The Invisible Made Visible: How Andorra's Land Art Biennial Reimagined Mountain Ecology

When photographer Judith Selby Lang first ventured into Andorra's Sorteny Valley Nature Park in July 2019, she wasn't prepared for what she discovered. Tasked with documenting that year's Land Art Biennial, she expected to photograph large-scale installations against Pyrenean vistas. Instead, she found herself crawling on hands and knees, macro lens in hand, searching for nearly invisible artistic interventions that were transforming how visitors experienced the alpine meadow.

"I'd been photographing environmental art for twenty years," Lang recalls, "but this was different. The artists weren't imposing themselves on the landscape—they were revealing it. One work consisted of hundreds of tiny mirrors placed among wildflowers, reflecting sunlight in ways that traced the invisible patterns of pollinating insects. Another used sound installations that amplified the underground movement of water through mountain soil. I realized I wasn't just documenting art; I was witnessing a profound reimagining of how humans might relate to mountain ecosystems."

That 2019 edition of the Andorra Land Art Biennial, titled "Flowing Elements," marked a turning point for this young but increasingly influential event. Launched just four years earlier as part of the principality's efforts to diversify its cultural offerings beyond skiing and tax-free shopping, the biennial had initially followed more traditional land art approaches—sculptural works using natural materials in dialogue with the landscape. But under the leadership of ecological artist and curator Martí Boada Juncà, the 2019 edition embraced a more radical vision: art that made visible the invisible ecological processes that sustain mountain environments.

The transformation was no accident. It reflected both Andorra's unique environmental context and a global shift in how artists were approaching ecological crises. As the smallest independent state in the Pyrenees (just 468 square kilometers), Andorra has witnessed firsthand the impacts of climate change on mountain environments—with warming temperatures accelerating glacial retreat, altering precipitation patterns, and threatening endemic species. These pressures have been compounded by the principality's economic reliance on tourism, creating tensions between development and conservation.

"The beauty of Andorra made it an obvious location for landscape-oriented art," explains Maria Centellas, Director of Andorra's Ministry of Culture, "but the environmental challenges we face made it essential that the biennial go beyond aesthetic concerns to address ecological realities. We needed art that didn't just celebrate mountain beauty but helped people understand mountain vulnerability."

This ecological imperative attracted artists who were pioneering new approaches to environmental art—moving away from the monumental interventions of earlier land art traditions toward works that emphasized interconnection, process, and regeneration. Spanish artist Lucía Loren, whose "Arteries of the Earth" used red clay to visualize underground water networks feeding high mountain springs, exemplified this approach. "In the Pyrenees, everything is connected through water," Loren explained during her artist talk. "I wanted to make visible something that tourists and even locals rarely consider—how mountain hydrogeology sustains life across the entire region."

British ecological artist David Haley took the concept further with "Glacier Memory," a long-term installation that used melting ice, local minerals, and ultraviolet-sensitive materials to create evolving patterns that documented climate change in real-time. "Mountains hold memory in their geology," Haley noted. "My work asks how we might read and respect that memory as we face unprecedented environmental change."

The biennial's ecological focus attracted not just artists but scientists, spurring unprecedented collaborations. Glaciologist Emma Rossinyol worked with sound artist Félix Blume to create "Acoustic Melt," which translated glacial temperature data into haunting sonic landscapes. Botanist Josep Maria Ninot partnered with fiber artist Joan Carrillo on "Threads of Diversity," which mapped rare plant species through delicate interventions using locally-sourced wool dyed with traditional techniques.

What distinguished these works wasn't just their environmental themes but their methodology. Unlike many climate-focused exhibitions that merely represent ecological concerns, the Andorra Biennial required artists to work with ecological principles. All materials had to be locally sourced or biodegradable. Installation processes had to minimize impact on fragile ecosystems. And works were designed to evolve with natural processes—growing, decaying, or transforming with the seasons.

"We implemented stringent environmental criteria that might have seemed restrictive to some artists," says biennial coordinator Xavier Llovera. "But these limitations became creative catalysts, pushing artists to develop innovative approaches. When you can't bring in outside materials or permanently alter the landscape, you're forced to work with what the mountain provides—light, sound, seasonal changes, ecological relationships."

The approach resonated with visitors. By requiring people to move mindfully through the landscape to discover artworks, the biennial fostered a different kind of engagement with mountain environments. Traditional tourists, often content with quick photo opportunities at scenic overlooks, found themselves slowing down, paying attention to details, and learning about ecological processes. Meanwhile, established art audiences accustomed to white-cube gallery experiences confronted the reality of art subject to weather, wildlife, and natural cycles.

"What I love about this biennial is how it dissolves the boundary between art appreciation and ecological awareness," says environmental philosopher Carmela Ruiz, who has written extensively about the event. "You might come for the art but leave with a deeper understanding of alpine ecology. Or you might come as a nature enthusiast and develop a new appreciation for how contemporary art can change environmental perception."

The biennial's impact extends beyond the summer months of the exhibition. Many works are designed to continue evolving after the official close, becoming long-term ecological monitoring projects. Local schools use biennial sites for environmental education. And the event has catalyzed ongoing conversations about sustainable development in Andorra, influencing everything from tourism strategies to urban planning.

As the biennial prepares for its 2026 edition, "Alpine Futures," curator Lucía Loren is building on this legacy while pushing toward new frontiers. The upcoming exhibition will focus on climate adaptation and resilience, examining how mountain environments might respond to warming temperatures and what humans might learn from these natural adaptation strategies.

"What's remarkable about Andorra's approach is how a small principality has leveraged its unique geography to create a globally significant platform for ecological art," notes critic Joan Nogué, professor of human geography at the University of Girona. "While larger biennials often get trapped in market dynamics and spectacle, Andorra has created something genuinely transformative—a model for how art might help us reimagine our relationship with vulnerable landscapes in an era of climate crisis."

For photographer Judith Selby Lang, that reimagining continues to resonate. "After documenting the 2019 biennial, I see mountains differently," she reflects. "Now when I hike, I'm not just looking at the vista—I'm thinking about what's happening underfoot, in the soil, among the insects, within the water cycle. That shift in perception might be the biennial's most important artwork of all."