A Polyphonic Process: Kazakhstan at the 2026 Venice Biennale
"There is a Kazakh proverb that says: a foolish person arrives with noise, sweeping everything away in their path, while a wise person arrives quietly, carefully observing the world around them." Syrlybek Bekbota, the curator of the Kazakhstan Pavilion at the 61st Venice Biennale – the most important art event in the world – offers me this thought at the dawn of the exhibition's opening, and it feels like both a manifesto and an omen. The theme of the pavilion is perfectly in line with the overarching curatorial theme, In Minor Keys, conceived by the late Cameroonian-Swiss curator Koyo Kouoh, who tragically passed away before the Biennale opened. And yet the controversies around this edition contradicted this minor key premise, instead turning it into a highly political event: the jury's resignation, widespread protests against the participation of Israel and Russia, rallies against the exploitation of art workers. The Kazakh pavilion was not immune to controversies itself, after artist Äsel Kadyrhanova's installation Machine (2013) – a meditation on Stalin-era repression featuring a vintage typewriter, Soviet-era arrest warrants, and red thread – was dismantled before the exhibition opened. However, on the day of the pavilion inauguration itself, no trace of the controversies was visible inside the high-ceilinged space. Listening to the Quiet Housed within the Museo Storico Navale near the Arsenale entrance, Qoñyr: The Archive of Silence marks Kazakhstan's third participation in the International Art Exhibition of La Biennale di Venezia, and its most ambitious yet. It is also worth noting that it is the first time a Central Asian nation has selected its pavilion curator and artists through an open call – open to citizens of Kazakhstan, with priority given to those currently living and working in the country. It is a deliberate emphasis on rootedness rather than the diaspora-friendly internationalism that, for better or worse, dominates many national pavilions. The exhibition centres around the word qoñyr, a key term in Kazakh cosmology. While its literal meaning refers to the colour brown, qoñyr carries a far richer metaphorical significance: it can describe a sonic register, the scent of earth, or a form of silence with deeply embodied meaning. It is the attentiveness to minor vibrations – the wind, the breath, a footstep – that renders audible what is usually displaced by noise. The pavilion takes its cue from a traditional Kazakh instrumental composition of the same name by the twentieth-century composer Äbiken Khasenov, whose work embodies a broader cultural shift: as cultural theorist Zira Nauryzbay has noted, Kazakh music before the twentieth century was predominantly composed in major keys, while the century's upheavals – Soviet occupation, famine, mass deportations – precipitated a distinctive turn toward minor tonalities. That sonic transformation is the exhibition's guiding metaphor. "In periods of global instability, attention is often drawn to loud events and immediate reactions," the curator Bekbota explains. "Within this atmosphere of noise, personal memory, everyday experience, and quieter forms of knowledge can easily remain unnoticed." His curatorial wager is that restraint, rather than volume, can...
