Every summer, artists, collectors and curators make the climb to the DESTE Slaughterhouse on Hydra. The pilgrimage has become one of the rituals of the contemporary art calendar—not only because of the artists invited to exhibit there, but because few spaces allow art and place to become so inseparable.

Perched above the Aegean, the former slaughterhouse has become one of Europe’s most distinctive exhibition spaces. This year’s commission, Until That Day by Nari Ward, continues that tradition with an exhibition that feels both deeply personal and unmistakably global.

Born in Jamaica and based in New York, Ward has spent more than three decades working with found objects gathered from the communities around him. Rather than erasing their previous lives, he preserves them. Every worn surface, scratch and imperfection becomes evidence of human experience.

Taking its title from Haile Selassie’s 1963 address to the United Nations—later echoed in Bob Marley’s War—the exhibition becomes a meditation on migration, belonging, memory and the often-overlooked history of Afro-Greek communities. Seen against today’s hardening attitudes toward migration, borders and global interconnectedness, Until That Day feels remarkably timely. At a moment when many societies are retreating towards narrower definitions of identity and belonging, Ward quietly insists on our shared histories of movement, exchange and interdependence.

At the centre of the exhibition stands a monumental snowman constructed from reclaimed fire hoses and pieces of luggage. A familiar symbol of childhood and home becomes something far more complex: a figure of movement, displacement and survival. The suitcases evoke journeys across borders; the fire hoses suggest rescue, protection and resilience. The snowman itself—normally fragile and destined to disappear—becomes an enduring monument to lives shaped by movement, replacing snow with materials that carry the weight of real human experience.

Elsewhere, former holding cells are transformed through sound installations, while a telephone booth overlooking the sea is filled with repeating coils of bed springs. The work recalls a time when a telephone booth represented a lifeline to home. Filled with endlessly repeating coils, it oscillates between communication and silence, connection and absence. Throughout the exhibition, Ward’s use of repetition and accumulation transforms ordinary materials into vessels of memory.

The exhibition culminates outside with an anchor overlooking the Aegean, constructed from hundreds of keys. Anchors traditionally represent stability and belonging; keys evoke home, access and the places people leave behind. Seen together, they speak not only of departure but also of the enduring hope of return.

During Hydra Art Week, I also attended a conversation between Nari Ward and curator Massimiliano Gioni. One of the recurring themes was Ward’s enduring fascination with the social lives of objects. Materials that many people would discard continue to carry histories, emotions and relationships. His practice is not about transforming rubbish into art, but about revealing the stories already embedded within things.

This distinguishes Ward from many artists working with found materials. The objects are not simply formal elements within a composition. They remain witnesses. Their previous functions are never erased. Instead, they become active participants in new narratives about migration, resilience, spirituality and community.

The Slaughterhouse itself becomes an essential collaborator. Its architecture, history and dramatic position above the sea amplify the emotional weight of the works without overwhelming them. The building reminds visitors that places, like objects, accumulate memory.

This year also marked the first live musical performance in front of Jeff Koons’ Apollo. Dakis Joannou has described Apollo as a symbol of hope. The juxtaposition felt particularly poignant.

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If Ward’s exhibition asks how people carry memory across borders, Apollo offers the possibility that those journeys need not end in loss. Hope becomes not an escape from history, but a response to it.

Perhaps that is why Until That Day lingers long after leaving Hydra. Ward reminds us that history is rarely preserved in monuments. More often, it survives in the ordinary objects people carry, abandon and remember. In Hydra’s former slaughterhouse, those objects become quiet witnesses to movement, resilience and hope.

Raw, isolated and perched above the sea, the DESTE Slaughterhouse once again proves why it remains one of the most extraordinary settings for contemporary art.