The Climate Biennial: Art as a Compass in an Uncertain World

At the edge of the Ebro River in Tarragona, Spain, Laia Estruch’s solar-reflective panels capture sunlight and transform it into shifting soundscapes. “Estruch is asking, what does it mean to listen to a river that might not exist in fifty years?” says Amanda Masha Caminals, curator of the inaugural Climate Biennial.

Running from March 15 to June 30, 2026, the event spans multiple venues in Tarragona, including the Museu d’Art Modern and community centers in nearby Reus and Salou. Caminals previously collaborated with New York’s Queens Museum on environmental justice exhibitions. She aims to bring ecological discourse into public spaces often excluded from academic discussions. “These aren’t abstract issues,” she states. “They affect food on the table, air in your lungs.”

With over 45 artists represented, the biennial adopts the theme Navigating Uncertainty. Works range from immersive installations like Estruch’s to intimate projects such as Dineo Seshee Bopape’s soil-based sculptures. Bopape, based in Johannesburg, uses materials sourced from rivers, deserts, and urban construction sites. For the biennial, she presents Ntolo, an assemblage of clay and sediment gathered along climate-impacted waterways in the Global South. “The materials carry their histories,” Bopape explains in the exhibition catalogue. “Soil is not inert. It remembers.”

The curatorial approach avoids apocalyptic imagery. Caminals emphasizes ambiguity’s power. “We’re not prescribing solutions,” she says. “Art excels in the realm of questions rather than answers.” This philosophy drives Thresholds of Respiration, a video piece by Chilean filmmaker Dominga Sotomayor. Projected inside a former grain silo, it juxtaposes footage of melting glaciers with urban protests in Santiago. The 37-minute work invites viewers to connect ecological collapse with social unrest, highlighting the entanglement of environmental and political crises.

The biennial also addresses its ecological footprint. According to its organizers, all materials in the exhibition are locally sourced or reused. International flights for artists were restricted to cases where remote participation wasn’t feasible. While the approach has drawn praise, critics like Ferran Mateu, writing for El País, question whether biennials can ever be environmentally responsible given their resource intensity.

Caminals acknowledges the tension. “It’s hypocritical to say we’ve solved the problem,” she admits. “What we hope is to model transparency about our choices—and failures.” She cites the decision to commission Catalan artist Mireia Sallarès to document the logistical challenges of the biennial. Sallarès’ Excess Manifesto unfolds as an evolving timeline displayed in the Museu d’Art Modern, including receipts for shipping Estruch’s panels and a video diary showing debates over whether to livestream events. “It’s meta-curation, as much about process as art,” says Caminals.

Such reflexivity is central to climate-oriented art. In Lagos, Nigeria, the contemporary art collective hFACTOR has been experimenting with similar ideas at their space in the Ijora-Badia neighborhood. Their recent Salt Water Gatherings featured workshops on urban flooding alongside installations made from reclaimed materials. Architect Funmi Okonkwo, who collaborated with hFACTOR, sees parallels with the Tarragona biennial. “Artists everywhere are grappling with what it means to practice sustainably while pushing urgent conversations,” she states.

Despite these overlaps, Caminals is wary of collapsing geographical differences into a single narrative. “Climate change is global, yes, but its effects—and responses—are deeply local,” she says. A panel discussion scheduled for May 12 will delve into this theme, featuring contributions from Nigerian curator Bisi Silva (via archival footage) and live presentations by researchers from the Universitat Rovira i Virgili.

The question remains whether biennials can influence change beyond their sites. Artist interventions are often ephemeral, while climate impacts are relentless and long-term. Critics like Mateu argue that the art world’s penchant for symbolic gestures can dilute urgency. However, Caminals sees potential in what she calls “the slow burn of cultural shifts.” She points to the Deep Futures workshop series, aimed at youth in Tarragona’s working-class districts, as one example of cultivating sustained engagement. “This isn’t about one exhibition,” she emphasizes. “It’s about seeds.”

Seeds form a literal part of the biennial’s conclusion. Berlin-based artist Otobong Nkanga’s installation Breath in Soil incorporates small packets of seeds distributed to visitors, encouraging them to grow plants suited to drought conditions. Nkanga’s work underscores the participatory ethos Caminals hopes will resonate beyond Tarragona. “Art doesn’t solve problems, but it can change how we imagine living with them,” she states.

For Estruch, whose reflective panels will return to her Barcelona studio after the biennial ends, the hope is to remind audiences that uncertainty is not paralysis. “Rivers flow, even when their paths are altered,” she states. The Climate Biennial, in its layered explorations of fragility, resilience, and responsibility, suggests that art can flow towards unpredictable but necessary futures.