Curating in Conversation with the World

Truls Blaasmo sees curating as a way to spark dialogue. With a background that spans exhibitions, fashion collaborations, and immersive spatial storytelling, his work flows effortlessly across disciplines. Whether he’s shaping narratives for global brands like Gucci or creating exhibitions that feel more like emotional landscapes than static displays, Blaasmo approaches each project with a deep, intuitive sensitivity. In our conversation, he shares what it means to curate with emotion, why authenticity has never been more essential, and how the curator’s role is evolving into something profoundly human.

hube: What does the concept of “curatorship” mean to you today? In your opinion, how has the role of the curator evolved in the current cultural landscape?

Truls Blaasmo: To me, curatorship today means looking beyond the artwork itself, beyond the boundaries of an artist’s practice or their place in art history. It’s about positioning the work within a broader context: one that considers political undercurrents, environmental realities, and the spatial dynamics of where and how the work is presented.

The role of the curator has gone from being a caretaker of objects to becoming a cultural translator: someone who bridges disciplines, geographies, and audiences. Today, curating is as much about fostering dialogue and shaping experience as it is about selection and presentation.

h: To what extent is your curatorial work driven by emotional resonance versus conceptual clarity?

TB: While I always consider the broader conceptual and contextual framework of a work, my curatorial decisions are primarily driven by emotion. I’m drawn to how a piece speaks on a visceral level—whether to the audience, the client, or the emotional architecture within the artist’s practice itself.

Emotional impact is, for me, what gives a work lasting presence. It’s often the spark that guides how I build narratives or spatial relationships within an exhibition. Conceptual clarity matters, but it’s the emotional undercurrent that makes the curatorial gesture meaningful and memorable.

h: What’s your perspective on the increasing role of brands as contemporary art patrons? Do you see it as a meaningful cultural shift or a strategic extension of branding?

TB: It’s not always easy to define whether the rise of brand involvement in contemporary art is a genuine cultural shift or a strategic branding movement, often, in my experience it’s a bit of both depending of the size of the brand. What I’ve observed through ongoing dialogue with various brands is that each approaches this engagement differently, shaped by their internal culture, values, and creative directors personal approach.

Some brands view their involvement in the art world as a way to support cultural dialogue and experimentation, while others integrate it more as part of their image strategy. In many cases, it’s the vision of the creative director that drives how deeply and authentically the brand aligns with the art ecosystem. The results can be remarkably diverse—from sincere patronage to more calculated collaborations.

h: Where do you see fashion’s place within the broader cultural landscape?

TB: Fashion today occupies a much broader cultural role than simply producing garments—it has become a vehicle of emotional engagement. Especially in the wake of Covid, we’ve seen a shift: luxury brands now have to work harder to build consumer loyalty especially towards their VIC that goes beyond the product itself. It’s no longer just about what you wear—it’s about the cultural capital a brand represents.

In that sense, fashion is increasingly about creating a complete brand world—one that people can aspire to, relate to, and feel part of. Art plays a role in this evolution, acting as an experiential bridge that helps brands foster emotional connections at physical touch points, such as exhibitions, installations, or retail spaces.

h: What opportunities does collaboration with brands open up for young artists? And what risks or challenges should they be aware of?

TB: Collaboration with brands can offer young artists significant opportunities. It provides a platform to showcase their work to a broader and often more diverse audience—one they might not typically reach through their own galleries, studios, or traditional art channels. It can accelerate visibility, open new networks, and in some cases, provide resources that allow for ambitious projects to be realized.

However, the challenges and risks often lie more on the side of the brand than the artist. One of the success factors I frequently observe is when brands respect the artist’s creative process rather than trying to force product placement or overt marketing strategies into the collaboration. The most meaningful dialogues happen when the creative expression is allowed to unfold naturally, without being overly shaped by commercial objectives.

h: Are there any examples of collaborations that you see as a perfect balance between art and marketing?

TB: One of my favorites is when Jonathan Anderson for LOEWE introduced a simple yet profoundly considered Tracey Emin sculpture into the runway space. A single bird sculpture by Emin, The Only Place You Came to Me Was in My Sleep (2017), sat with quiet presence at the heart of the show. It wasn’t overexposed or forced—it acted as a silent, emotional counterpoint to the collection, creating a moment of reflection within the experience. It showed how minimal, sensitive gestures can carry enormous emotional weight and cultural resonance.

Another example I admire is the full, 360-degree dedication seen in the Donald Judd collaboration with Saint Laurent under Anthony Vaccarello’s direction. Here, the brand didn’t just borrow visual language—they honored Judd’s practice through carefully curated installations and exhibitions that reinforced the connection between minimalism, architecture, and Saint Laurent’s vision, and they did so in a very subtle and discreet way.

Lastly, I was very impressed with TOTEM’s new flagship store in Beijing, designed by Herzog & de Meuron. They managed to weave strong three-dimensional installations into the architecture, including visual scenes paying homage to Ingmar Bergman’s films. It demonstrated a thoughtful merging of film, architecture, and retail, paying tribute to cultural history of the brands heritage.

h: You’ve worked on projects with Gucci—could you share what that experience was like from a curatorial perspective? What was most exciting or challenging about bringing your vision into dialogue with such a globally recognized brand?

TB: I have had the privilege of curating the Gucci Art Program for almost two years, spanning across the brand’s flagship stores worldwide. Each display was thoughtfully developed to foster a dynamic dialogue between well-established international artists and the local art scenes of the cities where the stores are located.

The Gucci Art Program was originally anchored by iconic Italian masters such as Alighiero Boetti, Lucio Fontana, Pietro Consagra, and Enrico Castellani. One of the most exciting—and at times, most challenging—aspects of the work was the research and study required to source local artists whose practices could enter into a meaningful conversation with these deeply rooted figures. Ensuring that each installation felt contextually relevant while maintaining the integrity of Gucci’s broader cultural vision required a careful, layered curatorial approach.

It’s also important to emphasize that, at its core, the Art Program begins and ends with human connection—specifically, the relationship between client advisor, sales associates and store visitors. The training and engagement of those who communicate the Art Program on a daily basis has been essential to its success.

Over the course of the project, we managed nearly 150 artworks on loan from collectors, galleries, and artists, which came with an immense sense of responsibility. Managing the handling, shipping, and installation of these significant pieces left little room for error.

From a curatorial perspective, the experience was both thrilling and demanding—balancing creative freedom with operational precision, and always working to ensure that the art added real cultural depth to the spaces, rather than serving as a backdrop. It was a constant, rewarding exercise in dialogue between brand identity, artistic integrity, and local cultural resonance.

h: Is beauty still a relevant category in contemporary art—or has it been replaced by other values, like concept, critique, or irony?

TB: Of course beauty remains relevant in contemporary art, but it’s a concept that has become far more fluid and subjective. Beauty today is shaped by many factors—cultural, social, and personal. However, I believe the focus has shifted: it’s less about presenting traditional notions of beauty and more about creating relevant, meaningful connections between the different parties involved—the artist, the institution, the audience, and the wider cultural context.

Ultimately, what matters most is that these connections are clearly communicated and made accessible to the viewer.

h: How do you relate to the idea of failure in creative work? Can failure be productive—or even necessary?

TB: For me, failure often leads to undiscovered visions and new ways of thinking and problem-solving. In the intensity of the moment, we naturally try to avoid failure—but when you look back, it often reveals itself as a gift.

Failure pushes you to rethink assumptions, find unexpected solutions, and approach creative challenges from a different angle. In that sense, it’s not just productive—it’s essential. It’s often through the moments that don’t go according to plan that the most meaningful growth, innovation,

h: If you could ask one question to any artist from the past, who would it be and what would you ask?

TB: If I ever had the opportunity to bring Giacometti into the present day, I would want to explore how he would perceive the fragility of our contemporary world. I would ask him how he sees the parallels between the vulnerability he expressed so powerfully in his work and the forms of fragility we experience today—socially, politically, and emotionally.

I believe we are underestimating our perception of time, much like Giacometti did in his small Paris studio, endlessly working, reworking, and questioning reality. I would be fascinated to hear how he would interpret today’s accelerated, hyper-visible world through the lens of his deep and almost obsessive sensitivity to existence.