The aura of Rirkrit Tiravanija cannot be attributed solely to his artworks. His practice transcends borders in every sense: academic, artistic, geographic, linguistic and more. Historically associated with the concept of relational aesthetics, coined by French curator and art critic Nicolas Bourriaud in the 1990s, Tiravanija conceives his installations as situations that invite the public to participate rather than simply observe. Known for breaking down barriers between object and spectator, his participatory and often site-specific installations suggest a new curatorial paradigm, shifting from retinal, static and contemplative curation to a holistic, interactive and scenographic approach. Tiravanija has also nurtured his expertise in contact with curators, especially Pier Luigi Tazzi (1941-2021) whose attention to exhibition storytelling and scenography was inspirational. Obviously, his frequent participation in various biennales since the 1990s as an artist, from São Paulo and Venice to Sharjah and Gwangju, has also sharpened his curatorial eye, with particular attention to the pitfalls of parachuting and ethnocentrism.

Meanwhile, the qualitative “relational” easily extends to his engagement as an educator, entrepreneur and citizen. In his home country of Thailand, he founded VER Magazine in 2000, a media platform that evolved into Gallery VER in 2006, remaining an influential art space in Bangkok to this day. Tiravanija also co-founded The Land Foundation in 1998, a community located in a rural area near Chiang Mai that explores sustainability practices. This adds to the artist’s regular political engagement through groundbreaking exhibitions like who’s afraid of red, yellow, and green (2010), which reflects on the deeply divided political scene and violent unrest in Thailand in the 2000s. His pacifying and soothing approach in an extremely tense context likely stems from his father’s long career as a diplomat. As a professor at the School of Visual Arts at Columbia University, New York, since the 2000s, he has also trained younger generations of artists over the years while developing a global community with them. Betting on his excellence, other institutions have hired him as a curator, such as the Okayama Art Summit in 2022 and The Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art in 2024.

In the following interview, the artist discusses the curatorial dimension of his practice, driven by his interest in establishing platforms to serve the sovereignty of art and artists in an increasingly polarised international context.

Remy Jarry: From East to West, biennales are paying more attention to artists from the Global South. What differentiates the latest Thailand Biennale?

Rirkrit Tiravanija: There are now so many well-established biennales outside of the centre, extending out from Venice. The idea of a biennale arrived very late in Thailand. So, we have had the opportunity to understand all the flaws and reflect a bit more when we make a biennale. Besides, it’s an initiative from the Thai government, which means we have to go through bureaucracy to get things done. But interestingly, they decided to always hold it in a different part of the country to give an opportunity to different provinces. And now, Thai people are starting to be much more aware of the possibilities and impact of having such an exhibition in their province.

Remy: How have you adapted your curatorial approach to Chiang Rai?

Rirkrit: Chiang Rai is a real cultural place with an ancient culture where many artists and artisans live. Such an artistic field would have been the first place you would think of for the Biennale. On the other hand, Chiang Rai is a little bit cut off in the far north and doesn't get as much attention as Chiang Mai. So, there's a backwater feeling, which is great because you get to see things that you're not expecting. What is also important is that this third biennale has been completely curated by Thai people. Moreover, two of the curators, Gridthiya Gaweewong and Angkrit Ajchariyasophon, are originally from Chiang Rai.

Remy: You also worked with Gaweewong on Saigon Open City in Vietnam back in 2005. Was it a seminal experience to approach this new challenge?

Rirkrit: At that time, we were already discussing how to make it work in Vietnam, a culture where art is not part of daily life. We were working in Saigon and trying to introduce the idea of art to local people. This shared experience fostered an instinct to work with communities and their distinctive cultural DNA. For us, the idea of a biennale needs to start with the community and address its locality. In this way, the spirit of the place will resonate with other ideas. I think that's very important.

Remy: This third edition appears to address a reconciliation within Thailand's politically divided art ecosystem. Has your background in relational art helped initiate this collective effort?

Rirkrit: I don't know if it's a reconciliation, but we certainly want to put our model up for ourselves to be conscious of it. The idea of working with people you don't normally like to work with is always part of relational ideas. I do think that our participation set a standard for bureaucrats to understand how to handle such an idea. Of course, it's being used politically, but we intend to make it benefit more people.

Remy: Would this biennale also be an attempt to emancipate from Western-centrism?

Rirkrit: It's not a model against others, but a model to rethink. Of course, the idea of “art” in the quotation is a Western idea: when we start to paint on canvas images that should be on temple walls, we are doing a Western thing. I think that has to be contextualised. But how do we further extend that? The model that we envision is modern and contemporary. The world needs to understand that we have our own history and culture. We need to look at ourselves through our own eyes and understand ourselves because we are as contemporary as any other place.

Remy: Both Venice and Gwangju Biennales have national pavilions. Could this emphasis on nations be compatible with the Thailand Biennale?

Rirkrit: Venice follows a kind of Olympic model. And I don't think we need that kind of invitation to other people. We do have different pavilions within the exhibition, but they present different ideas and models rather than nationalistic displays. We can think of the pavilions as an open system to present ideas that may be interconnected or distinct. I don't see the nationalistic structure as very interesting moving forward in terms of a biennale.

Remy: Which other biennales would better align with your vision?

Rirkrit: The thing about the biennale here is its itinerancy across different provinces, always with a different curatorial team, making it an open-ended place. Each province has expectations that differ from one another. That openness may sound messy, but I think it's still a better mess than a super standardised approach. The problems it presents are much more interesting.

Moreover, our docents played a crucial role because they are really what sustains the exhibition throughout its duration. It's part of our educational programme to provide opportunities for young people. They contributed with their energy, becoming the soul of the show. Many visitors commented on how they enjoyed the exhibition, also because of the enthusiasm of the docents. This dynamic is not often found in other biennales.

Remy: Even though no curatorial team has been announced so far, what do you know about the next edition in Phuket in 2025?

Rirkrit: I can already see that Phuket has very different expectations for its Biennale compared to what Chiang Rai had. There's also lots of enthusiasm and energy from its local artistic community. I think that's halfway there because the initiative needs to come from the place, with inputs from the local community.

Remy: With your deep involvement in the Thai art scene, was your commitment to connecting people part of your motivation to join the Biennale?

Rirkrit: Yes, definitely. Being entrenched in the West, I see the problems on both sides of the fence. This aspect is also part of my practice: in Thailand, I find it much more interesting to be just a platform rather than an artist. The purpose of the platform is not only to create opportunities but also to set up models, infrastructures and systems that others can use. When we started the magazine, there was a group of young artists striving to navigate the art scene and sustain themselves. At a certain point in the life of the magazine, we felt the need for a space to show some work, communicate our ideas and engage with others. And that became a gallery. Since the Thai gallery system wasn't developed to support young contemporary artists, I wanted to create a gallery, like an artist-run space for profit. It's not just about buying and selling but also representation, archiving, providing information and connecting with the audience. Ultimately, it’s always about creating a model and demonstrating how it could work.

Remy: Would this also nurture your artistry, moving from the traditional studio to a more comprehensive ecosystem?

Rirkrit: Indeed. Art isn't just about making; it's also about living, being and connecting with society. This relational framework is very important because it involves not only making art for collectors but also creating art with people who never think about art, thereby bridging a connection to the artist. You understand art through living in it. That's very different from hanging an artwork on the wall, standing back and merely looking at it. The meaning is formed through our differences, acknowledging that we can have differences and still live together.

Remy: You were born in Buenos Aires, Argentina and spent most of your life outside Thailand. Yet, you identify yourself as a Thai artist. What defines you as a Thai artist?

Rirkrit: I would simply say that I think like a Thai person, which means being very open-minded. I would even say: open to otherness—and able to absorb and exist within these differences. In a sense, Thainess is very much about fostering a sense of familial connection. Thai people often address strangers as their brother, sister, aunt or uncle rather than using formal titles like Mr. or Mrs. In doing so, they provide a space for others by accepting them as part of their extended family.

Remy: This openness seems to also manifest in your installations, including those featuring ping pong tables that everyone can use. What is the fundamental element that attracts you to them?

Rirkrit: It's a game that's very open and easily adaptable. It's a kind of conversation, a dialogue that goes back and forth. For me, the game serves as a platform. I incorporate words into it to spark ideas, but it's essentially a platform to start a relation[ship]. You play with strangers because you need someone to play with; it's not something you can do alone.

Remy: I also find it intriguing that other contemporary artists, such as Shen Yuan, Zhang Hongtu, or Udomsak Krisanamis, are also using ping pong tables…

Rirkrit: I was personally inspired by Július Koller (1939-2007), a Czechoslovakian artist who developed the idea of a ping pong club in the 1960s. He did so because the very oppressive government at that time was not allowing people to gather freely. Koller used the idea of a club as an alibi to create a space for people to come together.

Remy: You also integrate a variety of other industrial objects in your installations, as seen in your solo show at Zwirner Gallery in Hong Kong last year. How do you view the concept of ready-made?

Rirkrit: In an interview with Nicolas Bourriaud in the 1990s for a French magazine that he used to run (Documents sur l’art, in 1992), I said that what I'm doing is basically taking the urinal, installing it back into the wall and pissing into it. So, I'm taking the readymade and reusing it. All the ideas are already made and what we can make more of is the action. I'm bringing the ready-made back to life and using it again.

Remy: What about your upcoming “action” or project?

Rirkrit: Besides the exhibition from MoMA PS1 now travelling to the Luma Foundation in Arles, I'm curating a new show for Leeum in Seoul, opening in September. It will be interesting because it’s a group show of young Asian artists and every curation for me offers a different perspective. There will also be another exhibition at the Gropius Bau in Berlin in September. It will be a survey show focussing on my works that were made in Europe.