In the vast nave of a Baroque church in Venice, approximately 3,000 miniature dolls are arranged on winding, dune-like sand formations. The figurines, each a unique piece, were handmade by indigenous artists in Australia and Namibia. Some symbolise fertility while others are keepers of spirits and ancestors. Staged during this year’s Venice Biennale by Ocean Space, the research and education arm of TBA21, ‘Tides of Return’ echoes indigenous people’s demands for reparative justice with the return of objects taken through colonialism. But it also explores what such repatriations mean for contemporary artistic practice.
These artworks began to take shape in 2023, after the return to northern Australia of more than 170 Anindilyakwa dolls that had been taken to Britain for anthropological research in the 1950s. That same year, 23 Namibian dolls were repatriated from Berlin to the capital Windhoek, amid pressure on Germany to pay reparations for the Namibia genocide of 1904-1908.
Space, Venice. Commissioned and produced by TBA21–Academy. Photo: Jacopo Salvi
Namibia had been occupied by Germany until 1915, before falling under South Africa’s mandate. Bearing precolonial knowledge and ornamentation, the dolls act as symbols of indigeneity against a settler-colonial legacy that continues today, with white descendants of European colonists still owning 70% of Namibian farmland. Many of the Namibian dolls, by artists like Laimi Kakololo, are fashioned from brown cloth. Some feature fabric clothing or Oilanda beadwork, crafted from shells from Namibia’s Atlantic coast. Traditionally gifted to young women, the figures often carry a name also given to the owner’s first child.
The Aboriginal dolls from Australia — called dadikwakwa-kwa and made of shells, pandanus fibre, paperbark and bush string — form a cultural practice within Anindilyakwa communities. ‘Traditionally, they were used as intergenerational learning aids for literacy, numeracy, kinship systems and women’s health,’ explains Anindilyakwa artist Noeleen Lalara. ‘Dadikwakwa-kwa may also guide people through dreams.’
The exhibition’s curator, Khadija Von Zinnenburg Carroll, ran workshops in Australia and Namibia for artists creating new dolls inspired by those being returned. The results on show continue, but also refashion, age-old making traditions. Some are hybrid figures, combining the styles of both cultures.
‘The repatriations re-sparked knowledge about these practices, and then contemporary artists began new ones,’ says Von Zinnenburg Carroll, who is also founder of Repatriates Collective, devoted to the restitution of indigenous objects. ‘So, these returns create a revival of making practices.’
In a second section, the exhibition explores materiality and indigeneity with works by Verena Melgarejo Weinandt, a German-Bolivian artist with Quechua ancestry in her bloodline, which she says is often eradicated when mixed with whiteness. Her textile installation ‘Weaving Connections’ features blue and black fabrics woven into plaits resembling her own braided hair — a signifier of indigenous identity in Bolivia. ‘Braids help me talk about creating identities that lie outside existing categories,’ she says.
Space, Venice. Commissioned and produced by TBA21–Academy. Photo: Jacopo Salvi
Space, Venice. Commissioned and produced by TBA21–Academy. Photo: Jacopo Salvi
Ever since 2024, when the Biennale’s Golden Lions were awarded to Bigambul-Kamilaroi artist Archie Moore and Māori female collective Mataaho, indigenous artists have been shown prominently in many major Western institutions. Last year, Tate Modern dedicated a retrospective to Emily Kam Kngwarray and its Turbine Hall commission to Máret Ánne Sara, while the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Genesis Facade Commission went to Jeffrey Gibson. Tony Albert is exhibiting at Sydney’s Museum of Contemporary Art, while TBA21 will show Seba Calfuqueo at Madrid’s Thyssen-Bornemisza museum this autumn.
At this year’s Biennale, indigenous practice is particularly notable among Latin American national pavilions. Sara Flores is the first indigenous artist to represent Peru, with textile works in kené, a Shipibo-Konibo geometric design system. Mexico is showing an installation in clay, salt and tobacco by RojoNegro, a duo exploring pre-Hispanic worldviews. For Ecuador, films by the Tawna collective explore colonial violence and queer identities in the Amazon.
For such artists, exhibitions like the one curated by Ocean Space are not just about increased visibility but also what repatriating tangible heritage means for indigenous art-making. According to Lalara, ‘the impact of Dadikwakwa-kwa has opened important discussions about how traditional cultural objects can influence contemporary art practices — and vice versa.’
Von Zinnenburg Carroll similarly believes decolonial efforts in the art world are not just reparative but also vital for onward creativity. ‘It’s exciting as a best-practice model institutionally,’ she says. ‘Repatriations actually spark the contemporary art of production.’
