Nexus Catalyst
Dialogues at the Frontier of Ecology, Justice & Visual Research
"Knowledge should no longer remain confined within ivory towers, dusty archives, or closed academic circles. Nexus Catalyst is a bridge designed to move theory out of abstract philosophy halls and into the heart of field action. This series connects the brightest minds from prestigious global research networks and intellectual hubs with tomorrow's 'Sentinel' candidates. Our goal is to merge rigorous interdisciplinary depth with the digital energy of young researchers, building a resilient 'Truth-Infrastructure' in the face of 'Data Silence.' Every dialogue featured here is more than an interview; it is a mental 'catalyst' designed to construct ecological and social justice."
Volume 1
Ursula Biemann | Decolonizing the Earth
We launch this series with Ursula Biemann, a visionary artist and researcher who transforms visuals into a tool for resistance and forensic investigation. Ursula explains that complex ecological crises are not just to be "watched," but "read" through digital layers, and highlights why the youth must become active "Sentinels" of our planet.
Ursula Biemann
Swiss video artist, writer, and curator (b. 1955, Zurich)
Ursula Biemann is a Swiss video artist, writer, and curator whose work is widely recognized for combining artistic practice with research on global social and environmental issues. She studied at the School of Visual Arts in New York and later participated in the Whitney Independent Study Program. Since the late 1980s, Biemann has produced video essays and multimedia installations that explore topics such as migration, borders, natural resources, and ecological systems. Her projects often emerge from field research conducted in different parts of the world and bring together documentary footage, scientific knowledge, and critical reflection.
Looking back at your career, was there a decisive turning point that led you to focus on research-based video rather than more traditional artistic mediums? And why video specifically?
In the very beginning, my work was more focused on combinations of photography and text. Later, I worked with 16mm film on the U.S.-Mexico border. But when I started working with video in 1998, it changed everything. I discovered it once and never looked back; it was my perfect medium.
For me, research-oriented work is the most important part of why I consider myself an artist. Video became the mediator—a tool to discover the world rather than just making images of it. It sits between myself, the life questions I have, and the people I meet. The "raw material" of these encounters is what fuels my work.
What were you feeling when you recorded your first professional video?
At the time, I didn't have a model for the kind of video I wanted to make because I didn't think anything like it existed yet. I came back from the Mexican border with a massive amount of raw material and interviews. It took me an entire year to edit that material into a construct I felt was interesting.
I didn't want to make a classic "labor film." As an artist, I've always been interested in theoretical issues. I wanted to combine my encounters on the ground with my theoretical reflections. Out of this combination, I constructed what people later called the "video essay," though I wasn't aware the term existed at the time. I was just experimenting.
In works like Deep Weather, you connect geographically distant events into one systemic narrative. How do you approach representing such global complexity in video without oversimplifying it?
In the beginning, simplification wasn't the main concern because the public wasn't as aware of climate change; it wasn't at the forefront of the "crisis" conversation yet.
I originally went to Bangladesh to document water issues. I saw communities on the outer rim of the delta protecting their villages against the rising sea—an obvious sign of climate change prevention. A year later, I was invited to the Tar Sands in Alberta, Canada. I hadn't planned the connection, but I suddenly understood that these two sides were linked. Combining them in one short video became a statement: whatever happens in Alberta has direct consequences on the other side of the planet.
In projects where you engage closely with local communities and knowledge systems, such as your work in Egypt, how do you navigate the balance between artistic interpretation and ethical responsibility? What are the limits of speaking through or alongside other people's lived realities?
These questions apply to many of my projects, including recent ones in Colombia and the Amazon. In Egypt, for the Nile project, I worked with a translator and a fixer. Since I don't speak Arabic, there were limits to how deeply I could engage with the communities.
However, my goal with Egyptian Chemistry was to create a portrait of the river that showed its significance to the people. Everyone talks about the chemistry of the water, but I wanted to show how those chemical changes migrate into social and political fields. Since the dam was built, the river water no longer fertilizes the land naturally. This forced farmers to use artificial fertilizers, which put the state in command of who gets what. The river has much more agency than we usually give it credit for; it dictates social control.
Your work seems to challenge anthropocentric perspectives and dominant knowledge systems. Do you see art as an alternative mode of knowledge production, perhaps even a way of resisting institutional or scientific authority?
I have invested a lot of energy into looking at "other" knowledge systems, and art is definitely one of them. Art can promote ways of thinking that are usually reserved for the field of science.
Before climate change became a central theme, art often engaged with cultural studies or post-colonial theory. But climate change and biodiversity crises were seen as strictly "scientific" areas. It became necessary to find other means of engaging with these topics. I see myself as one of the artists who took on that challenge. For example, when documenting things like the BTC pipeline, I treat them not just as linear constructs, but as spatial and cultural phenomena, layering the narrative.
After so many years of engaging with complex global crises, what continues to motivate you? And what advice would you give to young artists who want to work at the intersection of research, ecology, and critical theory today?
You're catching me at a time when I feel I've reached the end of certain engagements with territorial questions and biodiversity. My latest work is actually about the beginnings of democracy. Because democracy is under such pressure today, I feel it's vital to remember its roots—questions of equality and egality. I'm moving in a new direction, working more with actors and scripts.
Regarding motivation: I've worked on globalization and climate for over 20 years. I never really had to ask "what's next?" because while finishing one work, the direction for the next would always reveal itself. All these works are related; they just look at different facets or dig deeper into specific areas. To young artists: projects like the one you are doing on the river are beautiful and meaningful. It's a rich process of meeting people and documenting transformation. You are building our cultural heritage.