Indigenous narratives in contemporary art
By Alessandra Dias

The 35th Bienal de São Paulo, on view from 6 September to 10 December 2023, was about diversity. The works of 121 artists, mainly from the Global South, were displayed in a modernist concrete building set in a park in South America’s largest city. Biennales, museums, and art fairs worldwide have recently become more inclusive and have been presenting practices from the Global South and narratives of decolonisation. What was particularly surprising in the Bienal de São Paulo was that it had a strong Indigenous presence, and 80% of the artists were non-white.

Brazil, where I spent the first 30 years of my life, is a country where coloniality is well alive. Social and economic structures are loaded with dynamics of exploitation and hierarchy even two centuries after its independence from Portugal. The white minority controls power and money and has been responsible for validating the arts. The outputs from indigenous populations are traditionally seen as artefacts and crafts, and primarily valued for their anthropological and ethnographic aspects.

Artist Denilson Baniwa during the harvest of ‘Kwema/Amanhecer/Dawn’ on 2 February 2024. Site-specific installation commissioned by the 35th Bienal de São Paulo. Image courtesy of Fundação Bienal de São Paulo. Photo by Levi Fanan. — Artist Denilson Baniwa during the harvest of ‘Kwema/Amanhecer/Dawn’ on 2 February 2024. Site-specific installation commissioned by the 35th Bienal de São Paulo. Photo by Levi Fanan. Image courtesy of Fundação Bienal de São Paulo.

Denilson Baniwa, ‘Kwema/Amanhecer/Dawn’, 2023, rocks, soil, gravel, metal, wood, corn stalks, screen and artificial feathers. Site-specific installation commissioned by the 35th Bienal de São Paulo. Photo by Levi Fanan. Image courtesy of Fundação Bienal de São Paulo.

This edition of the Bienal, titled ‘Choreographies of the Impossible’, brought together several indigenous artists from Brazil and the rest of the world. It upheld some Indigenous core values, such as reference to non-linear temporality, moving away from the linear concepts prevalent in modern Eurocentric societies. This idea is central to the practice of Brazilian visual artist and Indigenous activist Denilson Baniwa. ‘Kwema/Amanhecer/Dawn’ (2023), featuring a garden with 25 plant species native to the Americas, such as corn, chilli, potato and yucca, highlighting the importance of seasons, moon phases, and cycles in guiding rituals and life. Wooden raised beds built over the concrete floor led to a circular area centred by a large carved stone, mimicking a meeting place usually found in Indigenous communities. A collective harvest and round table happened in February 2024, closing the natural cycle of the crops and extending the life of the artwork further from the end of the Bienal in December 2023.

Some artists embraced the notion of gathering and connection and transcended their localities. Edgar Calel, an artist from Guatemala, moved his attention from his Maya Kaqchikel Indigenousto the Guarani people, the largest indigenous group in Brazil. He presented ‘Nimajay Guarani/The Big Guarani House’ (2023), a large drawing on canvas illustrating the daily life of Bonfires, tools, and ritual elements surrounded by embroideries of plants found in the traditional Brazilian indigenous diet. Similarly, Filipino artist and filmmaker Kidlat Tahimik reached across oceans and featured Igpupiara and Siyokoy, aquatic humanoid creatures from the Indigenous mythology of Brazil and the Philippines. The installation ‘Killing Us Softly... With Their Spams... (Songs, Prayers, Alphabets, Movies, Superheroes...)’ (2023), was the largest in the exhibition and took up prominent space on the ground floor. Carved wooden figures told multiple stories, overlaying Indigenous mythology, colonialist narratives, capitalist symbols, and images of environmental destruction. As I walked around and inside the installation, I could not help but notice the similarities between the colonial histories of the Philippines and Brazil and how Christianity, brought respectively by the Spanish and Portuguese, contributed to the erasure of indigenous mythologies. It was a realisation that struck me deeply.

Ancestral knowledge loss has happened all around the world in confrontations with colonisers, struggles to keep territories intact, and assimilation into a Western cultural matrix. Nikau Hindin, a Te Rarawa and Ngāpuhi woman from New Zealand/Aotearoa, has spent the last decade mastering the ancient art of aute (traditional Māori tree bark cloth). The tradition vanished in her country for more than a century when the paper mulberry tree was endangered by colonial exploration. The species, Broussonetia papyrifera is native to Asia and believed to have been brought from Taiwan by the Austronesian migrations. In ‘Ngā Whetū Maiangi o te Maramataka’ (2023), she used natural earth pigment on aute to document the morning stars according to the Māori celestial calendar used for navigation. Her practice is intrinsically connected with the timing of seasons and plants; the bark harvesting happens in the summer, and in winter, she concentrates on painting. The content requires intense research and calculation, and the act of painting helps her memorise the knowledge.

Nikau Hindin, Eboni Fifita-Laufilitoga-Maka Fungamapitoa, Hina Puamohala Kneubuhl Kihalaupoe, Hinatea Colombani, Kesaia Biuvanua, Rongomai Grbic-Hoskins, Aumoana, 2023-24. Installation view for the 24th Biennale of Sydney at White Bay Power Station. Commissioned by the Biennale of Sydney and the Fondation Cartier our l’art contemporain with generous support from Creative New Zealand. Photo by Daniel Boud. Image courtesy of Biennale of Sydney 2024.

These were a few of the many Indigenous artists featured at the Bienal. They explored myths and rituals, the complexities of displacement, the relationship with coloniality, and the environment, and more. Since visiting the Bienal, I have closely followed their practices and the growth of Indigenous presence in international art exhibitions. Nikau Hindin, for instance, participated in the 24th Biennale of Sydney, exhibiting artworks she created solo as well as part of the Aumoana Group¹. Consisting of artists from Tonga, Hawai'i, Tahiti, Fiji, and New Zealand/Aotearoa, the group came together for the first time for the exhibition. They worked in New Zealand to produce the artworks and exchanged knowledge on the ancient practice of bark cloth across the Pacific Ocean.

MAHKU (Movimento dos Artistas Huni Kuin), ‘Kapewe Pukeni [Bridgealligator], 2024, site-specific installation commissioned by the 60th International Art Exhibition – La Biennale di Venezia, Stranieri Ovunque – Foreigners Everywhere. Photo by Matteo de Mayda. Image courtesy of La Biennale di Venezia.

Indigenous artists also featured prominently in the 60th Venice Biennale. The MAHKU (Movimento dos Artistas Huni Kuin/Huni Kuin Artist Movement), a collective from north-western Brazil, whose colourful canvases were at the Bienal de São Paulo, created a striking mural for the façade of Giardini’s Central Pavilion in Venice. The Mataaho Collective, comprising four Maori artists from New Zealand/Aotearoa, earned the prestigious Golden Lion for their participation in the main curated exhibition. Furthermore, First Nations artist Archie Moore secured Australia's first Golden Lion for the best National Pavilion, and Indigenous artists Jeffrey Gibson, Inuuteq Storch and Glicéria Tupinambá represented the United States, Denmark and Brazil, respectively.

While indigenous art still has a neglectable presence in major cultural institutions worldwide, a shift is happening. I have been observing its growth in the last few years. The Bienal helped me make sense of it and, in a way, better understand my country. As more attention is paid to the practices of the Global South, Indigenous artists are slowly becoming part of the conversation and bringing their histories of resistance, values of community and cooperation and profound knowledge and connection to nature to the mainstream contemporary art scene. With climate issues undeniably affecting everyday life worldwide, this ancestral knowledge is vital². Looking into the past could be the way to the future, or in the words of Brazilian thinker, writer and Indigenous activist Ailton Krenak, the “future is ancestral”³.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are the author's own and do not necessarily reflect those of A&M.

¹Aumoana Group at the 24th Biennale of Sydney: Nikau Hindin (Te Rarawa/Ngāpuhi, New Zealand/ Aotearoa), Ebonie Fifita-Laufilitoga-Maka Fungamapitoa (Tonga, New Zealand/Aotearoa), Hina Puamohala Kneubuhl Kihalaupoe (Maui, Hawai‘i), Hinatea Colombani (Arioi, Tahiti), Kesaia Biuvanua (Moce, Lau, Fiji), Rongomai Grbic-Hoskins (Te Rarawa/Ngāpuhi, New Zealand/ Aotearoa).
²Indigenous people, who account for 6% of the world’s population, are responsible for 80% of the remaining biodiversity. 54th World Economic Forum Annual Meeting, January 2024, Davos, Switzerland.
³Ailton Krenak, Ancestral Future translated by Alex Brostoff and Jamille Pinheiro Dias (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2024).