An Interview with Samuel Leuenberger

by Berlin Art Link // July 6, 2026

In the striking mountain landscape of the Dolomites, we spoke to curator Samuel Leuenberger about the ideas shaping the 10th edition of Biennale Gherdëina, an exhibition of site-specific contemporary art presented in the public space of Ortisei and its alpine surroundings. At the heart of this year’s exhibition, titled ‘(Future) Paradise Gardens,’ is the figure of garden, conceived less as a romantic image of harmony than as a dynamic metaphor through which artists engage questions of ecology and collectivity.

Leuenberger reflects on how a personal fascination with gardening evolved into a curatorial framework that embraces openness, inviting artists to respond intuitively to the unique social and physical environment of Val Gardena. Detailing some of the site-specific commissions and long-term collaborations, he considers the challenges and rewards of working in public space, where exhibitions emerge through dialogue with local communities and unpredictable contexts, revealing how place itself becomes an active collaborator in the curatorial process.

Samuel Leuenberger, curator of ‘(Future) Paradise Gardens’ // Photo by Tiberio Sorvillo

Berlin Art Link: Can you tell us about why you’ve chosen the image and locale of the garden as an overarching theme for the curatorial framework of this edition?

Samuel Leuenberger: It came from a personal interest in gardening. It started in very simple ways: discovering what it means to tend the garden and tend to plant life, and it opened up whole registers of new thoughts about how gardens can become an emotional and philosophical space, and a space where we could potentially speak about real-life issues—human issues, but we can kind of talk about them in plant form or [through] plant life. I wanted to use the garden as a nice metaphor to talk about all kinds of ecological, political and communal issues.

For a lot of people, when they hear the words “paradise garden,” it already sounds like we’re trying to paint an idyllic image of things, but I think, as you’ve seen so far, the projects we have are very different.

These different chapters that I initially wrote out were also meant as prompts. They were meant to invite artists to come here, but it very quickly became clear that I wanted to give all the artists carte blanche to react to the environment here and see what comes out of it.

That’s why you have a lot of contributions that have to do with folkloric figures. Or with Lydia Ourahmane, for example, we first talked about doing something from the mountain down to the valley, but then she walked into the bar of this abandoned hotel (Hotel Ladinia), and for her it was immediately clear that she wanted to do something with this space because it was so precious.

Lydia Ourahmane: ‘Hotel Ladinia,’ 2026, 12 tables, stools, lights, dimensions variable, commissioned by Biennale Gherdëina 10, with the support of Institut Ramon Llull and Acción Cultural Española (AC/E) // Photo by Tiberio Sorvillo

BAL: Can you speak about some of the chapters you’re exploring and how participating artists have approached the theme?

SL: I tried to think about two or three physical representations of the garden. Like the botanical: what happens when you try to measure things and control things and index things and be very ordered about it? I also wanted to talk about the [version of the] garden that’s more about the spiritual and about divine love, where you can feel safe and meditate. I was trying to have these different dualisms to, again, actually enter into conversation with the artist, so that would give them the idea of how open it is, what they could play with.

I told the artists right away that whatever you do, whatever your artwork is, we’re not going to put anywhere in the publication that all your work is, for example, about the “violent garden.” This is not the point. It would also categorize people far too quickly.

There are some people who I reacted very directly to on certain topics, like Judith Neunhäuserer with the piece of archival material from the nuclear physicist, Enrico Fermi and his wife, author Laura Fermi, who spent the summer of 1926 in Val Gardena, and whose work influenced the atomic bomb. Of course, here it’s very much a reference to the “violent garden,” and bringing this violence back into a very scenic environment, through all this written documentation.

Chanelle Adams, who did the archaeological test pit, speaks a lot about the garden that’s being violated, or invasive species.

Judith Neunhäuserer: ‘Mushroom clouds over our garden,’ 2026, with the supportof StiftungKunstfonds, Beauftragten der Bundesregierung für Kulturund Medien, VG Bild-Kunst, thanks to the Prugger Family, Piz, Janek, Paola Govoni, Kirsten Zeitz, Neringa Vasiliauskaite, Matteo Pizzolante // Photo by Tiberio Sorvillo

BAL: Can you tell us about the longer-term project ‘Dormancy,’ one of the most extensive works in the exhibition, by Italian artist Jacopo Belloni?

SL: Jacopo has been working on the ‘Dormancy’ project for quite a long time, and it’s about loss and mourning death, in a way, but it also has a positive side.

There’s two cyclical works in the show. ‘Nenie (Laments)’ is a set of three distillery machines where local pine essence is put in to be burnt, heated up, and in the end the smell comes out, and little drops come out of the end of the tubes that remind you almost of tears coming out of the duct. Of course, it also has a reference to distilling in the mountainside. To a lot of people, distilling is sort of the essence: that’s why it’s often called “spirits.” So there’s this element of the work that becomes an essence, that’s very relaxing and puts you a little bit to sleep. That’s where the dormancy effect comes in.

The other cycle is called ‘Dormienti (Sleepers),’ which are five bags that are cast out of glass, and they’re seed containers. All these beautiful bags are one-to-one copies of some designer handbags and all have a container. He’s collecting, with a community of seed growers here from the valley, seeds from different areas, and they’re going to put them in there, then they’re going to bury the bags in the ground to be uncovered in the future. It’s kind of a way to put the seeds to sleep, to protect them, since seed archives are becoming more and more important as we’re losing so much variety.

It’s a very beautiful way of working with these local essences and local materials, and with the idea of slowing down. That’s why I also think the word ”dormancy” comes in—the whole thing is supposed make you take a step back.

Jacopo Belloni: ‘Nenie,’ 3 works from the ‘Nenie’ series: ‘Nenia I,’ ‘Nenia II,’ ‘Nenia III,’ 2026, all works copper, brass, stainless steel, iron, Swiss stone pine chips, water, electric pump, induction stove, various dimensions, produced thanks to the support of Italian Council (2025), with the support of Swiss Arts Council Pro Helvetia // Photo by Tiberio Sorvillo

Jacopo Belloni: ‘The Sleepers,’ 2026, all the works cast class, borosilicate glass, seeds of wildflowers from Val Gardena, various dimensions, produced thanks to the support of Italian Council (2025), with the support of Swiss Arts Council Pro Helvetia // Photo by Tiberio Sorvillo

BAL: Can you talk about the partnership with the Lithuanian Kaunas Biennial and some of the Lithuanian artists you’re showing in the Biennale this year?

SL: The collaboration was between the arts councils in Lithuania and Italy. The idea was to show part of the richness from the commissioning process of Biennale Biennale Gherdëina, to really show what some artists have done here specifically for the Biennale, and share it with the Kaunas Biennial, and then the other way around. I had already invited Augustas Serapinas and Eglė Kulbokaitė together with Dorota Gawęda. It was a very nice opportunity to present this work.

Andrius Arutiunian is somebody I just recently discovered through a beautiful performance at the Baltic Triennial in Vilnius a year and a half ago. I was blown away by his way of working with music, sonic quality, to distort time or our perception of time.

For the performance, we sat in Mercedes taxis, listening to a mash-up of Armenian music blasting out. He often makes references to his Armenian and Lithuanian cultural backgrounds, and it was a mind-blowing experience. We know how powerful music and sound can be.

It was clear, after having seen that performance, that I wanted to invite him here as well, without really knowing in which direction it would go. It’s nice that he also dove into the underworld, invited mountain deities into his exhibition, something I could have never asked for.

Andrius Arutiunian: ‘The Black Banquet,’ 2026, bitumen, wood, zinc, 180 x 60 cm, commissioned by Biennale Gherdëina 10, with the support of the Lithuanian Culture Institute and the Embassy of Lithuania in Italy // Photo by Tiberio Sorvillo

BAL: You’ve curated many projects in public spaces over the years. What do you enjoy about bringing art into cities and everyday environments, and how do those places influence your ideas and process?

SL: Working in public space is usually very complex and unexpected. You’re dealing with the people behind doors, and if you don’t have people’s warm encounter and open arms, nothing will happen.

I think the nice challenge is always being able to convince people to open up to something in the first place. In a museum or a closed space, you can, in most cases, control what you want to do and plan the things you want to do. You know what’s going to happen. The space doesn’t surprise you. Here, everything is up for grabs until very, very late. There’s a certain stress that comes along with doing things in public space, but it’s also very rewarding.