Koyo Kouoh: «If we can imagine the ideal, that means it's possible»

Koyo Kouoh is the first African woman to be appointed Commissioner of the Venice Biennale, the epicentre of the contemporary art world. This year's edition takes place under the banner of inclusion.

The visionary Swiss-Cameroonian curator, institution director and commissioner has forged a career bridging art and activism, combining critical reflection with the fight for cultural decolonisation. Her projects challenge prevailing narratives, restore a central role to artists from the Global South and reinvent institutions. Can art rewrite the dominant narratives? Through the Raw Material Company in Dakar and the Zeitz MOCAA in Cape Town, Koyo Kouoh offers a perspective in which this discipline provides a space for dialogue and social transformation. Her projects explore the continent's artistic memories, question institutional constraints and refocus attention on black geographies. Appointed commissioner of the 61st Venice Biennale, thus becoming the first African woman to hold this role, she has a historic ambition: to shift perspectives, include forgotten narratives and redefine the event's Eurocentric heritage. Born in 1967 in Douala, Cameroon, Koyo founded Raw Material Company in 2008, a space for critical reflection on contemporary art in Dakar. Now executive director of Zeitz MOCAA, she advocates for the self-determination of African and diasporic artists. And this commitment, from Dakar to Venice, confirms her central role in the reshaping of the global art landscape.

AM: You have been appointed to oversee the 2026 Venice Biennale. What is your vision for this 61st edition and how do you intend to infuse it with your sensibility and values?

Koyo Kouoh: First of all, being appointed to head this event is an immense honour and a privilege for any curator interested in this space for dialogue and circulation. And it also means following in the footsteps of brilliant predecessors, some of whom have even influenced my professional development. Venice is the mother of all biennials. And the idea of bringing art together for a public presentation, an aesthetic, societal and political dialogue, has taken root and proliferated in an impressive way. I think this format offers one of the best spaces for in-depth discussion about art. The simple fact that this model continues to develop shows that it works. As for my vision for the 2026 edition, I prefer not to talk about it too much at the moment. There will be a press conference in May, at which I will present the project I am working on. In any case, it will be true to my obsessions and my values.

You’ve addressed the issues of decentralisation and dominant narratives. However, the Venice Biennale is often perceived as a Eurocentric institution. How do you address this dilemma?

My work as a curator is deeply rooted in a pan-African, feminist, ancestral, activist perspective, but also one that is generous, inclusive and welcoming. So I will, of course, be bringing my intellectual and aesthetic baggage to Venice. The invitation to direct this Biennale comes after a long professional career and, over time, one establishes a kind of signature, a recognition, a framework for action. Those who have been following this work for thirty years know what to expect, but I also like to surprise people and see things differently. My areas of interest will be clearly visible. So I won’t shy away from my own legacy.

In your opinion, can the Biennale be a space for rebalancing the dominant narratives, both for the art world and for the general public?

Yes, it can serve that purpose. But an exhibition will, unfortunately, never change the world. Art has never changed the world. Poets, perhaps, manage to make things happen, but visual artists do not directly. And an exhibition isn't an editorial office, it isn't a newsroom. I am very concerned about the way in which the theory of the last thirty years has ‘kidnapped’ art and taken it out of its natural habitat to lock it in a straitjacket that wants to put it at the service of representing and illustrating current events, because that is not its role. Art is a space – a slow one, what's more – of the mind. The idea of slowness, of longevity, does not correspond to the rapid and knee-jerk reactions that current events often impose. I am very attached to this slowness, to the idea that we can take the time to reflect in depth. And I do think it's appropriate to return to this foundation.

If art is not capable of changing the world directly, do you think the curator can influence narratives and perceptions?

The exhibition curator is above all a storyteller. We use the visual and sensory vocabulary and grammar provided by the artists to weave a narrative that can take various forms. An exhibition can be a haiku, a poem, a short story, a novel or an epic. Deep down, I always wanted to be a novelist, but I don't have the patience for it. As an exhibition curator, it's a way of being a novelist without having to write.

The art market remains a major legitimation space – through the act of buying, selling and setting prices – which concerns artists, but also their discourse. How can a balance be created in this space, particularly in relation to art institutions, which act as a counterbalance?

Money is a fundamental, real and active component of our existence. Every sphere has its own economy, and art is no exception. Today, the market is omnipresent in the artistic sphere. It is certainly very influential, but when we talk about legitimation or validation, we must always ask: for whom and by whom? Financial, monetary recognition is one aspect among others. It is important, of course, but it is not the only indicator of how an artistic practice is received. Over the last thirty or forty years, we have seen a major shift in the centres of power. Historically, they were anchored in institutions – museums, public galleries, critics, foundations – but have partly shifted to private collectors. This phenomenon is a global reality – in Africa, in Europe and elsewhere. Institutions have been eroded, including in countries like France, which are known for their institutional support. In Africa, it's a completely different story. I'm happy for the artists who are successful in the market, but that is not synonymous with meaningful practice. Ultimately, the art world is rich, with economic, discursive and creative levels that feed off each other. Focusing solely on the economy, as important as it is, would be an oversimplification.

Whether through your institutions or your curatorial work, you seem to go against the grain of the dominant narratives. How do you bring the ideas you advocate to life?

The Western world loves dichotomy, binarity. Fortunately, I come from a culture where these notions have no place. It's not my role to correct the dominant narratives, the Euro-American shortcomings, or to fight against Western cultural myopia. It‘s not for me or my community to do so. My work is guided by the urgency of expression and preservation. It's a quest for multiplicity, for nuance. The Euro-American model has dominated for too long and is clearly bankrupt. It's generally oppressive and has only functioned through continuous violence and the ruthless exploitation of others. I'm interested in the diversity of models. Art is a valuable space for exploring these possibilities. The raw material is the spirit of the artists - not their works. What drives them, what pushes them to create, that's what interests me. We absolutely must change the paradigm, first by reconnecting with the practices, reflections and models that are emerging outside the traditional centres of power. Whether in Africa, Asia or the diasporas, there's a wealth of ideas, practices, forms and organisations that show us that it's possible to do things differently.

You've been director of Zeitz MOCAA for almost six years and have undertaken structural reforms, as well as a new approach to exhibitions, creating favourable conditions for African art history. Can you tell us more?

Above all, it's about reclaiming our imaginations, redefining who we are through our own words, our own images and our own perspectives. It's a fundamental process, echoed in the long road to independence. In the field of art history, this takes on even greater importance, as it has long been written by people from outside our cultures and societies. This does not mean that everything that's been done from the outside is to be rejected, but it's imperative that we become the authors of our own history. This is what I'm working towards through my commitment and my professional career. That said, when I was appointed director of the Zeitz MOCAA, I asked myself: ‘What does the environment need today?’ The answer was clear: in-depth work on individual practices, with retrospectives and monographs. This doesn't mean that we have abandoned group exhibitions, but they are not our main focus. We seek to explore how an individual practice can be anchored in a chronology of contemporary art history on the continent and its diaspora. The way in which it can dialogue with others, across generations, media, materials and forms. It's a way of enriching the artistic language, of adding layers to a discourse that is written work by work.

How do you approach the issue of the audience and the dissemination of this work? What place does it occupy in your reflections and your creations?

The audience is absolutely central. Everything we do is for the audience, for society. We want to nurture a societal dialogue, to improve what English speakers call visual literacy or artistic literacy. It's about educating, facilitating, inspiring, opening up spaces for understanding and exchange. That said, art still isn't accessible to everyone. In Africa, as elsewhere, there are still many obstacles. And yet, if we refer to the continent's ancestral art forms, we see that they were governed by rites, modes of production and learning, repetitions and celebrations that made them accessible to all. They were anchored in everyday life, in the social sphere, in the community. The concept of modernity has created a separation, a discontinuity that has taken hold. Thus, art is now governed by convenience and contemplation, excluded from everyday life. Between these two extremes, we must find a common ground of understanding and presentation that allows us to reconnect art to everyday life, while preserving its innate meaning and unique depth.

You succeeded in establishing Raw Material Company, an institution that has been going for seventeen years. What's the secret to its longevity?  It’s a challenge that defeats many cultural initiatives, not only on the continent but also worldwide.

It's all about generosity and sharing. It's almost as simple as that. You need to create a non-competitive space where people come to nurture and be nurtured. That's very important. It reflects the way I work. When I came up with Raw Material Company, it was a time of great excitement. The 2000s were full of disparate cultural projects, often set up to attract one-off funding. This approach was unsustainable. I thought of Raw Material Company as an institution from the start – not as a project. It was clear that Raw had to exist beyond me. Many initiatives fail in the long term because they are too centred on their creator, unable to develop without them. At Raw, we'd put in place a succession plan long before my appointment at the Zeitz MOCAA. It wasn't a reaction, but a clear intention from the start. A great collector of African art once said to me: ‘Creativity abhors a vacuum.’ That phrase made an impression on me. It was a way for him to tell me: ‘If you don't occupy the space of your creativity, of your sensibility, someone else will occupy it in a way that you won't like. So it's up to you to invest this space, up to you to occupy it, up to you to lead this discourse.’ One of the major problems in Africa is the lack of mutual trust. We live in a constant atmosphere of mistrust, a suspicion that hinders collaboration and innovation. I deeply believe in the capacity of human beings to be exceptional. If we can imagine the ideal, that means it's possible. This belief is what drives Raw Material. It's not just about funding or ideas - anyone can find funding if they know the right people. What sets Raw Material apart is its visceral love of art and the societal debate it generates, its loyalty to artists, and a sincere desire to share its passions with the world. It's important to change scale, tune and attitude too. The space for dialogue, reflection and sharing must be nurtured transnationally. At the same time, there's a real urgency to get things done.

The question of the restitution of artworks, which made headlines a few years ago, now seems to be less of a topic of discussion. What's your current take on it? Is it still a relevant subject?

This debate began in the 1970s under the impetus of Amadou-Mahtar M'Bow, who was Director-General of UNESCO at the time. What Emmanuel Macron did with the Sarr-Savoy report was in fact a 'rehash' of an old (unresolved) debate. Admittedly, he had the political intelligence to bring this issue back to the forefront, but let's be honest: it was also a media stunt. That said, it's a strong document, with brilliant, courageous and progressive proposals. But knowing France and the way it operates, it's not surprising that it hasn't had the desired impact. What bothers me most is the symbolic and folkloric aspect of the current restitution gestures. A sword here, a couple of masks there... It gets people talking, it gives pleasure, but where is it really leading us? These gestures, although important, lack substance and real commitment. What I find fascinating is the way in which this report has inspired demands in other countries. On this basis, Greece, for example, has asked England to return the Parthenon Marbles. Oceania, for its part, has demanded that the Quai Branly Museum return certain pieces. And Turkey has approached the Berlin Museum. The institutions find the very idea of following the report's recommendations almost unthinkable. It would disrupt an entire economy based on the circulation of these works, not to mention the jobs and institutions that depend on it. It is an enormous institutional, economic and cultural earthquake that reveals the scale of the extractive activity of the colonial enterprise of the great European powers and museum organisations.

While preparing this interview, I discovered the term ‘black geographies’. To conclude the interview, could you tell us something about it?

I really like this expression, ‘black geographies’, which I borrowed from the English language, particularly in the context of African-American discourse on blackness and the Afro-Diasporic experience. Black geographies refer to all the territories where African and Afro-diasporic cultures have been transported, often involuntarily, but where they have evolved, transformed and taken root, whether artistically, intellectually, spiritually or ideologically. These territories become extensions of the continent, places of connection and dialogue. So, from my point of view, Brazil is an African country, Cuba is an African country, even the United States is an African country. When I talk about black geographies, I subscribe to an expansive vision of Africa that goes far beyond the physical contours of the continent. Culture is something that cannot be confined because it manifests itself and lives everywhere And especially African cultures, with their almost unrivalled power and capacity for transcendence.