Comics are intimate. They cannot become formal.
After more than half a century of absence, Buenos Aires has reclaimed its place in the world of graphic art with a biennial devoted to comics and visual storytelling — a deliberate act of cultural memory held at Casa de la Cultura, a monument that once housed a great newspaper and now shelters a different kind of press. Honoring José Muñoz, the only Spanish-language cartoonist to win Angoulême's Grand Prix, the event centers black-and-white illustration as both aesthetic choice and philosophical stance: that talent alone, stripped of color and spectacle, remains one of art's most honest instruments. Organizers speak not of a single occasion but of a beginning — a recurring space where Argentine comics might finally reclaim the international conversation they have long deserved.
- Nine years had passed since Argentina's last major comics festival, and more than fifty since a biennial of this scale — a silence the organizers describe as urgent to break.
- Over seventy artists gathered across Buenos Aires neighborhoods in preparatory workshops, signaling that this was not a showcase but a mobilization of a creative community.
- Muñoz, eighty-three and writing from Milan, sent word that in times of chaos it makes sense to take refuge in the historieta — lending the event both gravitas and a quiet political edge.
- The exhibition transforms a former newspaper printing press into a noir comic living room, insisting that comics are intimate, social, and resistant to the formality of traditional cultural institutions.
- Daily risography sessions, international publishers from Japan to Colombia, and musical closings each evening push the biennial beyond a gallery event into something closer to a living cultural ecosystem.
- Organizers are already framing this as the first edition of a recurring fixture — a sustained bridge between Argentine graphic art and the international stage it has long been absent from.
Buenos Aires opened its doors this week to something the city hadn't seen in more than half a century: a major biennial devoted entirely to comic art and graphic storytelling. Running through Sunday at Casa de la Cultura with free admission, the event is a deliberate act of cultural reclamation — a signal that Argentine comics deserve a permanent place on the calendar.
The biennial's roots trace back to December, when organizers began a series of workshops across neighborhoods including Villa Urquiza, Devoto, and La Boca, drawing more than seventy artists to sharpen their craft. Artistic director Martín Ramón noted the urgency: nine years had passed since Comicópolis, the last significant international festival, and before that you had to reach back to 1968 — when theorist Oscar Masotta organized a comparable biennial at the Instituto Di Tella — to find anything of similar scale.
Casa de la Cultura, a national monument completed in 1898 that once housed La Prensa newspaper, now displays panels from the most iconic comics of the twentieth century. Culture minister Gabriela Ricardes framed the biennial not as a one-time gesture but as the beginning of something sustained. Centering black-and-white work as homage to José Muñoz, she said, connected the event to drawing's origins — to the creative power that emerges from talent alone.
Muñoz, eighty-three and residing in Milan, is the only Spanish-language cartoonist to have won Angoulême's Grand Prix, known for noir works including Alack Sinner and biographical pieces on Carlos Gardel and Billie Holiday. Unable to attend, he sent a message from Italy: in the current chaos, he wrote, it makes sense to step away from History and take refuge in the historieta.
The exhibition spans multiple levels. The first basement — once home to printing presses — has been transformed into a noir comic living room honoring Muñoz, with large-scale panels and eight-bit animations. The second basement traces the Argentine school of black-and-white illustration through fanzine collections. The ground floor charts Argentine comics history from El Mosquito, founded in 1863, through to the present. Original pages by Hugo Pratt, Alberto Breccia, and José Luis Salinas are displayed in the Tomás Eloy Martínez Library.
Participating artists span continents — from Argentine luminaries like Tute, Maitena, Eduardo Risso, and Powerpaola to international figures including Italian Ivan Brunetti, Chilean Maliki, and manga creator Eldo Yoshimizu. Publishers and researchers arrived from Japan, Spain, France, Britain, Brazil, and Colombia. Each day features live risography printing and musical closings, turning the biennial into something closer to a living cultural ecosystem than a static exhibition — and, its organizers hope, the first chapter of a story that will keep being told.
Buenos Aires opened its doors this week to something the city hadn't seen in more than half a century: a major biennial devoted entirely to comic art and graphic storytelling. The event, running through Sunday at Casa de la Cultura with free admission, arrives as a deliberate act of cultural reclamation—a signal that Argentine comics, long sidelined from the international conversation, deserve a permanent place on the calendar.
The biennial's roots trace back to December, when organizers began laying groundwork through a series of workshops across neighborhoods like Villa Urquiza, Devoto, and La Boca. More than seventy artists gathered in those sessions to sharpen their craft and professionalize their practice. Martín Ramón, the biennial's artistic director, told reporters that the timing felt urgent. Nine years had passed since Comicópolis, the last significant international festival of its kind. Before that, you had to go back more than fifty years—to 1968—to find a biennial of comparable scale, when theorist Oscar Masotta organized the inaugural event at the Instituto Di Tella.
The choice of venue carries its own weight. Casa de la Cultura occupies an imposing structure completed in 1898 and designated a national monument. It once housed the offices of La Prensa newspaper. Now its walls are dressed with panels from the most iconic comics of the twentieth century, a visual argument about what belongs in a space of cultural importance. The opening remarks came from Ramón alongside Gabriel Sánchez Zinny, the city's chief of staff, and Gabriela Ricardes, the culture minister. Ricardes framed the biennial not as a one-time gesture but as the beginning of something sustained—a recurring space where Argentine cartoonists, editors, and audiences could strengthen their bonds with the international scene. She emphasized that having José Muñoz as the event's patron and centering black-and-white work connected the biennial to drawing's origins, to the creative power that emerges from talent alone and remains a tool for critical vision and thought.
Muñoz, now eighty-three, is the only Spanish-language cartoonist to have won the Grand Prix at Angoulême, the world's most prestigious comics festival. He is known for noir graphic novels including Alack Sinner, El bar de Joe, and biographical works on Carlos Gardel and Billie Holiday. Though he resides in Milan and could not attend the opening, he sent a message from Italy: in the midst of the current chaos, he wrote, it makes sense to step away from History and take refuge in historieta—the Spanish word for comics. He had visited Buenos Aires in January and delivered inaugural remarks then. Decades earlier, he had participated in the 1968 biennial with, as he put it, a small page displayed in a corner. This edition gives him his due.
The exhibition unfolds across multiple levels of the building. The first basement houses the central show in Muñoz's honor, with his panels displayed at large scale alongside his work as a visual artist. The space—once home to the newspaper's printing presses—has been transformed into a noir comic living room, complete with monitors showing eight-bit animations by Lucía Álvarez. The choice to stage it as an intimate domestic space was deliberate. Alejandro Díaz, Ramón's partner at Espacio Moebius, explained that they wanted an informal, social setting without dogma about how to experience the work. Comics, he said, are intimate. They cannot become formal; they are an art close to people.
The second basement features an exhibition on the Argentine school of black-and-white illustration, including fanzine collections from Hernán Ciriani and Juan Puerto that document the range of contemporary illustration styles. The ground floor traces the history of Argentine comics from El Mosquito, a satirical publication founded in 1863, through Patoruzú and into the 2000s. Contemporary artists like Pedro Mancini have created reversions of historical panels, work that was developed in public events leading up to the biennial. The Tomás Eloy Martínez Library displays original pages by Hugo Pratt, Alberto Breccia, and José Luis Salinas from Gustavo Ferrari's collection.
The participating artists span continents. From Argentina: Tute, Alejandra Lunik, Mariana Ruiz Johnson, Eduardo Risso, Maitena, Cacho Mandrafina, Horacio Altuna, and Powerpaola, among many others. Internationally: Italian Ivan Brunetti (the only color exception in a black-and-white biennial), Chilean Maliki, and manga creator Eldo Yoshimizu. The editorial sector sent Japanese publisher Akira Kimura, Spanish researcher Elisa McCausland, French documentarian Catherine Ferreyrolle from Angoulême's comics center, British editor Sam Arthur, Brazilian publisher Rodrigo Rosa, and Colombian director Daniel Jiménez from Entreviñetas.
Each day through Sunday, live risography printing will take place—artists will create works that will be printed and then altered by hand before being given to visitors. Musical closings each evening feature performers including Isol, Niños envueltos, Jering4, Mujercitas Terror, and Leo Garcia. The biennial's organizers framed it as the beginning of continuity, a sustained space that might finally restore Argentine comics to the international stage where they belong.
Notable Quotes
In the current chaos, it makes sense to step away from History and take refuge in historieta.— José Muñoz, in a message from Milan
Comics are an intimate art form. They cannot become formal; they are close to people.— Alejandro Díaz, co-organizer at Espacio Moebius
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why now? Why does Buenos Aires need this biennial in 2026 and not, say, five years ago?
Because the absence had become too long. Nine years since the last major festival, fifty-plus since a real biennial. At some point the silence becomes a choice, and someone has to decide to break it. The organizers felt that moment had arrived.
The emphasis on black-and-white seems deliberate. Is that a limitation or a statement?
It's both. It's a return to essentials—drawing without color, which is where the power lives. But it's also a direct homage to José Muñoz, who works in black-and-white and is the greatest living cartoonist in the Spanish-speaking world. The choice says: this is where we come from, this is what matters.
Why stage the exhibition as a living room instead of a gallery?
Because comics are intimate. They're meant to be read in bed, on a couch, in a quiet corner. If you make them formal, you lose something essential. The organizers wanted people to feel at home with the work, not intimidated by it.
What does it mean that this is happening in a former newspaper building?
It's a kind of reclamation. La Prensa was where stories were told to the city. Now the same walls hold stories told in panels and speech bubbles. It suggests that comics belong in the same conversation as journalism, as serious cultural work.
Is this just nostalgia, or is there something forward-looking here?
It's explicitly both. They're honoring the past—Muñoz, the 1968 biennial, the history of Argentine comics. But they're also saying this needs to happen again and again, every two years. They want to build something that lasts, that connects Buenos Aires to the international scene in a real, sustained way.