A conversation with Palestinian artist Samira Badran and independent curator Àngels Miralda on art, guardianship, and the responsibility to keep looking. Škuc Gallery, Ljubljana 2026.

One of my favorite artists was on the walls at the Lenbachhaus in Munich— and I had no idea she would be there. Shifting the Silence, built around Etel Adnan's final book, is an exhibition about the difficulty of saying what a work of art is. It left me thinking about language and its limits, about what images do that sentences cannot, and about an artist who, knowing she was dying, chose to write about the beauty of the world.

It's like the horizon, she says, always just within reach, always eluding us. In New York, her surrealist sculptures now rise from the street at monumental scale, asking strangers to stop, look up, and perhaps speak to each other. For Charlotte Colbert, that is not a small act. It is the whole point.

They started in a shared studio in Miami's Little Haiti, drawn to the spectacle of vibrant colour pouring out of Haitian export businesses — bales of discarded clothing sorted and piled in improbable rainbows. Alain Guerra and Neraldo de la Paz began collecting what others threw away. Then they started building worlds from it.