Ahead of the 36th edition, Bonaventure Soh Bejeng Ndikung speaks on framing humanity as a verb, curating through conversation, and listening across waters—from Guadeloupe to Tokyo.
Conceptual team for the 36th São Paulo Biennial, from left to right: Keyna Eleison, Alya Sebti, Bonaventure Soh Bejeng Ndikung, Henriette Gallus, Anna Roberta Goetz and Thiago de Paula Souza. © João Medeiros / Fundação Bienal de São Paulo
Set to open later this year, the 36th Bienal de São Paulo unfolds under the resonant theme ‘Not All Travellers Walk Roads – Of Humanity as Practice’. Artistic director Bonaventure Soh Bejeng Ndikung, together with a globally rooted curatorial team, invites audiences to rethink humanity not as a fixed identity, but as a continuous, situated act. Guided by the metaphor of the estuary—a space of convergence, movement, and negotiation—the Bienal builds on a series of international Invocations held in Marrakech, Guadeloupe, Zanzibar, and Tokyo. These gatherings, shaped by sound, ritual, and collective presence, lay the conceptual groundwork for an exhibition committed to plural knowledge systems and radical forms of relation. In this conversation, Ndikung reflects on the politics of listening, the ethics of improvisation, and what it means to practise humanity in turbulent times.
Stephan Rheeder: The theme ‘Not All Travellers Walk Roads – Of Humanity as Practice’ proposes humanity not as a fixed identity, but as an evolving verb. What inspired this framing, and how does it shape Bienal’s curatorial ethos?
Bonaventure Soh Bejeng Ndikung: The theme stems from a pressing need to rethink what it means to be human today.
Considering the destruction happening across the globe—from exploitative immigration policies to ongoing colonisation and environmental degradation—it became clear to me that we cannot take humanity for granted. For centuries, technologies, religions, and political systems have often served to destroy rather than protect humankind.
So, instead of asking, “What does it mean to be human?” in an abstract sense, the Bienal invites artists, scholars, and diverse communities to consider: How can we be better humans? By framing humanity as a verb, we treat it as a process, something that must be continuously practised, conjugated, and repaired.
The Bienal unfolds through three curatorial axes structured around the metaphor of the estuary. How did this image of tidal convergence help guide your thinking, and in what ways does it invite fluidity, encounter, or even contradiction?
The estuary became a central metaphor because it embodies encounter, interdependence, and negotiation. Where freshwater meets saltwater, you find a space of convergence that is not fixed but fluid, just like our understanding of humanity. It suggests that our humanity is contingent upon our ability to encounter and recognise each other.
Particularly in a world increasingly defined by closed borders, these thoughts are not just poetic ideas; they are crucial political stances. So the estuary, like migratory birds, became a guiding curatorial method, inviting relationality over stasis.
Record of a presentation of Noh by Shiori Watanabe during the fourth Invocation of the 36th São Paulo Biennial at the Sogetsu Kaikan, in Tokyo, Japan. © São Paulo Biennial Foundation
You’ve assembled a curatorial team that spans continents and disciplines. How have Alya Sebti, Anna Roberta Goetz, Thiago de Paula Souza, Keyna Eleison, and Henriette Gallus informed or challenged your vision through their distinct perspectives?
One of the most vital aspects of this Bienal is that it was never meant to be the vision of a single individual. From the outset, I understood that the concept of humanity as a practice could not be explored from a singular standpoint—it required a multiplicity of perspectives.
Each member of the conceptual team brought their own urgencies and poetic understandings to the table. Alya Sebti, for example, has a deep knowledge of North African and diasporic practices; Anna Roberta Goetz brings a sharp criticality and a firm grounding in socially engaged art; Thiago de Paula Souza and Keyna Eleison offer critical perspectives rooted in Afro-Brazilian experiences and decolonial theory; and Henriette Gallus contributed a rigorous and expansive approach to communication as a curatorial gesture in itself.
Our work together was never about consensus; it was about conversation, friction, generosity, and trust. What emerged from our dialogues was not a unified curatorial voice, but a polyphony, much like the estuary metaphor that guides the Bienal. This polyphonic structure, where each current maintains its strength while converging with others, has shaped the exhibition in both form and content.
Before the Bienal’s opening in São Paulo, you initiated the Invocation cycle across Marrakech, Guadeloupe, Zanzibar, and Tokyo. How did these gatherings shape the Bienal’s conceptual framework, and what kinds of unexpected insights or exchanges emerged along the way?
The Invocation cycle was designed as a global listening exercise, an effort to understand how different geographies conceptualise humanity. We chose sites deeply connected to water, like Marrakech, Guadeloupe, Zanzibar, and Tokyo. Water is essential to life and to the flows that shape human movement and history. Through each Invocation, we encountered not only local philosophies but also sonic and performative practices that embody survival, resistance, and new ways of being. These were not traditional symposia; they were poetic, performative, and ritualistic platforms where knowledge emerged through rhythm, voice, and collective presence.
Each Invocation engaged deeply with local epistemologies—from Gwoka dance in Guadeloupe to Taarab music in Zanzibar. How do these cultural grammars resist homogenised understandings of humanity and instead offer plural, situated practices of being and becoming?
These cultural grammars, whether in Gwoka, Taarab, or other traditions, carry ancestral knowledge and living histories. They resist homogenisation by grounding humanity in specific, embodied practices. These are epistemologies not often recognised in academic or institutional contexts, but they speak volumes about community, resilience, and transformation. They are not just performances; they are acts of knowledge-making. In dance, in voice, in rhythm, humanity is negotiated and expressed in plural, situated ways.
Record of Hadra, final performance with Lalla Khala and the Gifted Mothers of Dar Bellarj during the first Invocation of the 36th São Paulo Biennial at the Fondation Dar Bellarj, in Marrakech, Morocco. November 15, 2024 © Youssef Boumbarek / São Paulo Biennial Foundation
The Marrakech Invocation, Souffles, foregrounded deep listening and oral traditions through Sufi practices and Gnawa music. Why was listening—as both metaphor and method—a critical starting point for this cycle?
Listening is the foundation of a relationship. It is through listening that we encounter the other without preconception. In Marrakech, the emphasis on oral traditions and Sufi and Gnawa practices allowed us to begin not with speech or argument, but with resonance of sound and breath.
Listening here becomes an ethical position. It challenges the visual-centric and didactic models of curating and offers an alternative: learning through attunement.
Recording of a musical performance by Uwaridi Female Band during the third Invocation of the 36th São Paulo Biennial at the Maru Maru Hotel, in Zanzibar, Tanzania. © São Paulo Biennial Foundation
Zanzibar’s Invocation focused on improvisation as a technology of humanity, drawing from the Taarab tradition. How did this site reveal new dimensions of adaptability, hybridity, or resilience within the Bienal’s conceptual terrain?
Zanzibar illuminated how improvisation is central to human survival and creativity. Taarab music itself is a hybrid form, shaped by African, Arab, Indian, and Swahili influences. Its instruments, lyrics, and rhythms are in constant dialogue with one another.
This improvisational ethos expands our understanding of humanity as inherently adaptive and relational. It reminds us that hybridity is not loss—it is innovation, fusion, and resilience.
Recording of Swaré Lewoz with the Gwoka Foubap band during the second Invocation of the 36th São Paulo Biennial at Lafabri’k, in Les Abymes, Guadeloupe. © Philippe Hurgon / São Paulo Biennial Foundation
In Guadeloupe, ‘Bigidi mè pa tonbé!’ explored instability as a creative and philosophical mode. How did the concept of “tottering but never falling” resonate with the broader curatorial implications of this Bienal?
This logic of improvisation also echoed in Guadeloupe through the philosophy of bigidi, a core principle in the Gwoka dance tradition. As articulated by Léna Blou, bigidi describes a mode of moving that embraces rupture and imbalance—not as failure, but as generative force. It is the ability to “stabilise instability and transform disharmony into harmony.” In this sense, improvisation becomes not only a technical gesture but a way of living—a refusal of rigidity, a choreography of resistance.
In Tokyo, the final Invocation turned to AI, robotics, and the notion of the uncanny. What does this futurist lens contribute to the Bienal’s exploration of humanity, especially in relation to embodiment and non-human intelligence?
Tokyo’s Invocation engaged with non-traditional themes, including robotics and AI, asking: What happens when the human is no longer the centre of experience? Through these practices, we explored notions of embodiment beyond the biological—where masks, machines, and gestures serve as means of communication and expression.
This lens doesn’t diminish humanity; it expands it. It questions anthropocentric narratives and invites us to consider how intelligence, empathy, and creativity might exist in unexpected forms.
Recording of a radio broadcast session by Multiple Spirits with Madoka Shitone, Marina Lisa Komiya and Shiori Watanabe during the fourth Invocation of the 36th São Paulo Biennial. © São Paulo Biennial Foundation
Finally, the Bienal’s more extended exhibition period and polyphonic visual identity—developed by Yukiko Studio—suggest an openness to duration, resonance, and multiplicity. How do you envision these choices enhancing accessibility, engagement, and long-term impact?
It was essential that this Bienal not become just another fleeting event. We wanted its impact to resonate beyond the walls of the Pavilion. That’s why we extended the exhibition period and expanded its reach through global Invocations, educational programs, and collaborations with local institutions, such as Casa do Povo. These efforts create a living, engaged Bienal. One that is accessible, rooted, and sustainable.
The 36th Bienal de São Paulo will open to the public on 6 September 2025 and remain on view until 11 January 2026. For more information, please visit the 36th Bienal de São Paulo.
