The Han Nefkens Foundation has carved out a unique and vital space in the world of contemporary art, especially in the field of video and moving image. Founded in Barcelona in 2009 by Dutch writer and art collector Han Nefkens, the Foundation focuses on something pretty special — not collecting artworks, but helping artists actually make them. Its mission is simple but powerful: to connect people through art and give artists the support they need to bring ambitious new work into the world.
What makes the Foundation stand out is how it puts artists first. Through its international grants and commissions — like the Video Art Production Grant and the Moving Images Commission — it offers funding, mentorship, and, crucially, visibility. Artists don’t just get help producing their work; the also get a chance to shoot it at partner institutions around the world. From M+ in Hong Kong, to art centers like WIELS in Belgium or Jameel Arts Centre in Dubai, to artist-run spaces like San Art in Vietnam, these collaborations open doors, foster dialogue, and spark new opportunities.
Instead of building a collection, the Foundation builds relationships — between artists, institutions, and audiences. And that’s what this conversation between Han Nefkens and Elvira Dyangani Ose, Director of MACBA (Museum d’Art Contemporary de Barcelona), is all about. It’s a deep dive into how their partnership is helping to reimagine the role of museums and foundations today.
At the heart of their exchange is a shared belief in generosity, trust, and storytelling. They talk about how commissions like theirs give artists the freedom to explore bold ideas without the usual pressure of selling work. There’s space to take risks, to respond to the urgencies of the present, and to create work that resonates deeply with local and global contexts. Together MACBA and the Han Nefkens Foundation are testing new ways for public institutions and private initiatives to work together — not just for the sake of collaboration, but to genuinely support artists in shaping the cultural narratives of our time.
This conversation opens up important questions about how we experience art, how museums can be more responsive to the world around them, and how supporting artists at the right moment in their careers can have a ripple effect across the entire art ecosystem. It’s a refreshing and thoughtful exchange between two people who clearly care deeply about art’s role in society — and about making space for voices, stories, and ideas that might otherwise go unheard.
Elvira Dyangani Ose: MACBA’s collaboration with the Han Nefkens Foundation is a key step in our commitment to fostering institutional partnerships and the development of new narratives that generate possibilities for artists, institutions, and audiences alike. We’ve had many discussions about the role that public-private alliances can provide and the opportunities they create. I believe this is critical — not only for our collaboration but also for the future of museum-making. The fact is that your foundation and our collaboration provide a certain degree of freedom and experimentation we might not have otherwise.
Han Nefkens: I agree with you. I think the basis of all collaboration is really trust — trust between institutions and in the artists as well. We offer them perhaps much more freedom than they would otherwise have, partly because they already have the funding to produce their work and know where it will be exhibited. They are willing — or rather, able — to take that extra step because they don’t have to sell the work; it’s already guaranteed to be shown. That allows them to be a little more adventurous and push further. And that’s something we’ve seen in practice with all the commissions we’ve supported before.
EDO: I think this is a critical aspect of what your foundation has done and what we appreciate bringing together through this project — and hopefully many more initiatives to come. We are at a moment when economic conditions don’t always align with the need to support an imagination without constraints. Building up a career, being part of the professional sector, more often than not imposes limitations, and, while that is an imperative, I also believe that artists need a platform to think freely, to experiment, and to help us engage with the present moment. What is happening in our world today needs to be addressed: when we work together on projects like this, offering such a platform, we create a space for artists responding to the here and now of a particular experience, and even imagining alternative realities. Museums often work at a slower pace — we plan exhibitions years in advance; even commissions are scheduled ahead of time. That makes it difficult to respond to the immediacy of the present. But your vision, particularly through these grants for production, has fostered a dialogue not only with artists but also between institutions. That kind of institutional partnership is something I’d love to explore further.
HN: I must say, this is one of the things I’m most proud of — the selection process. Or rather, the way you select, because I don’t participate in choosing the artists myself. I see my role as a moderator, facilitating the conversation. We don’t vote because I believe that if an institution is going to support an artist, they must be fully committed. They have to stand behind the artist and be able to defend their choice. It’s not something that can be imposed.
So, the selection process becomes a dialogue — a conversation that we’ve had with other art institutions as well. This exchange is very enriching because it allows us to understand what other institutions are concerned with, what they are looking for, and what they want to showcase — or not showcase. That’s a perspective we wouldn’t otherwise get. It also creates a bridge between cultural contexts, as we’ve seen in collaborations involving institutions from places like Mexico and the United States in the case of our collaboration with MACBA, and Japan, Singapore, China, and India among the fifty art institutions the Foundation collaborates with. This connection between institutions and cultures adds another layer to the process.
Ultimately, the decision is made through dialogue and generosity, which I find truly important. I’m proud that the participants of this commission are open to this spirit of generosity. It’s not about pushing for a specific artist, but about engaging in an open conversation, questioning which artist is not only the best fit for the institution but also would benefit most by this opportunity. Because this chance is only given once, it’s crucial to ensure it goes to an artist who can truly take the next step.
Through this process, we also put ourselves in the artists’ shoes. Where are they in their careers? Have they exhibited internationally? What are they exploring in their work? There’s also an element of intuition — identifying an artist who can fully embrace what the commission enables them to do. In that sense, it’s not just an institutional process but a deeply human one. And to me, that’s incredibly important because it’s exactly what’s missing in the world today.
EDO: You touched on something crucial — the idea that generosity is its own kind of power, and how it drives multiple processes within this project. We work with international nominators who observe their own immediate art scene, whether geographical areas they live in or the contextual frameworks they research. We also have an international jury composed of curators and directors from various institutions who, as you mentioned, engage in an ongoing dialogue. Additionally, we provide both the finalists and the ultimate winner with the opportunity to deeply consider the moment of conceiving a project.
The intuitive aspect that you mentioned not only applies to the institution but also to the artist — how can they pursue something they might not otherwise have had the chance to realize? The commission, in a way, is a call and response to a thematic concern shared by the foundation and the three partner institutions. In this particular case, the focus was the environment and climate, explored intersectionally in particular in Minia Biabiany’s work. She responded beautifully, not only through her existing practice but also in the way that she engaged in the commission. It allowed her to reflect on her trajectory while also considering her current concerns and their relationship to her locality, its history, and the present moment.
One of the key elements that ties everything together in Biabiany’s case — and that’s why I emphasize intersectionality — is that discussing climate change and environmental issues is, at its core, about preoccupation with the consequences of colonial extractivism, economic decision-making through history, and the social constructs that derive from them.
Another crucial aspect of this commission, in general, is its emphasis on liveness, both in terms of the artwork itself and in how museums should engage with life — IRL, if you will — in their spaces. We often say that we must be radically public — not just in serving the public —MACBA is a public institution, and as such this is part of our public mission — but also caring about how we could inhabit the museum space. Not to mimic life, but to offer alternative ways through which to question, embody, and share who we are anew.
Another fascinating aspect you raised is how this commission impacts an artist’s career. We think about artists who are at a particular moment of their practice. The beauty of projects like ours is that they foster an artist’s intuitive process, meanwhile they provide a structure that grounds and refines certain ideas and principles intrinsic to the artist’s practice. Assessing the true significance of an award or a commission in an artist’s career is complex, but the hope is that it serves as a catalyst — a condition of possibility for something new to emerge.
HN: Yes, and it’s interesting because we’ve been doing this for years, offering different grants and commissions. Not too long ago, we took a step back to assess the real impact of what we do. We’re always busy creating new opportunities, so we rarely reflect on the past. We asked four artists we worked with over the last two years about how often their commissioned video pieces had been shown. It turned out that in just two years, their works had been exhibited twenty-four times — sometimes not including the five or six partner institutions for each project. A number of these works were later acquired by institutions like by Tate Modern or led to other commissions.
That’s what makes me happy — this process truly provides a push for artists. The commission itself is impactful, but it’s also about the network of opportunities it generates. The works are presented on multiple platforms, and people start talking about them. We meet somebody in a taxi, at an art fair, or at a biennial, and we share links to the works of the artists we collaborate with. That generosity — sharing our network — helps artists gain visibility. It’s almost a cliché to say that it makes a difference, but in this case, it really does. Beyond the tangible benefits — exhibitions, acquisitions, financial support — the psychological boost of having a number of institutional directors place their trust in an artist is invaluable.
EDO: We talked about the nominators, but there’s another important aspect — how many artists are included in the first round?
HN: About fourteen in the long list, and then we narrow it down to around eighteen.
EDO: What’s particularly enriching is the breadth of aesthetics and perspectives in that long list. The selection process brings together a myriad of artistic voices, allowing us to see and engage with a diverse array of artists and colleagues, opening up future possibilities — not just for the winner or the shortlisted few but an entire ecosystem of creators. Like a collective exhibition, which has a grammar and a language of its own, preparatory processes for commissions like this feature artists that are pushing theoretical, aesthetic, and discursive boundaries in unique ways.
HN: Absolutely. In fact, several exhibitions have included artists from the long list. Directors and curators see these artists, and while they were not selected for this particular commission, they might be chosen for future exhibitions. That’s how the commission works beyond its immediate scope.
EDO: This also highlights the importance of it building an archive of all these references.
HN: Yes, though we don’t keep the videos themselves — we’re not interested in ownership. Instead, we maintain links to the artists’ archives, which we openly share.
EDO: That’s incredibly generous. At the end of the day, your focus is on facilitating the making of the artwork, rather than possessing it. I feel like this is something very specific to this commission, but that also makes me reflect on the uses of collecting historically and in the present activities as a foundation.
HN: Yes, and it wasn’t always this way. Initially, we thought we needed to collect the videos, but then we questioned why. What purpose would that serve? So we decided not to keep them, allowing artists to retain full rights over their work.
EDO: I’d love to hear how this all started for you.
HN: My interest in contemporary art began in 1999 when I saw an exhibition by Pipilotti Rist in Paris, curated by Hans Ulrich Obrist. It was mesmerizing — videos projected on lamps, in the kitchens — it was incredible. That was the moment I knew I wanted to be part of this world, not by owning art, but by sharing it. My first acquisition went straight to a museum. Over time, I realized that many artists, even the well-known ones, struggle to finance new work. Galleries aren’t always interested in production, and museums often lack funding. So I decided to shift from collecting to producing art alongside institutions. I love being involved from the inception of an idea to its realization.
EDO: I just wanted to emphasize that some truly visionary galleries, collectors, and even artists from other generations have supported and continue to support the production of artworks besides museums and other cultural bodies. I think it’s important to clarify that this isn’t the only initiative that does so. I say this as a note, because otherwise it might sound like we’re implying exclusivity.
One thing that I love — and where you and I strongly connect — is our passion for storytelling. You are a better writer than I am, but I believe we both carry the joy of sharing stories. Your beautiful book embodies this idea, and I see the museum as a platform for storytelling. Not only in amplifying the words of artists but also in providing a plural and diverse platform for those they want to interpolate.
Video installations, for example, allow us to explore storytelling in a powerful way. I want to discuss this, not just because there are many artistic languages that engage with the human experience, but because I believe, I hope you agree, that video and film offer a unique, immersive approach to characters, narratives, and languages — filmic and otherwise. They place us in direct conversation with those stories. Lately, I’ve been reflecting on this a lot, perhaps because I’m a mother to an eight-year-old, and bedtime stories have become central to my daily life. They create an entry point into dreams and imagination. Similarly, storytelling in art offers a way to reimagine history and reality, and to question their absences and the systems behind their production.
HN: That’s a crucial point, and you’re absolutely right. As a writer, I am naturally drawn to narrative, which is probably why I’ve always loved video art — and still do. The fascinating part about working globally is encountering so many different stories. Artists from Cambodia, Bangladesh, Korea, or Guadeloupe each bring their own language and rhythm. This is really important because it makes us realize how accustomed we are to a fast-paced world, where everything is consumed quickly and superficially.
The challenge and beauty of video art lies in the time it demands from us. It’s almost meditative. It requires an active engagement from the viewer — unlike other artworks you can simply glance at and move on. With video, you must sit, watch, and allow the story to unfold. Sometimes it’s not immediately clear what’s going on, and you just have to wait and experience it. Because of this, video art is definitely not for everyone, but that’s okay. What I write isn’t for everyone, who I am is definitely not for everyone. And that’s completely fine.
EDO: Exactly. Different degrees of engagement are valid. Sometimes people assume that contemporary art must be understood purely on an intellectual level, but that’s not true. I always encourage people to stroll through a museum. Simply notice what draws your attention without necessarily assessing why, and stay with it.
HN: Elvira, that’s such an important perspective, and something I’ve been learning as well — to look at art, and at life, without judgment — give yourself a chance! Why would you have to make a judgement? Many times, what we encounter is far removed from our own reference points, but that’s precisely what makes it enriching. I often think that our preconceived notions act like smudgy glasses; they cloud our perception. If we can set them aside, even momentarily, we gain a much clearer view of what’s before us.
EDO: Yes, and those preconceived ideas also distance us from direct experience. This is something the commissions facilitate — they create a direct engagement between institutions and artists. Each commissioned project is shaped by its specific venue, its context, and its dialogue with the artist. This specificity is vital. At its core, art is a conversation, not just between institutions but also between artists, their environments, and the audience.
But it is also this aspect of engaging in such a way that beauty — and all its contradictions — is first and foremost at the top of it – even when it’s rejected. I always say that rejecting a work is still a response to it. Sometimes, we feel like we need to fully understand or grasp everything, but art isn’t always about that. Artists show us the world through emotions, through the way things were felt, can be felt, or are embodied. They invite us to experience it, and it’s up to us whether we accept that invitation. Even something simple as noticing a color, a composition, or a sound in a museum can be an entry point into deeper engagement. As a relentless writer, you probably understand this better than I do — how an idea can spark and lead you on an unexpected journey.
HN: Absolutely. Art poses questions rather than providing answers. That, in turn, sparks a dynamic process within us. Even if you reject work, you still think about it and you ask questions, and the engagement provokes. You may not arrive at a definitive answer, but you’ve begun to reflect, and that’s what matters.
EDO: What comes to my mind is the word “lingering” — holding onto a question and staying with it. When I started my project at MACBA, I wanted to create moments of slow engagement, where art but also the museum itself would nourish an alternative rhythm to this fast-paced world. When we pause, when we stop, our perception shifts. This is another key role of commissions: they introduce not only the rhythms of the places where artists work but also the opportunity for institutions and visitors to slow down, to truly immerse themselves in the experience.
HN: That’s very true. We live in a very goal-oriented society. But why? Exposure to different artistic and cultural rhythms challenges that mindset. Video art, in particular, invites us into an open-ended experience rather than a neatly structured narrative. It encourages us to simply be present.
EDO: It’s a journey.
HN: Yeah, an invitation, rather than a destination. Goal-oriented often means consumption, and we’ve consumed enough. It’s time to pause, to see things differently, and to take them for what they are. As we discussed earlier, it’s about being open to new perspectives without feeling pressured to form immediate opinions.
EDO: Right. It’s about learning. Museums are only relevant to me if they serve their communities and embrace a process of mutual learning. This applies to collaborations with institutions, foundations, artists, and the audiences they engage with.
HN: Absolutely. This reminds me of artists in Asia who work with local communities, making art that directly involves them. They then present these works to the very people they portray, allowing for a shared experience.
EDO: That’s beautiful.
HN: Yes, and it’s always fascinating to see the reactions. People are often surprised to see themselves projected on a massive screen, and their first reaction is laughter. But it doesn’t end there — the work continues to live on, fostering connections and dialogue. That’s what makes it powerful.
