A reflection on the 61st Biennale di Venezia, with an extended note from Gigiotto Del Vecchio
The 61st Biennale di Venezia opened this May under the title In Minor Keys — the curatorial vision that Koyo Kouoh did not live to see realised, carried forward by her family and the Biennale team. The week itself arrived heavy. There were absences. There were difficult debates around the institution’s most contested decisions of this edition — debates that belong to the public record of this Biennale and that we will not attempt to resolve here. And yet, walking the Giardini, the Arsenale and the long ribbon of palazzi between them, something else was unmistakably present — quieter, but more lasting. A subtle, persistent invitation to look differently.
Among those who articulated that invitation most clearly was our team member, and curator, Gigiotto Del Vecchio. After spending the opening week in Venice he sent us the reflection that follows, which we reproduce here in his own words — edited and condensed by Archivorum to focus on the experience of the works themselves.
Installation View of “Henrike Naumann and Sung Tieu: Ruin,” 2026, German pavilion, Venice. Photo: Andrea Rossetti.
“This Biennale di Venezia was a special and deeply atypical edition: controversial, filled with grey zones, yet profoundly reflective of the times we are living through — dark, uncertain, fragmented times. Even its title, In Minor Keys, seemed to suggest a condition of suspension and instability, a quieter and more fragile way of listening to the world, far removed from triumphalist narratives or definitive certainties. It was a Biennale constructed around vulnerability, dissonance, and emotional tension rather than spectacle — a Biennale that often refused easy answers and instead embraced ambiguity as the defining condition of our present.
But perhaps its most important legacy lies elsewhere: in the need to change the way we look, and to change the very perspective from which we approach art itself. We are still too accustomed to a Western, male, white framework of vision — a structure so deeply ingrained in our minds that we almost feel discomfort when confronted with something that does not belong to it. And this Biennale, together with the many exhibitions orbiting around it, suggested precisely the possibility of unlearning those hierarchies of perception. The discovery of new artists and new pavilions, the atmosphere of the Moroccan Pavilion, the suspended spirituality of the Vatican Pavilion, the painful strength of the Ukrainian Pavilion, all offered the opportunity to rethink art from different angles — less reassuring perhaps, but far more necessary. There was a strong sense that art today can no longer be interpreted through a single cultural grammar. Instead, this Biennale invited viewers to inhabit unfamiliar perspectives, fragmented narratives, and multiple identities simultaneously.
At the same time, this Biennale was profoundly marked by loss. The sudden death of curator Koyo Kouoh only a few months before the opening cast a heavy emotional shadow over the entire exhibition. Kouoh’s intellectual and curatorial presence was deeply tied to many of the questions this Biennale attempted to raise: plurality of voices, the redefinition of cultural power structures. Her absence transformed the exhibition into something even more fragile and unresolved, amplifying the feeling of darkness and uncertainty already embedded within In Minor Keys. That same sense of mourning was intensified by the recent passing of German artist Henrike Naumann, another loss that deeply affected the atmosphere surrounding the Biennale. Her disappearance only months before the inauguration gave additional emotional weight to the German artistic presence in Venice. More broadly, these absences seemed to permeate the entire Biennale, turning it into an exhibition haunted not only by historical anxieties but also by the fragility of artistic communities themselves.
And yet, despite this darkness, some pavilions emerged with extraordinary clarity and precision. The Japanese Pavilion, featuring Ei Arakawa, was among the strongest and most intelligent proposals of the entire Biennale. Arakawa’s work managed to combine performative energy, conceptual rigor, irony, and emotional openness in a remarkably fluid way. The pavilion felt alive, unstable, and constantly shifting, capable of transforming the viewer from passive observer into an active participant. It was playful without becoming superficial, and intellectually ambitious without ever losing its humanity. In many ways, it perfectly embodied the spirit of In Minor Keys: a language of movement, uncertainty, and relational experience rather than fixed statements or monumental certainties.
The German Pavilion was equally remarkable, perhaps one of the most balanced and formally precise exhibitions of this edition. Sung Tieu presented a project of extraordinary control and intensity, capable of addressing systems of power, memory, bureaucracy, and violence with both conceptual sophistication and emotional restraint. The pavilion never collapsed into excess or spectacle; instead, it maintained a rare equilibrium between rigor and sensitivity, creating an atmosphere that was powerful precisely because of its measured precision. In dialogue with the memory of Henrike Naumann’s recent passing, the German contribution acquired an even deeper resonance, becoming one of the emotional and intellectual anchors of the Biennale.
Among my personal highlights, the intervention by Hannah Weinberger on the Island of Sant’Andrea remains perhaps the most memorable experience of all. Supported by Archivorum and curated by Andrea Bellini for the Contemporary Art Center on the island, the project transformed the old fort — once the gateway to Venice — into a living resonant body. Weinberger’s sound installation merged almost imperceptibly with the surrounding lagoon, with the wind, the stones, the movement of water and nature itself. The work did not impose itself on the landscape; instead, it seemed to emerge organically from it, creating an atmosphere that was intimate, meditative, and profoundly sublime. It was one of those rare experiences where art completely dissolves into space and memory.
Other standout moments included the powerful works of Nalini Malani, whose practice continues to intertwine mythology, violence, and feminist narratives with extraordinary intensity, and the radical visual languages of Arthur Jafa and Richard Prince, whose dialogue at Fondazione Prada continues to provoke reflection on images, appropriation, and the mechanisms of contemporary culture. The Ukrainian Pavilion was another deeply significant presence within the Biennale, not only politically but emotionally, carrying within it the tension and vulnerability of an ongoing historical tragedy.
Within the central exhibition In Minor Keys, a special mention should also go to African American artist Beverly Buchanan, whose work stood out for its quiet but deeply resonant power. Her practice, rooted in memory, vernacular architecture, and the scars of history, perfectly embodied the curatorial spirit of the exhibition: a language of fragility, resistance, and subtle emotional intensity rather than monumental affirmation.
Finally, the Vatican Pavilion deserves to be highlighted for its ability to create one of the most contemplative and spiritually charged experiences of the Biennale. In a moment when contemporary art often privileges noise, speed, and spectacle, the pavilion instead embraced silence, suspension, and introspection, offering viewers a rare space for reflection within the overwhelming rhythm of Venice itself.”
— Gigiotto Del Vecchio (excerpted)
Installation view of “Helter Skelter: Arthur Jafa and Richard Prince”, Fondazione Prada, 2026. Photo: Andrea Rossetti. Courtesy Fondazione Prada
A note from Archivorum
We share Gigiotto’s reflection because it does what the best criticism is meant to do: it widens the field. Where many post-Biennale conversations concentrate on what was won or simply seen, his note returns again and again to the quieter, more demanding question — how did we look? — and insists that this is the question now.
The 2026 edition opened against a difficult backdrop, and several of its institutional decisions generated significant debate inside and outside the art world. Those debates are real and consequential, and we follow them with attention; this Journal is not the place where Archivorum will take a position on each of them. What we want to mark here is the work — the artists, the rooms, the encounters — and what it asks of those who go.
A small precision from our side. Gigiotto rightly underlines the painful strength of the Ukrainian presence in this Biennale. The work that most stayed with us was the collateral exhibition Still Joy — From Ukraine into the World, hosted at Palazzo Contarini Polignac by the Victor Pinchuk Foundation and curated by Björn Geldhof, with Zhanna Kadyrova at its heart.
We are also deeply moved by Gigiotto’s attention to the project on Sant’Andrea. From the beginning of our involvement, the work that Andrea Bellini and the Centre d’Art Contemporain Genève have built on the island with Hannah Weinberger felt to us like one of those rare projects in which intention, place and form become indistinguishable. To support it was the most natural decision.
With deep thanks to Gigiotto Del Vecchio for this reflection. With gratitude to Andrea Bellini, Hannah Weinberger and the team at the Centre d’Art Contemporain Genève for the project on Sant’Andrea.
The 61st International Art Exhibition — La Biennale di Venezia, “In Minor Keys”, runs from 9 May to 22 November 2026.
In memory of Koyo Kouoh and Henrike Naumann.
Gigiotto
Thanks!!