What are your reflections on the curatorial process of Kochi-Muziris Biennale (2022–23), and what particular moments and artworks from the Biennale inspired you the most?
A biennale isn’t just a collection of artworks, but a sharing of an ethos, of ways to make and survive, even flourish, and of finding voices to amplify. Curating 90 artists means creating a community within that moment, and my conviction grew ever stronger that the most powerful way to create is by making a commons. It may be an overused word but still apt when examining where power resides with seemingly powerless people. And the other thing is satire—when you have no clout, the ability to mock the people who have authority over you is incredibly powerful.song (whether voice, patterned sound, hum, nonverbal and sung) permeated the venues, from Martta Tuomaala’s anarchic, satirical protest rap to Gabrielle Goliath’s hum in , from the sonic curtain of Haegue Yang to the revolutionary anthem in Amol Patil’s installation and Uramili’s powerful film of songs of harvest, land, labor, community, and state. Sound and music here not only pierced the pandemic-induced solitariness, but effectively circumvented the barriers of geography, language, and nation, reaching you before you reached it. As a strategy of resistance by artists, it was compelling.
