The 36th Bienal de São Paulo “Nem todo viandante anda estradas – Da humanidade como prática” (“Not All Travellers Walk Roads – Of Humanity as Practice”) opened this September at the iconic Ciccillo Matarazzo Pavilion in Ibirapuera Park. Running through January 11, 2026, it’s transforming the Bienal into a living harbor of ideas, where more than 120 artists and collectives from Brazil and around the world gather to explore humanity, coexistence, and collective memory.
Curated by Bonaventure Soh Bejeng Ndikung with an international team of co-curators, this edition reaches far beyond paintings on walls. Performances, public programs, and site-specific interventions spill throughout the pavilion, while its guiding metaphor, the estuary, invites us to see art as a place where different currents meet, mingle, and transform. Admission is free, turning the Bienal into a true gift to the city. Watching school groups line up at the entrance, clusters of visitors lost in conversation, and a dynamic team of educators training to guide tours and share their insights was both inspiring and energizing — proof that the Bienal is as much about people and exchange as it is about the works on display.
When I first stepped inside, the excitement was palpable. Staff and “mediators,” the Bienal’s term for educators, were buzzing as they described their training sessions and how special it was to be present while artists installed their pieces, asking questions and learning the stories behind the works. Their enthusiasm was contagious.
This is the world’s second-oldest biennial after Venice Biennale, and this year it’s been given an extra month, more time to visit, wander, and enjoy the oasis of Ibirapuera Park. Of course, the Bienal wouldn’t be the Bienal without a little controversy. The São Paulo Bienal has never shied away from controversy, in fact, it’s part of its DNA. Over its seven-decade history, the event has repeatedly mirrored Brazil’s social and political tensions. The most infamous example is the 1969 “Boycott Bienal,” when dozens of artists withdrew in protest of the military dictatorship’s censorship and repression, leaving entire galleries eerily empty. In 1998, a furor erupted over the inclusion of works dealing with sexuality and religion, prompting heated public debate. These flashpoints have helped cement the Bienal’s reputation as more than an art show, it’s a barometer of Brazil’s public life, a stage where art and politics collide in real time. Art thrives on tension, and this edition is already sparking plenty of conversations.
And yes, the critics are circling. One of the big debates is about the design of the space itself. Flowing curtains and temporary walls, some call them “scenic drapery,” recall rivers and the meeting of waters, but also make the iconic and beloved Niemeyer architecture feel more transient. Personally, I like it. The discomfort feels intentional. Art should unsettle our habits of looking; it should nudge us out of our comfort zones.
The theme “humanity as practice” is deliberately broad and poetic. I was hoping for more explicit engagement with migration, diversity, or climate. The chief curator traveled the world to research how communities embody this theme, and you can feel that effort, but it’s not always clearly spelled out for visitors. In fact, don’t expect wall labels or easy directions. If you’re planning avisit, bring your reading glasses, patience, or even binoculars, the printed map is tiny and coded like a treasure hunt. Decoding it can be frustrating, but also fun, depending on how you like to engage. This edition gives strong space to African, Afro-Brazilian, and diasporic voices, something I deeply welcome, though some and I agree, lament a relative decline in Brazilian-born artists compared to past years.
The sensory impact is everywhere. Chanting, scents, sound pieces, immersive installations, it’s thrilling and, at times, overwhelming. I left feeling both absorbed and exhausted, which may be exactly the point. The Bienal isn’t content to be looked at from a distance. It wants to be felt. All of these tensions, permanence versus transience, clarity versus mystery, local versus global, immersion versus overload, are what make this Bienal so alive. Even the criticisms feel like proof that the curators have touched a nerve, creating a space impossible to experience passively. Divided into six chapters, the exhibition fills the pavilion with monumental works, many stretching from floor to ceiling. And within that scale are some unforgettable encounters.
Firelei Báez brings her “Balangandan (Planisphere 1587).” For New Englanders like me, it’s a thrill — we remember her dazzling ICA Boston show. Here in São Paulo, she continues that journey, turning archival research and iconography into a living atlas — part history, part mythology, part dream. Seeing her work felt like meeting an old friend in a new city.
María Magdalena Campos-Pons creates a kind of living mandala of sound, scent, and color. Translucent floral fabrics hang in concentric rings, encircling a warm-toned sculpture called “Macuto.” Afro-diasporic rhythms and herbal aromas wrap viewers in a ritual of memory and healing. Having experienced her work in New England museums, seeing her now in São Paulo felt like reconnecting with someone who’s been quietly shaping our conversations about ancestry, migration, and spiritual resilience.
Nari Ward’s “Spring Seed” is vivid and haunted all at once. Bedsprings, an LED screen, and sound form a restless installation that stitches together Jamaica, Brazil, and Japan. São Paulo has the largest Japanese population outside Tokyo. Ward doesn’t just ask you to look; he asks you to feel the pull of migration, memory, and survival that’s often hidden under the surface.
And then there’s Heitor dos Prazeres, one of my favorite Brazilian artists. His presence here feels like a homecoming. Self-taught his paintings portray everyday Afro-Brazilian life with warmth, movement, and color, street scenes, samba, domestic rituals, reminding us that art isn’t always about grand gestures: sometimes it’s about the pulse of ordinary moments. His canvases at the Biennial resonate not just as homage to the past, but as living bridges to present discussions around identity, memory, and belonging.
These are only a few highlights in an event designed to keep you exploring. The Bienal is a sensory puzzle, a challenge, and a playground. It’s frustrating and moving in equal measure. But that’s exactly what makes it worth the trip. After all, artists plant questions within their work. Their ideas provoke us to see the familiar in unfamiliar ways, unsettle our certainties, and spark the conversations we didn’t know we needed to have. Mission accomplished at the 36th São Paulo Biennial.
(The 36th São Paulo Biennial continues through January 11, 2026 at Ciccillo Matarazzo Pavilion, Ibirapuera Park, Av. Pedro Álvares Cabral, s.n., Gate 3, São Paulo, SP, Brazil. For more details, visit https://36.bienal.org.br/en.)