The Life-Enhancing Benefits of Landscape Photography

The Life-Enhancing Benefits of Landscape Photography

Enhancing your life through landscape photography is not just about capturing breathtaking images; it’s also an avenue for personal growth and mental health improvement. Understanding these benefits can profoundly affect your approach to this art form.

Coming to you from Ian Worth, this thoughtful video explores the profound impact that landscape photography can have on one’s well-being. Worth shares his personal journey, discussing how engaging with nature through photography has not only been a source of physical exercise but also a therapeutic activity. For Worth, the act of hiking through landscapes and composing shots has become a meditative practice that helps clear his mind and relieve stress.

Moreover, Worth emphasizes the social aspects of landscape photography. Throughout the video, he recounts the connections he has made with fellow photography enthusiasts, highlighting how shared passions can forge strong friendships and enrich one’s social life. These elements—physical activity, mental health, and community building—are what Worth argues make landscape photography particularly rewarding.

It’s clear that the benefits of landscape photography extend well beyond the technical skills of capturing a great photo. For many, including Worth, it offers a unique form of exercise that is both enjoyable and motivating. Photography prompts you to venture outdoors, explore new environments, and engage in physical activity, all of which are beneficial. Check out the video above for the full rundown from Worth.

In Justine Kurland’s Photographs, a Mother and Son Hit the Road

In Justine Kurland’s Photographs, a Mother and Son Hit the Road

In Justine Kurland’s Photographs, a Mother and Son Hit the Road

Some of the portraits in “This Train” have an Edenic quality to them, as if Kurland is asking: What if my kid and I were the only two people in the world?

April 20, 2024

A boy sitting in a landscape with freight trains in the background.
“Counting Boxcars in the Cajon Pass,” 2010.Photographs by Justine Kurland

The American road-trip narrative is often marked by violence. In films such as Ridley Scott’s “Thelma & Louise” (1991), Terrence Malick’s “Badlands” (1973), and Oliver Stone’s “Natural Born Killers” (1994), acts of brutality propel the subjects forward, their bonds both strengthened and tested as they flee from the law. Even when the protagonists’ misdeeds are softer, forcing them to the road for more nebulous reasons—the lesbian affair that blossoms between the two women in Patricia Highsmith’s novel “The Price of Salt” (1952); the psychedelic bacchanals of Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters in Tom Wolfe’s “The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test” (1968)—their journeys are touched by disquiet.

A woman and child in a camper van.
“Go Dog Go,” 2010.
A woman cooking in a campground.
“Hippy Stir Fry,” 2009.

In Justine Kurland’s “This Train,” a work of photography collected in a handsome edition by MACK, we arrive at the fact of violence obliquely. The suite of photographs, which Kurland made during months living on the road between 2005 and 2011, is split into two parallel bodies of work. In one, we encounter Kurland and her young son, Casper, as they traverse the U.S., mostly the West, in a van, stopping along the way in campsites and motels, forest clearings and desert brushland, gas stations and diners. In the other, we see images of landscapes, riven by trains, which Kurland captured during these same travels.

Divergent wooden train tracks.
“Keddie Wye,” 2007.

There’s a lot of tenderness in Kurland’s portraits of herself and Casper, who, throughout the book, grows from a diapered toddler into a kindergartner. In “Go Dog Go” (2010), the van is pictured with its back doors open to reveal the pair, both naked, on the mattress they appear to use for sleeping. Kurland is lying on her side, her head resting in her hand, gazing at Casper, who is seated with his back against her, leafing through a children’s book. His feet are curled in childish concentration; soft sunlight dapples the scene. In “Dirty Dishes” (2009), Casper is resting on a rock at the edge of a river, while Kurland, who is washing a dish in the water with her pants rolled up, once again trains her eyes on her child. The two look to be in mid-conversation, and, although they aren’t physically touching, their psychic connection is palpable. These portraits have an Edenic quality, as if Kurland is asking: What if my kid and I were the only two people in the world?

A woman washing dishes in a river with a child seated on a rock nearby.
“Dirty Dishes,” 2009.
A child playing in an oversized tube.
“Culvert,” 2007.
A boy with his head tilted back.
“Bloody Mouth,” 2011.
A person holding a child's tooth.
“Baby Tooth,” 2011.

Yet this utopian vision of motherhood in the wilderness is a precarious one. In “Bloody Mouth” and “Baby Tooth” (both from 2011), which appear in the book sequentially, we first see Casper in tight closeup, his face tipped upward, his lips open to reveal a hint of the soft, vulnerable innards of his mouth. In the second picture, we see Casper’s dirty palm holding out a fallen tooth, which is punctuated by a dark hole. This hole echoes those that sometimes appear in the vistas against which Kurland and Casper enact their journey. In “Culvert” (2007), for instance, Casper peeks out from the gaping mouth of an enormous pipe situated beneath some train tracks. The hollow black abyss mars its surrounding landscape of woods and soil, lending the image a sense of menace.

A woman helping a child up a rock.
“Somewhere in the Sierras,” 2008.
A child wrapped in a blanket near a camper van.
“Wind Blowing Through Columbia Gorge,” 2008.
Two figures in a landscape filled with wildflowers.
“California Wildflowers,” 2009.
A yellow freight train in a mountainous landscape.
“UP 4955 and UP 5411 Sliding Down Mormon Rocks,” 2009.

The pages of “This Train” are formatted as a concertina, one side of which is printed with Kurland’s portraits of Casper and herself, and the other with the unpeopled train images she took during their time on the road. In one of the essays accompanying the photographs, the academic Lily Cho estimates that building America’s railroads cost thousands of Chinese laborers their lives. Kurland’s images of trains traversing the American landscape—often snaking through breathtakingly beautiful vistas—hints at this kind of historical ruthlessness, but also suggests the toll that the industry has taken on the natural world. In “Keddie Wye” (2007), a railroad junction hovers in the fog over a forested terrain. The merging tracks form a V-shape that nearly chokes the shag of tall trees within it, strong-arming nature in a way that is both willful and, in its undulating curves, almost seductive. Although Kurland’s pictures evince a critique of the brutality of modernity, they suggest, too, a grudging awe of it. What is the landscape of America if not a map of exactly this type of savagery? The shots of the mother-child duo work as a parallel to these concerns. In “Moffat Tunnel (Family Portrait)” (2008), the photographer, carrying Casper in her arms, walks along train tracks that emerge from the maw of a tunnel, as if trying to hurry away from a quickly encroaching darkness. The maternal embrace can’t always guard against harsher impulses: neither those that exist in the world outside it, or that, perhaps, reside within it.

A woman carrying a child near a train tunnel.
“Moffat Tunnel (Family Portrait),” 2008.

‘The model loved the departure from traditional portraiture’ – Kamzy Nuel’s best phone picture

‘The model loved the departure from traditional portraiture’ – Kamzy Nuel’s best phone picture
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When location scouting for this shoot, Kamzy Nuel was primarily hunting for colour. He settled on the National Stadium in Surulere, Lagos, Nigeria. “There are so many vibrant colours around, giving room to have as much as possible in the frame to work with,” the Nigerian photographer says.

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Hoping to “portray a fine blend of modernism and culture” in the styling, Nuel chose the red and yellow outfit for his muse, Kommie, a professional model. This was the pair’s first time working together; they have since become friends. “She’s a great person,” Nuel says, “and she loved the departure from traditional portraiture.”

When editing the image, Nuel ensured the background colours were well saturated. He also adjusted individual hues to match the intended colour palette.

“I’d love people to appreciate how every element in the frame, from the location to the styling to Kommie’s bold pose, come together to make such a visually appealing image,” Nuel says. “And to see the art and versatility of smartphone photography. It’s not competing with digital; it’s on its own path and a legitimate art form. This image is beautiful.”

Capturing Special Moments, While Creating Inclusive Weddings

Capturing Special Moments, While Creating Inclusive Weddings
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Shannon Collins, a “queer, awkward, anxious photographer,” wants to change the way disabled people are viewed, one picture at a time.

The last five years for Shannon Collins, a wedding photographer who identifies as nonbinary, have been filled with survival and self-discoveries, all while Mx. Collins, captured celebrants’ most intimate and revealing moments.

In October 2019, Mx. Collins, now 39, had craniotomy surgery to remove a malignant lesion. In 2020, as the world shut down because of the coronavirus pandemic, Mx. Collins realized they were queer. A year later they added nonbinary to their identity. Then in early 2022, they were diagnosed with autism.

Mx. Collins, who lives in Abington, Pa., with their spouse, Peter Schuster, a software engineer at the outdoor sporting company REI, and their two children, Adelaide, 9, and Cameron, 5, said that these monumental life changes “reframed my entire existence and made me feel less broken.”

“These major transitions were life-affirming and healing, and reminded me to celebrate myself and those around me,” said Mx. Collins, who identifies as disabled because of their autism diagnosis and the effects of their surgery. “The surgery restricted the mobility of my left hand, and I now get headaches and fogginess from cold and wet weather. I also experience pulsations and buzzing in my ear.”

As for their autism, “I know a lot of people don’t consider that a disability, but I do,” they said. “I’m sound sensitive and miss cues from my body, like hunger or thirst. Making eye contact is hard, and I’m constantly checking my body language because I have to restrict the impulse to sway, flap and or jump.”

Finding a place and a voice in the wedding industry can be difficult. For people with disabilities, doing so can be even harder. Fewer are as vocal and transparent as Mx. Collins, who has made their specific needs work in their favor while creating a place, and space, for themselves and others within the industry.

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‘Each drum has its own story’: NSCAD exhibit explores Indigenous language revitalization

‘Each drum has its own story’: NSCAD exhibit explores Indigenous language revitalization

At the Treaty Space Gallery on NSCAD’s port campus in Halifax, 13 meticulously painted hand drums have been hung on the walls, each expressing individual journeys of revitalizing Indigenous languages.

Some are adorned with words in the language of the artists who created them, others feature cultural motifs tied to their language.

“Each drum has its own story,” said artist Joshua Schwab-Cartas, who led the project, titled Living our Languages, which is made up of paintings on rawhide drums.

The exhibit aims to dispel the notion that Indigenous languages are disappearing, and speaks to the experience of existing within institutions that aren’t built for Indigenous people.

Scholars, artists and researchers affiliated with the university organized and facilitated multiple workshops with local Indigenous artists to create the artwork on the drums featured in this exhibit.

The workshops encouraged community-building, bringing together artists with a common goal of expressing their connection to their language.

Woman standing next to drum
Artist Natalie Laurin with her drum, titled G Bay. A ceinture fléchée, or arrowed sash, surrounds the artwork, which depicts the lively waters of Georgian Bay, where Laurin said she feels most at home and connected to her roots. (Sis’moqon/CBC)

Natalie Laurin, a Métis exhibitions co-ordinator with the gallery, was part of the team that facilitated the workshops who spoke on the importance of community-building at NSCAD.

“We are a pretty small amount of Indigenous students, staff and faculty here,” said Laurin.

“We first gathered and we went around and everyone talked a little bit about where they’re from and where they’re at, and their language learning journey and destigmatizing [that journey].”

Participants ranged in their level of fluency, she said. Some had grown up in their language. Others were just beginning to learn it.

Laurin said the gallery focuses on highlighting stories and contemporary artwork of Indigenous people and their relationship to the land, as well as treaties and treaty education.

She created a drum that depicted the land because that is where she feels most connected to her culture.

“That’s where I feel most inspired to learn the language,” she said.

“I miss home and I wanted to show it on [my drum], and I miss my family from there and sitting at the kitchen table hearing my pépère talk in his French accent with Michif words sprinkled in there.”

Man standing by drum
Artist Joshua Schwab-Cartas is pictured with the drum titled Guie’ saa, which he created with his daughter, Najeli Schwab Nicolantonakis. (Sis’moqon/CBC)

Schwab-Cartas, a Binnizá scholar and assistant professor at NSCAD, said the project is “really about celebrating the resiliency of our ancestors and everybody who has sat around that kitchen table teaching us our language… whether it’s around the table or over Zoom or in my case under a mango tree in our community.”

The exhibit is also about representation, feeling seen and carving out a space where Indigenous people feel reflected and honoured, Schwab-Cartas said.

“Most education systems, like mainstream education, don’t really take into consideration Indigenous methodologies, needs, agendas and objectives,” he said.

“This space wasn’t created for us or by us,” he added. The exhibit “is a way of telling NSCAD and other institutions that we are an important part of the makeup of universities.”

Girl standing next to a drum hanging on the wall
Najeli is pictured with a drum, pictured on the right, which she created in with her father. Titled Guie’ saa, which translates to flower celebration, it celebrates their language using designs that are part of women’s regalia among Isthmus Binnizas, a Zapotec people. (Sis’moqon/CBC)

Schwab-Cartas collaborated with his eight-year-old daughter, Najeli Schwab Nicolantonakis, to create a drum that represents the regalia worn by women in their Binnizá culture to honour women and the legacy they carry in his language-learning journey.

“Some of the first words I ever like learnt in my language came from my great-grandmother and my grandmother,” he said.

He is learning the language together with his daughter, Najeli, and said he is honouring the strong women in communities that bring their cultural life forward. That includes his daughter, whom he said is “going to be the next matriarch in our family, who can speak about our culture and language.”

The exhibit include QR codes that contain stories, songs, or expressions of language from participants and also a browser allowing access to Native Land Digital, a website that maps Indigenous territories, treaties and languages across the world.

Some of the QR codes feature the voices of participants speaking about the drums they created, said Sydney Wreaks, a Kanien’keháka research assistant and facilitator with the project.

Woman standing with three drums surrounding her
Artist Sydney Wreaks is shown next to their drum in the centre of the photo. Titled Onkwehonwe Lakoterihwaien:ni, it means the responsibility of human beings in Kanien’kéha kateweiénhstha, and represents our relationship with the land. (Sis’moqon/CBC)

“You’re going to have some people talking specifically about maybe the design and the history behind that, and how it’s tied to their language or singing and going through their languages,” Wreaks said.

The Living our Languages exhibit runs until April 30.

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Afghan Girl photographer’s book shows ‘the best of the human spirit’

Afghan Girl photographer’s book shows ‘the best of the human spirit’
In 1979, he sneaked into Afghanistan to document life for people under the Soviet invasion, emerging months later with a beard and traditional local dress, his rolls of film sewn into his clothes.
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American photographer Steve McCurry.

His work won him the Robert Capa Gold Medal, and his 1984 Afghan Girl portrait of Sharbat Gula, an Afghan refugee in Pakistan, which appeared on the cover of National Geographic, is one of the most famous photos of all time.

A Magnum photographer since 1986, he has been awarded the Royal Photographic Society’s Centenary Medal for Lifetime Achievement, and was inducted into the International Photography Hall of Fame in 2019.

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The cover of McCurry’s book, featuring a photograph of monks on a pilgrimage to the Golden Rock, in Myanmar. Photo: Steve McCurry

His latest book, Devotion (2023), draws from the more hopeful end of the spectrum, though, with images of prayer or quiet contemplation in the daily lives of Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Hindus and other devotees.

But the idea of devotion is taken beyond religious faith, to include surgeons, farmers, musicians, rescue workers, carers – people dedicated to a mission, an activity or an idea. It even includes football fans.

“Devotion, for me, is about people who are dedicated, selfless and trying to achieve a great good in the world through action,” says McCurry.

With Buddhism, I see something I admire and think it’s something I’d like to achieve or attain

Steve McCurry
“As an example: people like Albert Schweitzer and Doctors Without Borders. It’s about empathy, compassion […] It could be someone like Jane Goodall in wildlife preservation, or devotion to a spouse or a grandmother.

“It’s the best of the human spirit to try to do something that offers meaning and purpose to our lives, and to help people who are helpless or disadvantaged.”

The images were taken across the decades and around the world, from the United States to Ethiopia.

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A premature baby is examined by a doctor at Fortis Hospital, in Jaipur, India (2008). Photo: Steve McCurry

McCurry has worked extensively throughout Asia, covering pilgrims’ prostrations in Tibet, epic gatherings of humanity at festivals across India and morning prayers at the Golden Rock, in Myanmar.

He does not belong to any particular faith himself, but he has long been drawn to the principles of Buddhism.

“I don’t think of Buddhism as a religion – it’s more a practice,” he says.

If you look at people who have dedicated their lives to something, often it’s brought them peace and fulfilment

Steve McCurry

“With Buddhism, I see something I admire and think it’s something I’d like to achieve or attain. I have people close to me in my family who are deeply religious, and I respect that.

“My parents were religious. It gave them solace and comfort. Personally, my experience isn’t that. It’s great if someone wants to believe. But, for me, devotion is about compassion, empathy and selflessness.”

There’s a quote in the book from the Buddhist master and scholar Dilgo Khyentse, which says, “The stronger our devotion, the greater the blessings. But to have no devotion is like hiding oneself in a house with all the doors and shutters closed. The sunlight will never get in.”

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A boy sleeps against a cow in Kathmandu, Nepal, where many believe the animal to be sacred (2013). Photo: Steve McCurry
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Monks make their way to prayer at Angkor Wat in Cambodia (1999). Photo: Steve McCurry

McCurry appreciates the sentiment that a life needs a sense of purpose. “If you look at people who have dedicated their lives to something, often it’s brought them peace and fulfilment,” he says.

“Love is a powerful thing. It’s an incredible thing if you’re a doctor and you leave a good job with a lot of money and your comfortable practice in the suburbs, and you say, ‘I’m going to go to Haiti or Afghanistan or Ukraine, and I’m going to help the war-wounded or orphans.’

“That’s serious devotion: to decide it’s your mission to help other people.”

Black-and-white photography’s ‘enduring power’ in Hong Kong show

There has always been a gentle side to McCurry’s work, with recent books on subjects ranging from people’s relationships with animals to reading.

“I’m interested in human behaviour, how we are as ‘the human family’ – people playing, working, reading, sleeping, families and intimacy,” he says. “I like to see how different people are all variations on a theme.”

Devotion is certainly one of his “quietest” books. Rather than working through explosions and gunfire, McCurry often had to move silently, blending into sacred situations.

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A novice monk studies text in Aranyaprathet, Thailand (1998). Photo: Steve McCurry

“It’s about being still and calm, confident, sensitive to the situation, and being able to move so you’re not distracting from what’s happening,” he says.

“A lot of it is to do with spending time in a place – time for them to get used to you being there. With the monk and the cat picture, for example, I spent probably three months in that area and I went back to that monastery and photographed maybe 20 times.

“I got to know the monks and they got comfortable with me. Initially, you’re like a novelty – all eyes go to you. But once you’ve slowed everything down, they understand what you’re doing and you’re no longer a novelty.

“You have to remain respectful, regardless of the situation. If you come in with guns blazing, it’s off-putting and then you become the attraction. Whereas if you take time, you become part of the scene.”

Born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in 1950, McCurry was hooked on the visual arts from an early age.

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A monk sweeps up at Liuyun Temple in Fujian, China (2019). Photo: Steve McCurry

“It was captivating. I had a yearning to travel, to go to Africa, the Himalayas and other places. That was my impetus to travel: to learn about different cultures, to see places I’d read about, to actually be there and see it for myself.”

McCurry had ambitions to be a filmmaker, studying cinematography and filmmaking at Pennsylvania State University, but his interest in photography took hold.

He worked at first for newspaper The Daily Collegian, produced by students at the university, but, finding it stifling and not challenging enough, he set out for a life of photographic travel adventures.

By showing real people you can empathise with and showing what’s actually happening, people can be informed.

Steve McCurry

Five decades on, McCurry has not left challenging situations behind.

He has covered the conflict in Ukraine, though looking more at “life in towns and villages that had been decimated, how people are coping and living their lives with no roof on their house, or with no running water or electricity”, than on the front lines.

He is also concerned about the state of the planet.

“With the environment and climate change, it’s an emergency,” he says.
“I see some hope but also a lot of things that leave me deeply depressed. You look at the Middle East and think, ‘How did we get here?’ What is in our DNA, in humanity? In Ukraine, you have Russia, the largest country in the world, fighting over this tiny bit of land and killing thousands of people.
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Women pray at Kandze Monastery in Tibet (2004). Photo: Steve McCurry
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People gather for the Ganesh Chaturthi Festival on Chowpatty Beach in Mumbai (1994). Photo: Steve McCurry

“It’s sad and demoralising to think that with all the dire situations we have in this world, we’re fighting these wars, when there could be no planet if the polar caps melt.”

Aged 73, McCurry has less appetite for putting himself in harm’s way than he did as a young man, especially now that he has a family.

He continues to travel for much of the year, though, seeking out new places and returning to countries he has photographed many times to find new angles and tell new stories.

Photography has been his own lifelong form of devotion.

“I feel like I’ve tried to tell people’s stories and show humanity,” he says. “By showing real people you can empathise with and showing what’s actually happening, people can be informed.

“I don’t think photography in and of itself is going to change the world, but incrementally, one brick at a time, you can to try to accomplish something.”

Venice Biennale titled ‘Foreigners Everywhere’ platforms LGBTQ+, outsider and Indigenous artists

Venice Biennale titled ‘Foreigners Everywhere’ platforms LGBTQ+, outsider and Indigenous artists

VENICE – Outsider, queer and Indigenous artists are getting an overdue platform at the 60th Venice Biennale contemporary art exhibition that opens Saturday, curated for the first time by a Latin American.

Brazilian curator Adriano Pedrosa’s main show, which accompanies 88 national pavilions for the seven-month run, is strong on figurative painting, with fewer installations than recent editions. A preponderance of artists are from the Global South, long overlooked by the mainstream art world circuits. Many are dead — Frida Kahlo, for example, is making her first appearance at the Venice Biennale. Her 1949 painting “Diego and I” hangs alongside one by her husband and fellow artist, Diego Rivera.

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Despite their lower numbers, living artists have “a much stronger physical presence in the exhibition,” Pedrosa said, with each either showing one large-scale work, or a collection of smaller works. The vast majority are making their Venice Biennale debut.

Visitors to the two main venues, the Giardini and the Arsenale, will be greeted by a neon sign by the conceptual art cooperative Claire Fontaine with the exhibition’s title: “Stranieri Ovunque — Foreigners Everywhere.” A total of 60 in different languages hang throughout the venues.

When taken in the context of global conflicts and hardening borders, the title seems a provocation against intransigent governments — at the very least a prod to consider our shared humanity. Through artists with underrepresented perspectives, the exhibition address themes of migration and the nature of diaspora as well as indigeneity and the role of craft.

“Foreigners everywhere, the expression has many meanings,’’ Pedrosa said. “One could say that wherever you go, wherever you are, you are always surrounded by foreigners. … And then in a more personal, perhaps psychoanalytic subjective dimension, wherever you go, you are also a foreigner, deep down inside.”

“Refugee, the foreigner, the queer, the outsider and the Indigenous, these are the four subjects of interest in the exhibition,” he said.

Some highlights from the Venice Biennale, which runs through Nov. 26:

GEOPOLITICS AT THE BIENNALE

Facing the threat of protests, the Israel Pavilion stayed closed after the artist and curators refused to open until there is a cease-fire in Gaza and the Israeli hostages taken by Hamas are released.

Ukraine is making its second Biennale art appearance as a country under invasion; soft diplomacy aimed at keeping the world focused on the war. Russia has not appeared at the Biennale since the Ukraine invasion began, but this time its historic 110-year-old building in the Giardini is on loan to Bolivia.

For a short time during this week’s previews, a printed sign hung on the Accademia Bridge labeling Iran a “murderous terrorist regime,” declaring “the Iranian people want freedom & peace.” The venue for the Iranian pavilion was nearby, but there was no sign of activity. The Biennale said it would open Sunday — two days after the departure from Italy of G7 foreign ministers who warned Iran of sanctions for escalating violence against Israel.

LGBTQ+ ARTISTS

As a queer artist born in South Korea and working in Los Angeles, Kang Seung Lee said he identified with Pedrosa’s “invitation to look at our lives as foreigners, but also visitors to this world.”

His installation, “Untitled (Constellations),” which considers the artists who died in the AIDS epidemic through a collection of objects, is in dialogue with spare paper-on-canvas works by the late British artist Romany Eveleigh, who died in 2020. “The works speak to each other, an intergenerational conversation, of course,’’ said Lee, 45, whose works have been shown in international exhibitions, including Documenta 15. This is his first Venice Biennale.

Nearby, transexual Brazilian artist Manauara Clandestina presented her video “Migranta,” which speaks about her family’s story of migration. “It’s so strong, because I can hear my Daddy’s voice,’’ she said. Clandestina, who hails from the Amazon city of Manaus, embraced Pedrosa during a press preview marking her Venice debut. She said she continues to work in Brazil, despite discrimination and violence against transgender people.

NEWER NATIONAL PARTICIPANTS

The Giardini hosts 29 national pavilions representing some of the oldest participating nations, like the United States, Germany, France and Britain. More recent additions show either in the nearby Arsenale, or choose a venue further afield, like Nigeria did this year in Venice’s Dorsoduro district.

The Nigerian Pavilion, in a long-disused building with raw brick walls that exude potential, houses an exhibition that spans mediums — including figurative art, installation, sculpture, sound art, film art and augmented reality — by artists living in the diaspora and in the homeland.

“These different relationships to the country allow for a very unique and different perspectives of Nigeria,’’ said curator Aindrea Emelife. “I think that it’s quite interesting to consider how leaving a space creates a nostalgia for what hasn’t been and allows an artist to imagine an alternative continuation to that. The exhibition is about nostalgia, but it’s also about criticality.”

The eight-artist Biennale exhibition “Nigeria Imaginary” will travel to the Museum of West African Art in Benin City, Nigeria, where Emelife is curator, which will give it “a new context and a new sense of relevancy,’’ she said.

BREAKTHROUGHS

Ghana-born British artist John Akomfrah created eight multimedia film- and sound-based works for the British Pavilion that looks at what it is to be “living as a figure of difference” in Britain. Images of water are a connecting device, representing memory.

“In the main, I’m trying to tease out something about collective memory, the things that have informed a culture, British culture let’s say, over the last 50 years,’’ Akomfrah told The Associated Press. “As you go further in, you realize we’re going further back. We end up going to the 16th century. So it’s an interrogation of 500 years of British life.”

Considering the question of equity in the art world, Akomfrah indicated the adjacent French Pavilion — where French-Caribbean artist Julien Creuzet created an immersive exhibition — and the Canadian Pavilion on the other side, featuring an exhibition examining the historic importance of seed beads by Kapwani Kiwanga, who is in Paris.

“I mean, this feels like a very significant moment for artists of color,’’ said Akomfrah, who participated in the Ghana Pavilion in 2019. “Because I’m in the British Pavilion. Next to me is the French one, with an artist, Julien, who I love a lot, of African origin. And then next to me is a Canadian pavilion that has a biracial artist, again, with African heritage.

“So that’s certainly not happened before, that three major pavilions have artists of color inhabiting, occupied, making work in them. And that feels like a breakthrough,” he said.