The strategic calculation behind the 36th Bienal de São Paulo wasn’t about showcasing art; it was about a deliberate recalibration of power within the museum space. Curator Bonaventure Soh Bejeng Ndikung and his team, assembling 125 artists and 1,200 artworks across a staggering 30,000 square meters, launched an exhibition designed to challenge the traditional authority of curatorial voice. The move, manifested in minimalist labeling – artist name and a QR code – wasn’t simply an aesthetic choice, but a gambit to democratize access and de-center Western, colonial modes of interpretation. Who benefits and who loses from this shift is immediately apparent: the benefit accrues to the viewer, ostensibly empowered to form their own understanding, and to artists whose work is presented without pre-packaged narratives. The loss, however, falls to the established art critical establishment, and to visitors accustomed to, or reliant upon, the scaffolding of traditional art-world discourse.
This strategy echoes a long-running tension within museum studies, a debate that intensified in the United States with the 2024 Whitney Biennial. Critics like Jackson Arn in The New Yorker questioned the necessity of wall labels altogether, suggesting their removal would improve the experience. Travis Diehl of The New York Times found the labels “belittling” in their attempt to dictate meaning, while Sebastian Smee in The Washington Post described them as “convoluted” and “brain-draining.” These critiques culminated in Jerry Saltz’s blunt assessment that the Biennial “isn’t for people like me” – a sentiment Emily Watlington interpreted as a rebuke to a predominantly white, male critical establishment. The Bienal’s approach, then, isn’t an isolated incident, but a continuation of a broader questioning of who museums serve and how they communicate. It’s a direct response to accusations of elitism and a desire to dismantle the perceived gatekeeping function of curatorial interpretation.
The Bienal’s execution, however, proved problematic. While the intention was to foster a direct encounter with the artwork, the reality was often frustrating. QR codes and the museum’s reliance on digital tools like Bloomberg Connects – a trend increasingly common in US institutions – forced visitors to engage with their phones instead of the art itself. Crucially, basic information like medium and date was often difficult to locate, while lengthy, omnibus section texts – averaging 500 words per artist, totaling 62,500 words across the exhibition – overwhelmed rather than enlightened. This stands in stark contrast to typical museum practice, where “chats” (extended labels) are limited to 100-125 words, and applied to only 25-30% of works. The Bienal offered both too little and too much, a paradox that undermined its stated goals. This isn’t simply a matter of convenience; it’s a matter of control. By making information scarce, the curators inadvertently reinforced their own curatorial approach, a point forcefully articulated by Brazilian art critic Fabio Cypriano, who labeled the practice “practically colonialist.”
Drawn from hyperallergic.com.
Cypriano’s charge ignited a heated debate in Brazil, highlighting the complex political dimensions of seemingly benign curatorial decisions. Philosopher Bruna de Jesus defended the approach, arguing that understanding could arise through “estrangement,” while Fabrício Reiner acknowledged the impulse but criticized the execution as “communicative noise.” This internal conflict reveals a fundamental tension: the desire to decolonize museum practice versus the practical need for clear, accessible information. The Bienal’s strategy, while rooted in progressive ideals, risked alienating a broad audience, including casual visitors – a demographic the Bienal actively courted with free admission, a practice notably less common in US museums. The observation of viewers actively searching for artist signatures, a basic piece of information, underscores the importance of fundamental accessibility, even for those unfamiliar with art-world conventions.
The situation at the Bienal mirrors a broader shift in museum interpretation, one increasingly informed by visitor research. Sara Bodinson, Director of Interpretation, Research, and Digital Learning at MoMA, explained that visitor surveys consistently prioritize artist intention, materials/process, and social/historical context. MoMA’s approach, benefiting from significant resources, emphasizes concise, accessible language and avoids subjective pronouncements, prioritizing space for individual engagement. This contrasts sharply with the Bienal’s lengthy, often theoretical section texts. Furthermore, institutions like MoMA and the Brooklyn Museum are experimenting with “community voices” – labels co-written by individuals outside the traditional curatorial sphere – a move that acknowledges the limitations of a single, authoritative interpretation. However, even these initiatives are fraught with challenges, as demonstrated by the Brooklyn Museum’s attempt to inject “sassiness” into portraits of the elite, a strategy that ultimately felt superficial.
The White House’s March 27, 2025 Executive Order, “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History,” further underscores the politicization of museum interpretation. The EO’s focus on wall labels, rather than the artworks themselves, reveals the power of framing and the potential for museums to become battlegrounds in the culture war. This isn’t a new phenomenon; debates over interpretation have always been “sticky,” but the current climate amplifies their significance. The question, then, isn’t simply about ideological content, but about information – what’s helpful, welcoming, and overwhelming. The Bienal’s misstep wasn’t in attempting to challenge convention, but in failing to provide the basic tools necessary for meaningful engagement. The political chess move to watch next is whether other large-scale international exhibitions will adopt a similar strategy of minimalist labeling, and if so, whether they will learn from the Bienal’s experience and prioritize accessibility alongside their decolonizing ambitions. Will we see a widespread embrace of “estrangement” as a curatorial tactic, or a renewed emphasis on clear, contextualized information?
