by Mia Butter // July 10, 2026
As host of this chapter of the Kyiv Biennial, the KW Institute in Berlin presents ‘A Bird That Cannot Land,’ in collaboration with the Visual Culture Research Center, Kyiv. By nature, this biennial is nomadic and follows its own rules: the Kyiv Biennial is neither hosted in Kyiv, nor truly a biennial due to its annual appearance, but the fact that it still reemerges time and time again in different European cities is a feat, given the circumstances. One could imagine, and condone, the biennial being filled with works on violence, grief and loss—and these subjects naturally do inform the exhibition. What came as a surprise, though, was the glimmer of hope, and even joy, that found its way into the works, and the fact that these emotions can coexist in even the darkest times.
Neda Saeedi: ‘Abyssal Zone,’ 2026 // Courtesy the artist (front) and Anna Zvyagintseva: ‘The Order of Things,’ 2015– // Courtesy Collection M HKA und Collection Flemish Community (back), installation view of the exhibition Kyiv Biennial – A Bird That Cannot Land at KW Institute for Contemporary Art, Berlin 2026 // Photo by Frank Sperling
The previous iteration of the biennial was hosted across the continent, from Warsaw to Antwerp, but has landed in Berlin this summer. From the basement hall to the top floor, the entirety of KW is dedicated to the exhibition, featuring over 40 positions from both Ukrainian and international artists, including well-known figures like Geta Brătescu, Hito Steyerl and Mona Hatoum. Hatoum’s lantern, ‘Misbah’, is 20 years old and yet couldn’t be more current. Spinning slowly from the ceiling of a small room, ‘Misbah’ casts its light onto the surrounding walls and floor, the traditional star cutouts accompanied by more sinister figures: armed soldiers, their guns at the ready as they march the perimeter of the room with each revolution of the lamp. A Palestinian-British artist, born in Lebanon after her parents fled Haifa in 1948, Hatoum’s position at the Kyiv Biennial is one of several non-Ukrainian perspectives on migration and conflict that strengthen the biennial’s understanding of exile as a “central condition of contemporary life.” In fact, one of the major accomplishments of the biennial’s exhibition and live program is its inclusion of art from other war-torn regions of the world, positioning conflict as an epidemic rather than an exception, and drawing connections between struggles unfolding across different geopolitical contexts.
Mona Hatoum: ‘Misbah,’ 2006–07 // Courtesy Mona Hatoum Foundation, installation view of the exhibition ‘Kyiv Biennial – A Bird That Cannot Land’ at KW Institute for Contemporary Art, Berlin, 2026 // Photo by Frank Sperling
Just steps away from Hatoum’s lantern, in another cornered off area of the first room, is Ukrainian artist Dana Kavelina’s ‘Grey Earth.’ Projected onto a wall in the dark room, Kavelina’s film follows a soldier and a cow navigating the desolate landscape. Besides the stunning animation, Kavelina’s activation of the landscape as a character on equal footing with the soldier and cow connects the personal wounds of war to those perpetrated against the land. Land disputes have frequently sparked conflicts, without any consideration for the sentience of the terrain. Kavelina’s film ties together the experiences of the land, humans and animals caught in the crossfire, without defining a strict distinction between us and them.
Dana Kavelina: ‘Grey Earth,’ 2026, video still // Courtesy the artist, installation view of the exhibition ‘Kyiv Biennial – A Bird That Cannot Land’ at KW Institute for Contemporary Art, Berlin, 2026 // Photo by Frank Sperling
The staircase at KW, in all its bright whiteness, leads us to the first floor where things get dark. Large metal pipes weave through the room and become benches for viewers to sit and watch the collection of videos, interviews and archival materials by Hito Steyerl and Philipp Goll. Everywhere you look, a moving picture is projected or playing on a screen and the infamous Nord Stream pipeline, also referred to as the “cultural pipeline” by Steyerl, is examined four years after its destruction. Previously shown in Leipzig two years ago, the body of work creates an interesting assemblage of perspectives, interviewing pipeline workers who worked in East Germany at the time and using generative AI to fill the gaps. One of the more speculative works in the exhibition, it touches on the deep historical ties between Germany and Russia, a relationship that would benefit from further exploration in the context of the exhibition.
Hito Steyerl: ‘Leak,’ 2024 // Courtesy the artist, Andrew Kreps Gallery, New York and Esther Schipper, Berlin/ Paris/Seoul (front) and Hito Steyerl & Philipp Goll: ‘Trassniki,’ 2026 // Courtesy the artists (back), installation view of the exhibition ‘Kyiv Biennial – A Bird That Cannot Land’ at KW Institute for Contemporary Art, Berlin, 2026 // Photo by Frank Sperling
After the dimly lit first and second floor, the natural light flooding the third was a brief respite. Each floor of the KW touches on a different symptom of conflict, whether related to memory or propaganda, and while some of the works directly respond to conflicts happening now, other works are archival. This is where the third floor shines, as a highlight of the entire biennial. Here we find a place where memory, distorted and ruptured, is materialized into puzzles, missing pieces and works divided between the floor and the wall, fractured.
A personal highlight is Aykan Safoğlu’s ‘1991’ an incomplete puzzle titled after the year the Soviet Union collapsed. Surprisingly, however, that isn’t the reason for the title. If the names Tichka, or Aydın, don’t ring any bells, Safoğlu reminds or educates us on the media’s darling at the time: a whale who escaped a Soviet military facility and embarked on a months-long journey, ultimately ending in Turkey. Starved of its previous human interaction, the creature would perform tricks that it was taught in captivity to onlookers on shore, before being captured again and returning to Turkey after a second escape. Safoğlu tackles geopolitical rupture from several angles here, in his incomplete puzzle work featuring a figure from ancient Anatolian mosaics riding Tichka/Aydın. The work calls the fragmented archaeological findings of mosaics to mind, appropriating their imagery in the service of personal memory and a childlike wonder. Humor wins, as the work leans into the absurd, despite the grief and longing that sits between the missing pieces.
Aykan Safoğlu: ‘1991,’ 2026 // Courtesy the artist, installation view of the exhibition ‘Kyiv Biennial – A Bird That Cannot Land’ at KW Institute for Contemporary Art, Berlin, 2026 // Photo by Frank Sperling
The show is not full of objects that have been destroyed by war, but in some instances, they are made by those who were. The strongest works in the show encapsulate the act of leading a life under conflict, finding beauty in the fleeting moments of joy or even frivolity in a time where those things seem unimaginable. The profound takeaway of the show, for me, was found in how life and art continue to flourish, despite inconceivable suffering.
Exhibition Info
KW Institute for Contemporary Art
‘Kyiv Biennial. A Bird That Cannot Land’
Exhibition: June 11–Sept. 13, 2026
kw-berlin.de
Auguststraße 69, 10117 Berlin, click here for map
