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‘Well, while still studying, I was writing about art for the newspapers and we did some shows. The first we did in 1974; we were a collective of women artists and students and it was a feminist show, in a small way a communal explosion. It’s almost funny looking back on it. But I remember it now because it prepared the way for another show in 1980, which was called Saus und Braus. The second exhibition really hit a chord because this was a moment in Zurich where the music scene was very strong – particularly punk and feminist bands – while the art scene existed only as a sort of underground. This was the first time Peter Fischli and Davis Weiss showed together, for example, and at that time Fischli was designing album covers for bands. Saus und Braus was like a statement: “Here is a new generation, we think differently about art. There is a whole scene down here and a pool of creativity which you up there in the museums ignore.”’

‘In 1984, when we started Parkett, it seemed incredibly important and new to build a bridge between America and Europe. This was the moment when the Americans started to look seriously at European art again, and the 1980s seemed the right time to lay out a magazine which had both German and English on an equal footing. Today this seems quite ridiculous, thinking of the need for a bridge between two art worlds, as things have opened up since the exhibition Magiciens de la Terre, and we know that there are, and always have been, many more places to build bridges to. I travel a lot and I often visit artists in their studios; I love to do this, but I am not in a hurry. This was also very important when we founded Parkett, we wanted to do a ‘slow’ publication; it was the moment when this acceleration came into the art world. And I think this is still a very good approach, you have to learn how to slow down and reflect. Of course working on a publication for 27 years teaches you also to recognise the importance of not missing the moment. Jeff Koons, for example, had a moment, you didn’t want to miss that.’

‘Well, I am a curator who comes from a museum background and from an education in art history, but I have always been interested in contemporary art. I am not the kind of curator who comes from cultural studies, philosophy or sociology and as a result I am sceptical towards exhibitions which try to illustrate theory. I love art, and for Venice I want to present a show that concentrates on the core business. First you look at the institution and ask: what is the Biennale? And you find your answer in the place and its character: there are these pavilions, there are these imaginary national borders, there is the beauty of Venice and there is the light, which provides such a common theme for art. All together there are some conventions to be broken up. In the title for the exhibition ILLUMInations, I wanted to highlight these things, taking one word that stands in for a concept. It takes the more conservative aspect of the theme of light into another dimension by colliding with the provocative theme of nations. The question of national representation at the Venice Biennale remains taboo and neurotic. This great anachronism, that in the midst of this totally globalised art world curators take their pavilions and say, “This is my territory and I do my national show”, seems so revealing and interesting. Personally, I am happy that I am not alone in Venice and that I am surrounded by commissioners and curators working on the pavilions. In the twenty-first century, “nation” is a sticky and loaded word, but we are working with art here, and where, if not in art, can we discuss sticky and loaded terms?’

‘No, not any more like it once did, and of course it is true that younger artists are so much more visible these days. If we look at the Internet as a source of information today and consider how Harald Szeemann curated the Biennale in 1999, he was using the fax and visiting studios; while today we have this incredible possibility to sit at the computer and acquaint ourselves with the work of this or that Chinese artist. I must say, I would have liked, on the one hand, to have had more time to really travel to visit the artists, but on the other, scouting is a particular skill and there need not be a fetishisation of the experience of meeting and getting to know the artist. Of course, this raises a very difficult question. You can, for example take a trip for three weeks or a month through Africa, but I don’t think this makes you an expert on African contemporary art. I believe that this perception of the globalised art world, and interest in new and emerging scenes, is often more a question of marketing than curating. It is the same question that arose in the 1960s when American art came to the documenta, it was packaged as the ‘new thing’, and personally I am not so interested in these kind of coups. In regard to how well-known the younger artists are – and one third of those selected are under 35 – I like to bear in mind how large the public for the Biennale is. Outside a specialist audience, it is very unlikely that a broader public will be familiar with many of the less-established artists – and I still want to show younger positions, not just the usual names. I have selected the artists for their work, and from the point of deciding to do something with them, we have started to work together on new things.’

‘Well, now, in the middle of March, is exactly the moment where we enter into this intense period where Giovanni Carmine, my head of production, and I are communicating with eighty artists at the same time, about when they can visit the space, whether they can build a wall here, how big they can imagine this staircase etcetera. Close communication is vital on the one hand, while on the other, the relationship with Giovanni is important because it affords a bit of distance. Between us we have very pragmatic discussions along the lines of: Do you think this is a good idea or should we prevent the artist from doing that? In regard to trust, I have always seen myself as being a partner for the artists. I have never wanted to be an artist myself, but I don’t want to be one of those art historians who is only interested in artists who have been dead for over a hundred years. Of course, there are some artists who you get close to and become friends with who suddenly disappoint you, because their art takes a turn you don’t like. I have been through all this, it’s a problem, but primarily you have to be trustful to your ideas and be honest about them to others. I met Sigmar Polke in 1974; he has been a big inspiration over all these years and continues to be so. Despite our friendship, I have continued to write about his work, and you could say I have lost all my objectivity, and you would be right, but I say ‘so what’, this is simply what happens. The relationships between artists, curators and critics are complex, and there are always moments where the artist may be afraid of rejection, just as the curator or critic fears an unfortunate turn in the work of an artist they like. This all adds to the eroticism around what we do.’