefully it will, as what is desirable is to have a certain diversity of projects, of viewpoints, one following the other, at least in my mind. For example, I often mention Ralph Rugoff's International Exhibition in 2019, which only featured living artists, 79 of them, in a stark contrast to my own project. One is not necessarily better than the other, but in fact they perhaps complement each other. I've presented many artists that are no longer alive, and in fact Cecilia Alemani did so too, though not as many as me. A number of critics have complained, but I don’t see that as an issue at all. What I often remark is that the artist is dead, but the art is alive. And although so many of the artists in the Nucleo Storico are no longer alive, all but a couple of them remain largely unknown internationally, and I feel strongly they deserve more attention, visibility, and recognition.

Stranieri Ovunque—Foreigners Everywhere, 2024. Courtesy La Biennale di Venezia. Photo: Marco Zorzanello">

Stranieri Ovunque—Foreigners Everywhere, 2024. Courtesy La Biennale di Venezia. Photo: Marco Zorzanello">

We are all too familiar with the narratives of Euro-American modernisms, which has been constructed and disseminated over many years. Exploring modernism in other contexts has been the focus of certain museums, such as Tate, yet they remain devoted to monographic presentations or regional exhibitions. Even broader regional studies, such as Latin American, Asian, African or Arab modernism, have been limited when one thinks internationally. There are a number of museums in the Global South trying to collect regionally—such as the Malba in Buenos Aires, the National Gallery in Singapore, and Mathaf in Doha—but to collect and exhibit globally, drawing connections between different regions and contexts, remains an enormous, almost paralyzing challenge, in the sense that it is such a daunting task that people don’t really know how to address it.

This is what I had in mind with the Nucleo Storico, especially the sections devoted to abstractions and portraits, as I attempted to connect and juxtapose modernisms across the Global South—Latin America, Africa, and Asia. And given that I had very little time to put thing together—about 10 months—what I can offer here is only an essay, a draft, a provocation, a speculative curatorial proposal. Of course, there are gaps, lacunae, but hopefully others might take interest in some of these artists, and continue to expand the research and disseminate their works. I must say I've been fortunate to have the support of numerous curators and colleagues, museums and collections, and the Biennale itself, which is uniquely capable of fostering such enthusiasm and support. And this is also the result of over a decade of my research.

The Portraits section, featuring 109 works, one by each artist, made between 1915 and 1990, is organized roughly in a chronological manner in a salon style installation. The result I feel is quite compelling, a double room full of mostly non-white characters looking at you. What is essential to keep in mind is that all the artists in this section are either canonical figures or quite important artists in their contexts, yet most audiences will be familiar only with somebody like Frida Kahlo, who is, in fact, participating in the Biennale for the first time. I realize it might be difficult for some European visitors to relate to these characters, these histories, because of the pervasive weight of Eurocentric art narratives, mindsets and perspectives. Yet one must be open to learn about these characters, these artists, these histories, these contexts. It is a task that requires further exploration through future exhibitions, research, books, and museum acquisitions to deepen and complexify our understanding of these narratives. This endeavour, though historical, is intensely contemporary and crucial in questioning the narratives perpetuated by museums about twentieth century art.

Rail: Given the extensive inclusion of textile-themed works in your exhibition and the historical perception of textiles as “women's work” not traditionally recognised as fine art, I am interested in understanding your curatorial intentions. Were you aiming to challenge and possibly transform the gendered perceptions of textiles, thereby repositioning them as a respectable and independent form of fine art? Or was the prominence of these pieces due to their artistic merit and prevalence in the global south?

Pedrosa: I don’t see much difference between textiles and other art forms, and I believe this becomes evident at the Biennale. I do feel it has been marginalized in the past when you think of the context of “fine arts,” yet it is an extraordinary and complex medium. On the other hand, I was not looking for textiles from the beginning of the project; as I have mentioned, it came up quite organically in the research. It is true that many of them are coming from the Global South, but that was a deliberate focus of the exhibition in general. Perhaps it is another of those elements that are seen by some as more traditional, as “other,” yet I feel are quite radical. But I am not the only one, there have been some recent exhibitions and books on the matter, so I feel it is also quite contemporary, even the more historical works. And they often have a political dimension, such as the case of the Arpilleristas from Chile, who were making the works during Pinochet’s dictatorship in the 1970s and 1980s in resistance to the regime.

The Last Sound, 1964. Oil on canvas121.5 × 121.5 cm. Collection of Barjeel Art Foundation, Sharjah. Courtesy La Biennale di Venezia. Photo: Matteo de Mayda.">

Rail: The problem with public initiatives, such as the Venice Biennale, is that they mostly benefit the private. The substantial resources required for participation showcases this dynamic. Due to the phenomenon known as the “Venice Effect,” often referenced in literature, which describes the enhanced international stature of both the representing nation and its artists, making participation highly sought after. To mitigate financial constraints, galleries frequently sponsor the projects of artists they represent, recouping expenses through sales—a practice that seems to diverge from the Biennale's mission to focus on artistic rather than market value. This situation can limit the creative freedom of artists and curators and potentially lead to the economic marginalization of those unable to secure necessary funding. Moreover, pavilions like the British one, sponsored by corporations such as Burberry, could be perceived as veiled branding opportunities. Given these dynamics and in light of your exhibition's theme on the ostracization of creatives, what are your views on circumnavigating the influence of financial considerations at the Biennale and the conflicting interests of the event’s main stakeholders? How can we prioritise the cultural significance of the art on display over its financial implications?

Pedrosa: I think it is really up to the curator to navigate all this, and it can be quite tricky. Fundraising is certainly an enormous challenge in the Biennale, and I made a lot of effort to bring donors to be able to fund such an expensive project, with so many artists without major galleries to support them. I can genuinely say that although I was asking for financial support from donors, collectors, galleries, foundations, national councils and even museums, there was not one single artist or artwork that I included in the exhibition because he or she had the funds from this or that source. Conversely, there was no artist or artwork that I was not able to include in the Biennale because of lack of funds.

Rail: Does the focus of your show signal a permanent re-direction of the Biennale and its vision as an institution?

Pedrosa: It is difficult to speak about the Biennale’s approach as an institution in this respect, because each president will appoint a new curator—be it for the Architecture or the Art Biennale. We will see who the next curators are, if Okwui and myself will remain the only two curators from the Global South, or if there might be other ones. It is impossible to predict the future curators of the Biennale, let alone what the approaches might be.