La Stella Dentro: Inside Caterina Barbieri’s Venice Biennale Musica
Andriy Zozulya: You framed the festival under the idea of “cosmic music.” If you had to explain that to a child, in the simplest way, how would you describe it?
Caterina Barbieri: Music is vibration. It connects us to the cosmos. It opens us to a wider dimension where you feel the interconnection between all living matter. Through that, you can transcend your individual existence and touch something bigger. But honestly, to explain it to a child, I’d just play the music. That’s the power of it, children understand vibration immediately.
So, the language without words.
Yes. Music brings different bodies into resonance. Through that resonance, you meet what is beyond you, the Other, the Unknown, the Cosmic.
This year's Biennale Musica title is La Stella Dentro meaning "The Star Within.” and it's quite poetic. What was your vision behind it? Was it about the inner star of the artist, the listener, or something cosmic in general?
It’s mostly a poetic symbol. Music as the star within. Music as the desire for vastness, like when we look up at the sky searching for connection with something mysterious and infinite. Music does that, and of course, it’s tied to introspection: going inward to then reconnect with the outside. For me, music is a spiral between inside and outside, visible and invisible, material and immaterial. I like that the title is abstract. Different people read it differently.
Venice has always been a place for introspection, Brodsky, poets, artists. A lot of the acts you curated are deeply meditative, almost like inner journeys. Were you thinking about Venice itself while designing the program?
Definitely. Anyone can have a trippy experience in Venice, just walking at night, seeing water reflections on walls, boats, bridges. It’s hypnotic. I don’t understand how locals ever get used to it. Even the most mundane things become poetic because everything moves: light, water, sound. That creates an inherently psychedelic atmosphere. So yes, Venice shaped the program. The city already speaks the language of music, constant motion and transformation.
Would you say the festival became a kind of soundtrack to Venice?
In many ways, yes. And many artists actively created dialogue with the city. Because we commissioned new works, they could shape pieces specifically for Venice. FUJI|||||||||||TA made a whole water ritual. Basinski recorded drones from the Vaporetto's engines. Chuquimamani-Condori composed music specifically for nine motorboats moving through the canals of Venice during the opening. I wanted the artists to engage with the environment.
When you began curating, how did you organize your thoughts? Were you looking for radical works, unconventional things? What was happening in your head when you first started researching?
Honestly, I invited the artists I love. The unique thing about Biennale is the possibility to commission new works, so the process becomes an artistic dialogue rather than just booking shows. As an artist who’s travelled a lot, it felt natural to gather voices I admire. I also wanted a shift from previous editions, which were more conservative and focused on classical contemporary music. But I had to consider the Biennale audience, so I included more established figures like Basinski. Next year I want to go more radical.
As a composer yourself, do you see the full program as a kind of composition? Like you arranged different pieces into a single long journey?
Yes. It was important to create a journey across two weeks. The opening felt like a big bang, high energy, disruptive, with the boat parade and Chuquimamani-Condori. The first week was dense; the second was more introspective and minimal. Even the sound between concerts is something I made, a fragment from one of my patterns. For me it’s like the noise of the vacuum, or the cosmos, appearing and disappearing and setting a tone.
I noticed repetition running through almost everything, FUJI|||||||||||TA, Sunn O))), Lucy Railton, pretty much everyone except DJ Marcelle. And even in the way you listen, there’s this meditative presence. Does repetition hold a spiritual function for you?
It does. It’s a form of prayer for me. I love repetition in music and in life. I like routines. I like exploring the same gesture and seeing how perception changes through it. Repetition can create focus, hypnosis, depth. It’s spiritual without needing to be religious.
Who was your wild card this year, the act you knew would shock or wake up the audience?
Chuquimamani-Condori, who received the Silver Lion. Their sound is very alien, a mix of folk and hyper-contemporary digital collage. Hard to define. They bring a strong ceremonial element from their Bolivian roots, mixed with their California background. It was shocking for a lot of people, but in a positive way.
And finally, on your own music, what’s happening? Are you planning a new release?
Yes. Strangely, I’ve been able to compose new music amidst the commitments of the Biennale's curation. I brought my modular setup to Venice and made a lot of music for a few commissions I have. I am now writing music for an orchestra and I’m trying to finalize pieces for the new album. The challenge is switching mindsets: composing requires a hypnotic state, while this job is full-time and totally different. But I’m slowly channeling the inspiration.
