Pablo del Val: ‘Art Dubai Has Always Been About Discovery’

by Alexandra Mansilla

Pablo del Val: ‘Art Dubai Has Always Been About Discovery’

24 Mar 2025

Pablo del Val

I’ll be honest right from the start — I’ve been dreaming of talking to Pablo del Val for months. And with Art Dubai just around the corner (mark your calendars: April 18–20!), I finally got the chance.

Pablo del Val has been the Artistic Director of Art Dubai since 2015, but his experience in the art world goes far beyond that. He has been a cultural manager, curator, and gallery director, previously serving as the Artistic Director of Zona Maco and the founding director of La Conservera Center of Contemporary Art in Spain. He has also directed several galleries, run his own art consulting firm — and that is just part of the story.

In our conversation, we talked about what to expect from Art Dubai this year, the themes artists are exploring, the differences between emerging and established talent, and how to spot something fresh and exciting at an art fair packed with thousands of works.

— Hola Pablo! My first question isn’t about this year’s Art Dubai but about the first one you were involved in. You joined as the fair’s artistic director in 2015. Do you remember what it was like for you to immerse yourself in the culture of the Middle East as someone coming from the West?

— At the time, I was living in Mexico City, working as the artistic director of Zona MACO. I had lived there twice in my life — once in the ’90s and again in the 2000s — so my connection with Latin America was deeply personal. But I felt it was time to explore a continent I had never been to before. I love being placed in environments where I don’t have control and where I don’t fully understand the cultural codes — it forces me to learn, engage with new sensitivities, and develop a deeper perspective.

Landing in Dubai for the first time wasn’t as much of a culture shock as one might think. There are actually a lot of parallels between Latin America and the Middle East — shared histories, similar ways of seeing the world, and overlapping cultural realities. As a Spaniard, it is also worth noting that Spain was under Muslim rule for eight centuries, so that influence is deeply embedded in our cultural DNA. And geographically, Morocco is right across from us, so there has always been a close — though often unspoken — connection with the Arab world.

That said, moving to Dubai wasn’t necessarily easy. This isn’t like moving to Damascus or Tangier, where 99% of the population is local, and you just have to learn how the social structure works. Dubai is extremely complex. The first thing you realise is that only 9% of the population is actually local. The city is built on micro-communities, each with its own way of understanding life. And then you start to see the way these communities interact — or, in some cases, don’t interact at all.

One of the biggest things I learned early on was how respectful the country is. And honestly, I learned a lot of this just by spending time at Dubai Mall. When I first arrived, I had no friends, so I would go there every day, walking for kilometres. It became my own sort of cultural classroom. I would sit down, observe, and take everything in. Watching how people moved, how different communities engaged with one another (or didn’t), and even recognising the nuances in the background — not just by nationality but by social class, upbringing, and cultural influences. It was fascinating.

For me, this exercise was also applicable to contemporary art. This region hasn’t historically had as much visibility abroad, and it is difficult to fully map the artistic landscape of the Global South — or even just the Middle East — because the depth of what is happening here is only now beginning to surface on a larger scale. There are so many preconceived notions about the region, and then you arrive and think, “Hold on — this is an entirely different story.”

Take Ramadan, for example. For me, it is one of the most beautiful religious celebrations in existence. When you start to understand the meaning behind fasting and the significance of iftars — it all unfolds into something much deeper. And then you draw parallels to Catholic Easter, with its own fasting traditions, and realise that we are not so different after all. There is something truly magical about uncovering these interconnections over time.

But in the beginning, it was a huge learning curve — especially with language. At first, I thought I was getting a grip on Arabic names, and then suddenly, I had to familiarise myself with Indian names, then Pakistani names, then Sri Lankan names. And it is not always easy — how do you immediately know if a name belongs to a male or a female artist? These are the details you learn over time.

One of the biggest realisations I’ve had through this experience is that there is life beyond the West. That might sound obvious, but when you’re raised in a Western-centric world, you don’t fully grasp the scale of it until you’re immersed in a place like this. There is an enormous global population that is influenced by and engaged with ideas that have absolutely nothing to do with Western narratives. And that, to me, is incredible. It should be acknowledged, respected, and embraced.

Learning all of this has been one of the most valuable experiences of my life.

Tomás Saraceno, Nacreous 904.8, 2024. Courtesy: Studio Tomás Saraceno and Pinksummer. (You can see Saraceno’s work in the Bawwaba section at Art Dubai 2025.)

— Thank you for sharing that story! Now, let’s talk about Art Dubai 2025 and the curators. Can you walk me through the criteria you use when selecting them?

— I like working with people who bring something fresh — young curators who haven’t been in the mainstream yet. For them, this is a real opportunity to break into bigger projects in the future. I also prefer to collaborate with artists and curators who have a deep understanding of geographies that are relevant to the fair. And, of course, I like working with people I’ve collaborated with before or those with whom I’ve had productive conversations — because that kind of established relationship is key. Above all, I value people who have the sensitivity to understand where they’re going and what the audience at Art Dubai is really looking for.

This year, I’m particularly happy with the selection. For example, in Bawwaba, we typically had younger curators, but this year, I decided to bring in someone more senior — Mirjam Varadinis, the curator-at-large of Kunsthaus Zürich. I thought this would help give younger curators and galleries a larger platform for exposure, and so far, it is working beautifully. She has made an outstanding selection, and I think this year’s Bawwaba will be exceptional.

Mirjam Varadinis

On the other hand, we have Gonzalo Herrero Delicado, who is curating the digital section. I actually exhibited his work in Spain when I was the director of La Conservera — back when he was just starting out. I think his contribution is going to be a major highlight, not just for this edition but for shaping the future direction of Art Dubai.

Gonzalo Herrero Delicado

The Modern section has two curators — both with deep expertise in Middle Eastern art. My dear old friend Magalí Arriola, an art critic and Director of Museo Tamayo, and Nada Shabout, with whom I’ve had the pleasure of working for the past 10 years.

I feel confident about this mix of emerging and established voices. The selection this year is really about choosing the right people who can bring out the best in this edition of the fair.

Magalí Arriola and Nada Shabout

— As you’ve been looking at the artists showing at Art Dubai this year, have any common themes jumped out at you?

— I truly believe that in this era of globalisation, there are no longer clear-cut artistic movements. Everything is more fluid, more intertwined. Artists today work with broader aesthetics and ideas, and the rigid schools of thought that once defined contemporary art are fading away. I think that is largely due to communication — the ease of exchanging information and the rise of social media. The concept of art movements, in the traditional sense, is disappearing. We’re in a completely different landscape now.

It is hard to pinpoint a singular trend that defines where art is headed. But there is something very exciting happening — mainly the influence of Instagram and digital platforms. A lot of artists today are deeply engaged with the digital space, creating work that is often first encountered online rather than in physical galleries. Because of this, our initial perception of art is now largely screen-based, and the opportunities to engage with artworks in person have significantly diminished.

This has given rise to a distinct aesthetic — one that is highly geometric, dimensional, and designed to be consumed digitally. Many young artists are exploring these structured compositions, where colours, lines, and shapes create a kind of visual language that translates well on screens. Looking at price lists from upcoming art fairs, you can see this emerging aesthetic everywhere — artworks that reinterpret our environment as geometric structures, visually flat yet conceptually layered. And I always wonder, is this purely a stylistic choice, or is it a response to the digital-first nature of contemporary art consumption?

At the same time, being in the Middle East, certain themes naturally stand out — one of the biggest being displacement. More specifically, migration driven by climate change.

This is especially evident in sections like the Bawwaba, which explores how extreme weather and environmental crises are forcing people to leave their homes. Migration has always been a major theme in art, but now it is being viewed through a new lens — not just as an economic issue but as a consequence of global warming, where entire regions are becoming physically uninhabitable.

And then there is another layer to this: the broader conversation around identity and adaptation. We live in a region that is experiencing immense upheaval, and artists are deeply engaged with themes of migration and displacement — not just geographical but cultural and psychological as well. How do you build an identity in a place where you don’t speak the language? How do you reconcile being first- or second-generation in a country where your religion, traditions, and cultural background are not the dominant ones? This continuous process of adapting, surviving, and navigating both political and physical landscapes is something that artists are addressing in a profound way.

These themes aren’t just passing trends — they’re shaping the way contemporary art is being created and understood today.

Omar Mismar, Fantastical Scene [Sic], 2019-2020, Mosaic, 190 x 126 cm. Courtesy of the artist and SECCI

— And I am sure you have any interesting stories about discovering an exceptional artist! Or maybe a story behind their work that truly amazed you?

— Sure! This year, for example, at the Venice Biennale, I came across the work of Omar Mismar, a Lebanese artist, and instantly fell in love with it — I knew I’d love to have a piece by him. Then, out of nowhere, an application for Art Dubai came from an Italian gallery representing that very same artist. It was incredible.

His mosaics aren’t traditional; they explore conflict and war, dealing with contemporary political issues. That kind of storytelling is powerful.

— When it comes to the collectors in Dubai (or the UAE in general), what do they focus on the most? Is it this storytelling behind the artwork?

— Yes. Here, collectors don’t buy based on an artist’s CV — it would bore them. What connects with them is the story behind the work. Dubai is a city of expats, a place where most people are from somewhere else. Naturally, they seek art that reminds them of home, evokes nostalgia, or resonates with their experiences.

Take Kate Newby, a New Zealand artist featured at the Sharjah Biennale. The materials she uses and the way she presents her work resonate deeply with themes of migration. What truly moves collectors is hearing the full story — realising that her work reflects their own journey. That is the moment admiration turns into acquisition.

Dubai still follows an old-school approach to collecting. People here don’t just chase big names; they buy based on emotion and connection. And honestly, that is fantastic. It is the purest form of engagement between a buyer and a work of art.

— As both the Artistic Director of Art Dubai and the curator of the Contemporary section, can you tell us more about what we can expect to see there?

— Each section at Art Dubai is like a box, allowing visitors to engage with specific artistic narratives. In the Contemporary section, you’ll find a mix of established and emerging galleries. Many of these galleries are key players in their home countries, while others represent younger voices. There is also a strong emphasis on the Global South, with even Western galleries showcasing artists from diverse geographies.

— Can you say that this year’s edition of Art Dubai will be different from previous ones?

— What is most exciting this year is that, of all the editions we’ve done in Dubai, this one is set to be the strongest yet. The works we’re receiving, the proposals — everything is outstanding. And the presence of young artists makes it even more special. That’s what Art Dubai has always been about — discovery. It’s where you find artists you may not have heard of yet but who will likely be stars in the future.

This year, we’ve struck a fantastic balance between emerging and established artists, creating a dynamic intergenerational dialogue. Some of the new galleries are bringing absolutely incredible work, and I truly believe this will be one of the most exciting editions yet.

Angela Bulloch, Heavy Metal Stack of Four: Xenon Siren, 2025. Courtesy: Cristina Guerra Contemporary Art; Leda Catunda Ovos, 2025. Courtesy of the Artist and Bortolami; Alfred Basbous, Le mysterieux, Ed.8, 1991. Courtesy of Alfred Basbous Foundation

— As someone with extensive experience in art fairs, how would you describe the visitor’s journey? Given the overwhelming number of artworks on display, what do people tend to gravitate toward first?

— That is true, the overwhelming sheer volume of what you see is one of the biggest challenges when you enter an art fair.

Studies have shown that, generally, your eye is naturally drawn to things you already recognise. So, when you step into an art fair filled with countless proposals and have only a limited time — let’s say two to three hours, which is about the maximum that the human brain can stay deeply focused on — it’s easy to fall into a pattern. It’s like a lecture; if it goes on for too long, you lose concentration.

As a result, when navigating an art fair, people tend to gravitate toward what’s familiar. If you know Anish Kapoor, for example, your eye will immediately seek out his work, and recognising it will give you a sense of comfort. Essentially, you start filtering the fair based on what’s already in your comfort zone, unintentionally dismissing everything else.

The real challenge, then, is to do the opposite — to take the time to step out of that comfort zone. When you enter a booth, rather than instantly looking for familiar names or styles, you should pause and ask yourself: Where’s the real discovery here? Who are the emerging talents? Which works truly stand out?

Generational perspectives also play a big role in how people engage with art. I see this with my nephews, who are in their early 20s. When we walk through an exhibition, they naturally gravitate toward art that reflects the aesthetics, themes, and cultural references they understand. If a piece features James Dean, they’ll likely dismiss it because they have no connection to that era. But if they see something referencing Beyoncé or mainstream consumerism, their reaction is entirely different.

Now, imagine walking into an art fair with no prior knowledge — no artist names, no gallery labels, no information at all. Just walls full of artworks. How would you navigate it then? The signs and names we rely on help us categorise, making us feel more certain about what we’re looking at. But when you strip all of that away, you’re left with the raw experience of encountering art without preconceived notions.

— That could be a great experiment, by the way!

— This is an exercise I try to do as often as possible. For me, the toughest but most rewarding challenge is identifying the pieces I’ve never seen before — the new talent, the hidden gems, the works by emerging artists that demand attention. That takes time, which is why I always arrive at the fair at least three hours before it opens. When it’s just me and the security team, I walk around slowly and carefully, taking everything in. I search for those young artists who have something fresh to say, and I also look for masterpieces by established names that might have previously gone unnoticed.

The biggest challenge at any fair is the sheer volume of information — it’s overwhelming. It’s an endless catalogue, almost like a candy shop for collectors. And I completely understand why so many of them, by the end of it, feel paralysed. That’s why, at most fairs, the real decisions happen on Sunday.

Sunday is when the major deals are closed — not on the first day, but after collectors have had time to process everything. That’s one of the best pieces of advice I always give: Go home, create some distance, and if you wake up the next morning and that one piece is still on your mind, then that’s the one for you.

— And the last one! Art Dubai is a space for both emerging and established artists. How would you describe the differences you notice between them?

— For me, spotting the difference between a young artist and an established one often comes down to maturity. A more seasoned artist will reference past works or movements in a refined, nuanced way, whereas a younger artist is still polishing their approach. If a reference feels too obvious, it usually means the artist is still in an early stage of their career. But when a reference is well-integrated, repurposed, or treated in a fresh way, that’s usually a sign of deeper artistic maturity.

by Alexandra Mansilla