22.07.2026
Giulia Nestola lauk nýverið starfsnámi hjá Nýlistasafninu. Hún er 24 ára, kemur frá Ítalíu og lauk nýlega meistaragráðu í grafískri list og myndskreytingu. Lokaverkefni hennar fjallaði um sjálfstæða útgáfustarfsemi og sýningarstjórn.
Á meðan á starfsnáminu stóð skrifaði Giulia grein um Nýlistasafnið fyrir ítalska miðilinn RatPack Magazine. Sem hluta af greininni tók hún einnig viðtöl við starfsfólk safnsins.
Greinina má lesa í heild sinni á ensku hér að neðan.
Nýló – The Living Art Museum in Reykjavík
An artist-run museum between archives, experimentation and collective practices in contemporary Icelandic art
In the metallic reverberation of Reykjavík’s harbor, where the brutal concrete of Grandagarður confronts the saline unpredictability of the Atlantic Ocean, stands the Living Art Museum, commonly known as Nýló: an emotional and political geography, an electric tension that runs through and dialogues with the urban fabric. Founded in 1978 by a collective of artists, it is today an architecture of possibility, one of the oldest artist-run spaces in Europe. Artist-run spaces are exhibition venues, laboratories, or non-profit cultural centers managed directly by artists. Emerging as alternatives to commercial galleries and traditional museum institutions, they promote experimentation, research, and expressive freedom, aiming to fill the gaps of the official art system. On one side, the visible body of Marshallhúsið, a former fish-processing factory transformed into a space for contemporary practices: here, with director Heiðar Kári Rannversson, general manager Odda Júlía Snorradóttir, and collection director Jenny Barrett, the museum stages its present exhibitions. On the other side of the city lies its archival subconscious in Breiðholt (Völvufell 13–21), where artworks rest in a state of fertile silence. Supported through collaboration between the Icelandic State, the City of Reykjavík, and private and voluntary donations, the museum operates as a platform that guarantees free access to art, not as a magnanimous concession, but as a fundamental right to dissent and wonder. Nýló’s structure unfolds as a horizontal ecosystem, a living organism pulsing through its members. The system of collaboration and election encourages a high turnover and broad participation, with approximately 20–40 people rotating over the course of ten years; the main board is elected every two years, while the deputy board and the director are subject to an annual democratic vote, allowing the museum to remain a dynamic institution open to renewal and continuous transformation.
The Living Art Museum does not emerge as a distant authority accumulating symbolic capital, but as a space for the production of subjectivities: a place where one stops observing the world and begins inhabiting it. Curatorial, managerial, and artistic practices are understood here as forms of social resistance, a daily exercise aimed at rescuing the artwork from the logic of programmed cultural obsolescence. At the Living Art Museum, art is not simply consumed: paths of knowledge and awareness are constructed, critical tools are developed to interpret the contemporary, both local and international, giving shape to an active and engaged subjectivity. This vision resonates strongly with the reflections collected by Hans Ulrich Obrist in A Brief History of Curating (2008), where curating emerges as an unstable, situated, and deeply relational practice, built through often independent and experimental experiences. In this context, there is an insistence on the need for flexible curatorial strategies, recalling that each exhibition is a unique situation and requires deep listening to both the artwork and its surrounding context. This idea of curating as an adaptive and non-prescriptive practice resonates with Nýló’s horizontal and process-based structure.
With over 3,000 national and international works catalogued and digitized within the Sarpur system, Nýló’s collection prevents Icelandic art history from crystallizing, maintaining it in a state of continuous critical reactivation. The collection has also grown through collaboration with The Reykjavík Municipal Archives, Iceland University of the Arts, The Icelandic National Broadcasting Service, University of Iceland, and the National Gallery of Iceland. Particularly significant is the museum’s attention to fragments, sound, and performance, evident in its collaboration with the National Broadcasting Service to capture artists’ voices and their performative descriptions. In this sense, the collection is not only an archive but, as suggested by Pontus Hultén, “the backbone of the institution” (H.U.Obrist, A Brief History of Curating, JRP-Ringier Editions, 2008), capable of generating connections between past and present and activating energies that go beyond mere conservation. Institutions born from below do not preserve only documents, but also traumas, desires, and memories that official history tends to expel. Nýló does not limit itself to conserving the past: it inhabits it, questions it, and allows it to freely contaminate the future.
After outlining the theoretical coordinates that support the framework of the Living Art Museum, it becomes necessary to immerse oneself in the daily practice of those who inhabit it. The following interview does not merely seek managerial answers, but attempts to map the resistance of a model that, for nearly fifty years, has challenged the laws of the postmodern and late-capitalist art system, keeping at the core of its ecosystem not the market, but art, the artist, and the public.
Giulia: Nicolas Bourriaud’s theory defined contemporary art as a relational space, also introducing the figure of the radicant artist, capable of moving across different cultural contexts while building situated relationships. How are these categories being redefined today in your work at Nýló? Do you still consider them operative, or do you feel the need to move beyond them toward more conflictual or political forms of artistic practice?
Heiðar/Odda Julia/Jenny: We believe that Nýló meaningfully inhabits the relational space described by Nicolas Bourriaud. The museum can be understood as an active agent, capable of moving across different contexts and continuously renegotiating its own categories through the frequent changes of boards and staff — far more fluid than in comparable institutions — and through its engagement with diverse artistic practices. In this sense, Bourriaud’s categories remain relevant, yet are constantly reshaped by the political, social, and institutional conditions of the present. In many ways, Nýló takes on the role of the “radicant artist”: its identity emerges less from a fixed institutional form than from the temporary conditions in which it operates. Its structure is conceived to resist fixity and institutionalization, sustaining an ongoing dialogue with the artistic scene while continually redefining its role and mission. At the same time, its collective nature, with around five hundred members, prevents any singular or definitive position from prevailing;
directions emerge, fortunately, through a plurality of perspectives.
Within this framework, the political dimension is embedded in its founding principles: engaging with the history of Icelandic art through the collection and presentation of experimental practices means constantly questioning both the meaning of art and whom it addresses. Relationality, therefore, is not simply encounter or dialogue, but an active attentiveness to conflict, change, and responsibility. Rather than moving beyond Bourriaud’s categories, Nýló inhabits them, tests their limits, and continuously renegotiates them from within.
G: In Radical Museology: Or, What’s ‘Contemporary’ in Museums of Contemporary Art? (Koenig Books, 2013), Claire Bishop introduces the idea of a “dialectical contemporaneity,” in which the museum becomes a space capable of activating multiple temporalities and constructing critical constellations between past and present, in opposition to dominant presentism. What are your genealogies, both institutional and independent? Do you identify with a linear history of Icelandic art, or rather with a discontinuous constellation of practices? And what are your main references or sources of inspiration today?
H/OJ/J: It is important to note that Iceland has a relatively short art history compared to many other countries, as the first professional visual artists only emerged around 1900. In a sense, we are still in the process of constructing certain parts of a linear art historical narrative; Nýló contributes significantly to this project through research, exhibitions, and publications. The museum regularly develops projects in which past and present enter into dialogue; in these initiatives, we aim to emphasize the dialectical dimension, creating a space where curators, artists, and audiences can actively engage with history. The genealogies of Nýló are both institutional and independent. From an institutional perspective, it is a museum with a collection and an archive, responsible for preserving and studying contemporary art; at the same time, it is deeply rooted in independent practices, artist-run spaces, and the shifting needs of the community. Nýló is a discontinuous constellation of practices, generations, and relationships. Its 500 members, however, share a collective mission: to keep art alive and in motion, providing an unconditional environment in which it can flourish.
We are inspired by the very structure of the museum, by other spaces that share the same values, and by the idea of the Eternal Network (“La fête permanente”) imagined by Robert Filliou and George Brecht, from which we quote a passage taken from Filliou’s book Teaching and Learning as Performing Arts (1970): THERE IS ALWAYS SOMEONE ASLEEP AND SOMEONE AWAKE / SOMEONE DREAMING ASLEEP SOMEONE DREAMING AWAKE
G: Gregory Sholette defines dark matter as the set of artistic and organizational practices that remain invisible while still being essential to the functioning of the art system (G. Sholette, Dark Matter: Art and Politics in the Age of Enterprise Culture , 2010). Nýló, as a non-profit institution founded on collective dynamics, seems to embody this condition. In a context increasingly polarized between the market and radical practices, is it still possible to maintain a balance between critical experimentation and public accessibility, or is this tension destined to remain unresolved?
H/OJ/J: We like the idea of something destined to remain unresolved, and we consider Nýló to exist in a state of continuous becoming. Given that Nýló was founded as a public museum that continues to collect artworks and archival materials, it gradually becomes more institutional over time; however, the very radical structure of the museum constantly pushes against institutionalization. In this sense, Nýló makes visible some of the intrinsic structures of the art system: for instance, the precarious labour of artists and volunteers (who effectively sustain the art world), the fact that the museum’s collection is based on donation and is not allowed to purchase artworks, a practice that is becoming increasingly rare in an era in which the market has entered the discourse in almost every space of the art system. Within the ecosystem of the Icelandic art
scene, Nýló is the worm that keeps the ground fertile. It is not an institution whose primary mission is to reach the masses, but rather one that experiments, tests, and expands boundaries in ways that stimulate what gravitates around it.
We do not believe that the tension between critical experimentation and public accessibility is something that needs to be balanced or fully resolved; the task is rather to create conditions in which people can engage with complexity, build their own relationship to it, and find meaning on their own terms. Nýló’s institutional dynamics have provided the flexibility necessary to become an archive and a reference point for avant-garde movements that would normally take much longer to be absorbed into more traditional museum structures. Nýló functions like the smallest gear in a clock: not the most visible, but essential in slowly setting the hands in motion.
We are often asked to lend works; over time, minor movements and events that we have documented have become part of broader transformations in contemporary culture, of which we have sometimes been the sole custodians. Many museums are unable to maintain the same relevance due to capitalist logics, which require artists to have already proven themselves in the primary market before being considered for inclusion in a collection. Despite other financial constraints, this freedom allows us to maintain an autonomous and singular position within the contemporary landscape.
G: According to Claire Bishop (Radical Museology: Or, What’s ‘Contemporary’ in Museums of Contemporary Art?, Koenig Books, 2013), the contemporary museum should reject the idea that all perspectives are equally valid (anything goes) and instead adopt an explicit critical position. In the absence of a preference for a specific medium, what criteria guide your curatorial choices? How are decisions made?
H/OJ/J: The guiding principle behind both Nýló’s programming and its collection is the desire to identify possible gaps and create space for experimentation; every four years the museum develops an operational policy (THE LIVING ART MUSEUM’S OPERATIONAL POLICY), outlining a relatively open exhibition and curatorial framework that guides its decisions, emphasizing an inclusive and accessible platform and creating the necessary conditions for artists not to have to compromise their ideas or their vision. Curatorial choices are not determined by medium, but by urgency and relevance; they are therefore made in relation to the specific needs of each project. Returning to Claire Bishop’s ideas on the position of the museum, we consider Nýló’s stance to be inherently critical.
A text that often comes to mind when thinking about the contemporary in relation to Nýló and its collection is Contemporary, Contemporaneity (2006) by Terry Smith, in which he argues that the “contemporary” is “a provisional term, whose task is to temporize, while leaving to the surrounding institutions, or to the linguistic world in which one lives, the task of defining it.” From its conception, Nýló was established as an independent voice in relation to the state National Gallery, in order to ensure that artists could play an active role in this definition. The collection and the archives continue to physically embody this voice.
G: If we think of the exhibition as a process rather than a stable result, the installation becomes a space of negotiation, unpredictability, and transformation. How much of the exhibition takes shape during installation or the opening itself? Could you share a specific episode, perhaps unexpected, ironic, or even a failure, that conveys this instability?
H/OJ/J: Nýló’s exhibitions can be understood as experiments, as processes rather than “showcases” presenting something definitive or stable. Working within a space always entails specific opportunities and constraints, some of which only become visible during installation. We have had several cases in which unexpected events, public perception, or even scandal have altered the trajectory and meaning of an exhibition.
The Archive of Missing Artworks is a clear example: it was not a finished or clearly bounded exhibition, but a public research process centred on missing or unknown works within the collection. In this case, instability did not represent a failure of the exhibition, but rather its true operational method. The project depended on what could be discovered, on what could remain absent, and on the information that the public might contribute to the process. It transformed the exhibition space into an archive in the making, a site of speculation, and a space in which institutional vulnerability became visible. Rather than concealing the gaps within the collection, Nýló made them productive and public. For this reason, the installation period is always crucial: it becomes a dialogue between the museum, the artists, and at times the public.
Work in Photo: Harmonic Tremor by Ben Frost and Francesco Fabris at the Living Art Museum 2026
Photography: Sisters Lumiére
Giulia Nestola lauk nýverið starfsnámi hjá Nýlistasafninu. Hún er 24 ára, kemur frá Ítalíu og lauk nýlega meistaragráðu í grafískri list og myndskreytingu. Lokaverkefni hennar fjallaði um sjálfstæða útgáfustarfsemi og sýningarstjórn.
Á meðan á starfsnáminu stóð skrifaði Giulia grein um Nýlistasafnið fyrir ítalska miðilinn RatPack Magazine. Sem hluta af greininni tók hún einnig viðtöl við starfsfólk safnsins.
Greinina má lesa í heild sinni á ensku hér að neðan.
Nýló – The Living Art Museum in Reykjavík
An artist-run museum between archives, experimentation and collective practices in contemporary Icelandic art
In the metallic reverberation of Reykjavík’s harbor, where the brutal concrete of Grandagarður confronts the saline unpredictability of the Atlantic Ocean, stands the Living Art Museum, commonly known as Nýló: an emotional and political geography, an electric tension that runs through and dialogues with the urban fabric. Founded in 1978 by a collective of artists, it is today an architecture of possibility, one of the oldest artist-run spaces in Europe. Artist-run spaces are exhibition venues, laboratories, or non-profit cultural centers managed directly by artists. Emerging as alternatives to commercial galleries and traditional museum institutions, they promote experimentation, research, and expressive freedom, aiming to fill the gaps of the official art system. On one side, the visible body of Marshallhúsið, a former fish-processing factory transformed into a space for contemporary practices: here, with director Heiðar Kári Rannversson, general manager Odda Júlía Snorradóttir, and collection director Jenny Barrett, the museum stages its present exhibitions. On the other side of the city lies its archival subconscious in Breiðholt (Völvufell 13–21), where artworks rest in a state of fertile silence. Supported through collaboration between the Icelandic State, the City of Reykjavík, and private and voluntary donations, the museum operates as a platform that guarantees free access to art, not as a magnanimous concession, but as a fundamental right to dissent and wonder. Nýló’s structure unfolds as a horizontal ecosystem, a living organism pulsing through its members. The system of collaboration and election encourages a high turnover and broad participation, with approximately 20–40 people rotating over the course of ten years; the main board is elected every two years, while the deputy board and the director are subject to an annual democratic vote, allowing the museum to remain a dynamic institution open to renewal and continuous transformation.
The Living Art Museum does not emerge as a distant authority accumulating symbolic capital, but as a space for the production of subjectivities: a place where one stops observing the world and begins inhabiting it. Curatorial, managerial, and artistic practices are understood here as forms of social resistance, a daily exercise aimed at rescuing the artwork from the logic of programmed cultural obsolescence. At the Living Art Museum, art is not simply consumed: paths of knowledge and awareness are constructed, critical tools are developed to interpret the contemporary, both local and international, giving shape to an active and engaged subjectivity. This vision resonates strongly with the reflections collected by Hans Ulrich Obrist in A Brief History of Curating (2008), where curating emerges as an unstable, situated, and deeply relational practice, built through often independent and experimental experiences. In this context, there is an insistence on the need for flexible curatorial strategies, recalling that each exhibition is a unique situation and requires deep listening to both the artwork and its surrounding context. This idea of curating as an adaptive and non-prescriptive practice resonates with Nýló’s horizontal and process-based structure.
With over 3,000 national and international works catalogued and digitized within the Sarpur system, Nýló’s collection prevents Icelandic art history from crystallizing, maintaining it in a state of continuous critical reactivation. The collection has also grown through collaboration with The Reykjavík Municipal Archives, Iceland University of the Arts, The Icelandic National Broadcasting Service, University of Iceland, and the National Gallery of Iceland. Particularly significant is the museum’s attention to fragments, sound, and performance, evident in its collaboration with the National Broadcasting Service to capture artists’ voices and their performative descriptions. In this sense, the collection is not only an archive but, as suggested by Pontus Hultén, “the backbone of the institution” (H.U.Obrist, A Brief History of Curating, JRP-Ringier Editions, 2008), capable of generating connections between past and present and activating energies that go beyond mere conservation. Institutions born from below do not preserve only documents, but also traumas, desires, and memories that official history tends to expel. Nýló does not limit itself to conserving the past: it inhabits it, questions it, and allows it to freely contaminate the future.
After outlining the theoretical coordinates that support the framework of the Living Art Museum, it becomes necessary to immerse oneself in the daily practice of those who inhabit it. The following interview does not merely seek managerial answers, but attempts to map the resistance of a model that, for nearly fifty years, has challenged the laws of the postmodern and late-capitalist art system, keeping at the core of its ecosystem not the market, but art, the artist, and the public.
Giulia: Nicolas Bourriaud’s theory defined contemporary art as a relational space, also introducing the figure of the radicant artist, capable of moving across different cultural contexts while building situated relationships. How are these categories being redefined today in your work at Nýló? Do you still consider them operative, or do you feel the need to move beyond them toward more conflictual or political forms of artistic practice?
Heiðar/Odda Julia/Jenny: We believe that Nýló meaningfully inhabits the relational space described by Nicolas Bourriaud. The museum can be understood as an active agent, capable of moving across different contexts and continuously renegotiating its own categories through the frequent changes of boards and staff — far more fluid than in comparable institutions — and through its engagement with diverse artistic practices. In this sense, Bourriaud’s categories remain relevant, yet are constantly reshaped by the political, social, and institutional conditions of the present. In many ways, Nýló takes on the role of the “radicant artist”: its identity emerges less from a fixed institutional form than from the temporary conditions in which it operates. Its structure is conceived to resist fixity and institutionalization, sustaining an ongoing dialogue with the artistic scene while continually redefining its role and mission. At the same time, its collective nature, with around five hundred members, prevents any singular or definitive position from prevailing;
directions emerge, fortunately, through a plurality of perspectives.
Within this framework, the political dimension is embedded in its founding principles: engaging with the history of Icelandic art through the collection and presentation of experimental practices means constantly questioning both the meaning of art and whom it addresses. Relationality, therefore, is not simply encounter or dialogue, but an active attentiveness to conflict, change, and responsibility. Rather than moving beyond Bourriaud’s categories, Nýló inhabits them, tests their limits, and continuously renegotiates them from within.
G: In Radical Museology: Or, What’s ‘Contemporary’ in Museums of Contemporary Art? (Koenig Books, 2013), Claire Bishop introduces the idea of a “dialectical contemporaneity,” in which the museum becomes a space capable of activating multiple temporalities and constructing critical constellations between past and present, in opposition to dominant presentism. What are your genealogies, both institutional and independent? Do you identify with a linear history of Icelandic art, or rather with a discontinuous constellation of practices? And what are your main references or sources of inspiration today?
H/OJ/J: It is important to note that Iceland has a relatively short art history compared to many other countries, as the first professional visual artists only emerged around 1900. In a sense, we are still in the process of constructing certain parts of a linear art historical narrative; Nýló contributes significantly to this project through research, exhibitions, and publications. The museum regularly develops projects in which past and present enter into dialogue; in these initiatives, we aim to emphasize the dialectical dimension, creating a space where curators, artists, and audiences can actively engage with history. The genealogies of Nýló are both institutional and independent. From an institutional perspective, it is a museum with a collection and an archive, responsible for preserving and studying contemporary art; at the same time, it is deeply rooted in independent practices, artist-run spaces, and the shifting needs of the community. Nýló is a discontinuous constellation of practices, generations, and relationships. Its 500 members, however, share a collective mission: to keep art alive and in motion, providing an unconditional environment in which it can flourish.
We are inspired by the very structure of the museum, by other spaces that share the same values, and by the idea of the Eternal Network (“La fête permanente”) imagined by Robert Filliou and George Brecht, from which we quote a passage taken from Filliou’s book Teaching and Learning as Performing Arts (1970): THERE IS ALWAYS SOMEONE ASLEEP AND SOMEONE AWAKE / SOMEONE DREAMING ASLEEP SOMEONE DREAMING AWAKE
G: Gregory Sholette defines dark matter as the set of artistic and organizational practices that remain invisible while still being essential to the functioning of the art system (G. Sholette, Dark Matter: Art and Politics in the Age of Enterprise Culture , 2010). Nýló, as a non-profit institution founded on collective dynamics, seems to embody this condition. In a context increasingly polarized between the market and radical practices, is it still possible to maintain a balance between critical experimentation and public accessibility, or is this tension destined to remain unresolved?
H/OJ/J: We like the idea of something destined to remain unresolved, and we consider Nýló to exist in a state of continuous becoming. Given that Nýló was founded as a public museum that continues to collect artworks and archival materials, it gradually becomes more institutional over time; however, the very radical structure of the museum constantly pushes against institutionalization. In this sense, Nýló makes visible some of the intrinsic structures of the art system: for instance, the precarious labour of artists and volunteers (who effectively sustain the art world), the fact that the museum’s collection is based on donation and is not allowed to purchase artworks, a practice that is becoming increasingly rare in an era in which the market has entered the discourse in almost every space of the art system. Within the ecosystem of the Icelandic art
scene, Nýló is the worm that keeps the ground fertile. It is not an institution whose primary mission is to reach the masses, but rather one that experiments, tests, and expands boundaries in ways that stimulate what gravitates around it.
We do not believe that the tension between critical experimentation and public accessibility is something that needs to be balanced or fully resolved; the task is rather to create conditions in which people can engage with complexity, build their own relationship to it, and find meaning on their own terms. Nýló’s institutional dynamics have provided the flexibility necessary to become an archive and a reference point for avant-garde movements that would normally take much longer to be absorbed into more traditional museum structures. Nýló functions like the smallest gear in a clock: not the most visible, but essential in slowly setting the hands in motion.
We are often asked to lend works; over time, minor movements and events that we have documented have become part of broader transformations in contemporary culture, of which we have sometimes been the sole custodians. Many museums are unable to maintain the same relevance due to capitalist logics, which require artists to have already proven themselves in the primary market before being considered for inclusion in a collection. Despite other financial constraints, this freedom allows us to maintain an autonomous and singular position within the contemporary landscape.
G: According to Claire Bishop (Radical Museology: Or, What’s ‘Contemporary’ in Museums of Contemporary Art?, Koenig Books, 2013), the contemporary museum should reject the idea that all perspectives are equally valid (anything goes) and instead adopt an explicit critical position. In the absence of a preference for a specific medium, what criteria guide your curatorial choices? How are decisions made?
H/OJ/J: The guiding principle behind both Nýló’s programming and its collection is the desire to identify possible gaps and create space for experimentation; every four years the museum develops an operational policy (THE LIVING ART MUSEUM’S OPERATIONAL POLICY), outlining a relatively open exhibition and curatorial framework that guides its decisions, emphasizing an inclusive and accessible platform and creating the necessary conditions for artists not to have to compromise their ideas or their vision. Curatorial choices are not determined by medium, but by urgency and relevance; they are therefore made in relation to the specific needs of each project. Returning to Claire Bishop’s ideas on the position of the museum, we consider Nýló’s stance to be inherently critical.
A text that often comes to mind when thinking about the contemporary in relation to Nýló and its collection is Contemporary, Contemporaneity (2006) by Terry Smith, in which he argues that the “contemporary” is “a provisional term, whose task is to temporize, while leaving to the surrounding institutions, or to the linguistic world in which one lives, the task of defining it.” From its conception, Nýló was established as an independent voice in relation to the state National Gallery, in order to ensure that artists could play an active role in this definition. The collection and the archives continue to physically embody this voice.
G: If we think of the exhibition as a process rather than a stable result, the installation becomes a space of negotiation, unpredictability, and transformation. How much of the exhibition takes shape during installation or the opening itself? Could you share a specific episode, perhaps unexpected, ironic, or even a failure, that conveys this instability?
H/OJ/J: Nýló’s exhibitions can be understood as experiments, as processes rather than “showcases” presenting something definitive or stable. Working within a space always entails specific opportunities and constraints, some of which only become visible during installation. We have had several cases in which unexpected events, public perception, or even scandal have altered the trajectory and meaning of an exhibition.
The Archive of Missing Artworks is a clear example: it was not a finished or clearly bounded exhibition, but a public research process centred on missing or unknown works within the collection. In this case, instability did not represent a failure of the exhibition, but rather its true operational method. The project depended on what could be discovered, on what could remain absent, and on the information that the public might contribute to the process. It transformed the exhibition space into an archive in the making, a site of speculation, and a space in which institutional vulnerability became visible. Rather than concealing the gaps within the collection, Nýló made them productive and public. For this reason, the installation period is always crucial: it becomes a dialogue between the museum, the artists, and at times the public.
Work in Photo: Harmonic Tremor by Ben Frost and Francesco Fabris at the Living Art Museum 2026
Photography: Sisters Lumiére
