Beyond Samba and Bossa Nova: Notes on the State of the Arts in Brazil

Von Julieta Schildknecht

Summer 2025/2026: Between samba rehearsals and late-night bossa nova, Brazil revealed something far more complex this summer: a cultural ecosystem negotiating survival, memory, and reinvention.

At the Instituto Moreira Salles (IMS), politically charged exhibitions of Gordon Parks and Agnès Vardareminded visitors that photography and cinema are never neutral. They are instruments of testimony. Parks’ lens carved out racial injustice; Varda dissolved the boundaries between documentary and poetry. In Brazil’s present climate, such retrospectives feel less historical and more urgent.

 
At the new Museu de Arte de São Paulo Assis Chateaubriand – Anexo MASP, exhibitions dedicated to fauna, flora, and the ecological imagination — in dialogue with COP30 — framed art as a planetary conversation. Ecology is no longer an aesthetic theme; it is a civic necessity.

 
The Itaú Cultural offered another layer: its vast acervo, exhibitions on Grande Otelo, and a thoughtful focus on games as contemporary cultural language. A reminder that culture now expands beyond canvas and stage — it includes code, play, and digital mythologies.

 
Meanwhile, at Galeria Flexa, under the direction of Maria Ferro, new models of operation emerged: hybrid programming, intergenerational dialogue, survival through flexibility. Artists like Marlene Almeida signal how practice adapts when institutional support is fragile. The question is no longer only aesthetic — it is structural. How do galleries endure in an environment with few incentives and limited public investment?

 
The 36th Bienal de São Paulo(founded in 1951) continues to position São Paulo as a global center of gravity. Yet gravity is shifting. Collaboration increasingly replaces hierarchy. Networks replace singular authority. The biennial becomes less a monument and more a conversation — a dialogue between peripheries and centers.

 
At Fundação Getulio Vargas ARTE (FGV), the exhibition Adiar o Fim do Mundo, curated by Paulo Herkenhoffin dialogue with Ailton Krenak, offered perhaps the most profound reflection: to postpone the end of the world is not naïve optimism; it is ethical action. It is curatorship as resistance — a discourse built with the symbols of the other, as Herkenhoff himself might say.

 
The Biblioteca Mário de Andrade became a paradox. In the exhibition Dos Livros ao Museu, in collaboration with Museu de Arte Moderna do Rio de Janeiro, original works by Candido Portinari (Menino de Engenho) and Henri Matisse (Jazz) were displayed — only to be stolen on its last day in broad daylight, at 10:00 of a Sunday morning. The hall open. The public circulating. The fragility of institutions exposed.

 

And yet — on that same Sunday — bookstores were full. A population hungry for reading, for thought, for narrative.
Brazil today reveals a contradiction:
Art is underfunded, undervalued, politically pressured — yet culturally alive, inventive, and restless!
Libraries function as modern Wunderkammern — cabinets of knowledge where science, literature, and civic memory converge. Public museums remain laboratories for understanding the world. In a fragile democracy, they are not luxuries; they are infrastructures of thought.
Curatorship, however, risks being forgotten as a discipline of intellectual weaving. It requires collecting knowledge, not objects. It requires constructing meaning between works, institutions, and publics.
In this sense, one thinks of Hans Ulrich Obrist — of the curator as connector, archivist of conversations, collector of questions rather than answers.
Perhaps the real question after this Brazilian summer is not whether art survives.
It is whether institutions, states, and societies understand what art already knows:
That culture is not consumed. It is metabolized. And in that metabolism lies its civic force: it is inherent to the protection of democracy.
Museums, libraries, biennials — they are not ornamental nor neutral containers. They are civic organs — quietly sustaining the democratic body.
This is why culture is not a luxury in fragile democracies. It is inherent to their protection.

 

 

Between Generations and Geographies: An Interview with Maria Ferro of Galeria Flexa

 

In the heart of Leblon, Rio de Janeiro, Galeria Flexa has, in just a year and a half, positioned itself as one of the city’s most dynamic new spaces. At its core is a curatorial model that moves fluidly between secondary and primary markets, between historical masters and emerging voices, between Rio’s legacy and its future.

I spoke with Maria Ferro, Commercial Director and one of the five founding partners, about the gallery’s vision, the Brazilian art market, and what innovation means for a young commercial space today.

 

A Gallery Born from Circulation
Maria Ferro was born in Rio de Janeiro and trained in Design and Art History. Before co-founding Flexa, she worked as an art advisor at Cura, a São Paulo-based advisory founded by Camila Yunes, focusing primarily on collectors in Rio.

 
Through that experience—moving constantly between galleries, artists, and collectors—Ferro observed a gap in Rio’s ecosystem.
Rio, once Brazil’s capital and the birthplace of major collections, carries historical gravitas. Yet in recent decades, much of the market’s energy shifted toward São Paulo. Ferro sensed that Rio still held space for a gallery that could operate differently: one that would blend generations, bridge markets, and stage ambitious curatorial dialogues.
When Antonio Almeida and Carlos Dale—part of a group that had opened galleries in Goiânia, Brasília, and Recife—began developing a Rio project, Ferro was invited to join. Alongside Pedro Buarque and Luisa Duarte, the five partners launched Galeria Flexa in 2024.
The proposal was clear from the outset: a secondary-market gallery with a “refreshing” and intellectually driven program.

 

Secondary Market, Primary Curiosity
Flexa’s program is structured around dialogue. Emerging artists, mid-career figures, and canonical names of Brazilian and international art history share the same space.
In past exhibitions, a 25-year-old artist was shown alongside works by Marc Chagall—a juxtaposition rarely encountered outside institutional contexts. For Ferro, this intergenerational approach creates richer readings and attracts diverse audiences: first-time collectors and seasoned connoisseurs alike.
While rooted in the secondary market, Flexa collaborates with primary galleries and borrows significant works to construct exhibitions that function almost museologically. Many pieces shown are not even for sale—curatorial integrity frequently outweighs commercial logic.
A notable example was the exhibition centered on Luís Buarque de Holanda’s collection, spotlighting his role in shaping Brazilian art history. Only a small portion of the works were available for acquisition; the emphasis lay in contextualizing a pivotal cultural figure.

 

Testing Formats, Expanding Possibilities
Flexa continuously experiments with formats. Initially known for expansive group exhibitions, the gallery recently shifted toward more focused presentations, including a solo show of Marlene Almeida.
Simultaneously, the gallery began hosting two exhibitions at once, each with distinct durations—a structural innovation aimed at understanding audience behavior in Rio. Every exhibition is accompanied by substantial content production: catalogues, guided tours, YouTube videos, public talks.
For a commercial gallery, this level of intellectual and material investment is uncommon. Flexa’s team views it as essential.
Innovation here does not lie in spectacle, but in substance rigorous curatorial framing, cross-generational dialogue, educational outreach, and a commitment to quality over inventory turnover.

 

Brazil’s Expanding Horizon
Having studied in London, Ferro is keenly aware of the global hierarchy of markets. The UK remains one of the most advanced art markets worldwide. Brazil, by contrast, still has vast room for growth.
Yet she views this not as a weakness, but as potential.
Brazil possesses significant economic power, but comparatively few collectors relative to its wealth. By opening partnerships with galleries in Recife, Brasília, and Goiânia, Flexa’s broader network aims to cultivate new audiences and decentralize collecting culture.
Brazil’s artistic richness—shaped by European, African, and Indigenous influences—forms what Ferro calls a unique melting pot. Increasing international visibility supports this: Brazilian artists are appearing in major institutions abroad, and movements such as Neoconcretism, long under-recognized globally, are gaining deserved attention.
Artists like Lygia Pape and Hélio Oiticica—once marginal in international narratives—are now understood as seminal figures. For Ferro, Neoconcretism marks Brazil’s true breakthrough moment on the global stage.
Flexa’s programming builds on that legacy while introducing contemporary voices such as Emmanuel Nassar and José Damasceno—artists still actively producing and shaping the present.

 

Ecology as Method, Not Theme

The recent solo exhibition of Marlene Almeida exemplifies Flexa’s forward-looking ethos. Since the 1970s, Almeida has worked with ecological concerns—not merely as subject matter, but as method. She incorporates Brazilian earth into her installations and conceptualizes her practice as a “Museum of Brazilian Lands.”
Long before climate discourse became central to contemporary art, Almeida was developing a materially and politically grounded ecological language. Flexa’s decision to spotlight her reflects the gallery’s commitment to rediscovery and recontextualization.

 

Commercial Strategy with Ethical Flexibility
Operating in the secondary market offers strategic advantages. Without exclusive representation constraints, Flexa can work across artists and estates with greater neutrality.
This flexibility allows for broader price ranges, competitive negotiations, and a more advisory-driven relationship with collectors.
The gallery has participated in SP-Arte and Arte Livre, consolidating its national presence before venturing internationally.

 

The Challenge of the Global Ecosystem
When asked about the precarious situation of small galleries in Europe—closures and declining subsidies—Ferro’s response is sober. Small galleries are essential to the art ecosystem. Collaboration sustains the field: loans, partnerships, shared audiences. Without artists and smaller spaces, the system cannot function.
Flexa’s networked approach—borrowing, collaborating, cross-presenting—acknowledges this interdependence.

 

A Call to Young Collectors

Perhaps Ferro’s most pointed message concerns generational engagement.
Many believe collecting begins only after financial stability is secured. She disagrees. Young collectors can start modestly—acquiring small works, supporting institutions, contributing to museums.
Collecting is not merely financial investment; it is a long-term relationship. Following an artist’s trajectory over time can be as meaningful as the work itself.

 

Flexa’s Position Today

Galeria Flexa presents dialogues and innovative curatorial proposals grounded in collaboration across galleries and institutions, intergenerational conversations, the meeting of historical and contemporary centers of gravity, and the belief that commercial spaces can—and should—produce intellectual substance.
Young yet rigorous, market-aware yet curatorial-driven, Flexa embodies a model where Rio’s heritage and Brazil’s future converge.

 

Paulo Herkenhoff: Why the World Isn’t Chronological—and Why This Exhibition Isn’t Either

Set inside an institution associated with economics, policy, and governance, Adiar o Fim do Mundo insists that art must be more than decoration—it must be reflection, and even self-critique. Paulo Herkenhoff speaks of curating as discourse built from others’ symbols, and here those symbols include nature itself: gardens that grow, decay, defend, and regenerate. The exhibition is intentionally non-linear, because the present already contains geological time, consumer time, and political time at once. In Herkenhoff’s guided logic, the show becomes a field of encounters—between Indigenous cosmologies and modern catastrophe, between neoconcrete perception and ecological urgency, between what we know and what we still refuse to change.
 

Julieta Schildknecht: The first thing is: you think curating is a kind of discourse made with someone else’s symbols.

Paulo Herkenhoff: Yes—made with someone else’s symbols.

There’s something important here: my relationship with Ailton Krenak. Ailton is a member of the Brazilian Academy of Letters, and he’s someone who believes in orality. So here, for example, you almost don’t see his “work” as a curator. There was practically no correspondence between us—because everything was spoken.

And so, what this exhibition is also trying to do is to ask: how do we extract—from nature itself, through this collection of gardens—symbolic discourses that come from nature.

So, for instance: we have a garden of edible plants. Each person who tastes them starts thinking about what to do.

We have a garden made of broken furniture—speaking about the decadence of the world. A kind of natural history begins to be born in those gardens.

Then there are the “hair gardens,” installed in asbestos water tanks—addressing the poisoning of people through asbestos, and at the same time nature seen through plants that are sacred to Afro-Brazilian religions—especially protective plants: comigo-ninguém-pode (“no one can touch me”), Saint George’s sword, pepper—defense plants. That’s something we also need.

Then we have a garden where the first tree created by Tupã is planted—the first tree in the world, according to the Guarani.

Below it we have two totems—two totems symbolizing art history: a blue (Yves Klein) and a red—very Brazilian—unlinking the red of Cildo Meireles, and so on—standing like guardians around a small pau-brasil tree that is growing.

And among the gardens we also have that map of Brazil, filled with soils from the five regions of the country.

Very few plants were planted at the beginning. But much of what you see came later—plants that emerged because seeds were already inside those soils. And in the case of Rosana Palazyan, who authored this piece, there’s also her discussion of so-called “weeds.” I compare this to João do Rio, the great chronicler of Rio in the early 20th century, who spoke about the spirit of the streets—gypsies, beggars, and so on.

So these are historical conversations, transversal conversations. It isn’t an art history that repeats what we already know. We even have—children love this—because we have a discourse for children.

I believe children are beings who are ready for perception. So we have these figures—little animals, people—formed out of cará (a tuber). When they arrived here, they were just cará. Now they’re growing. And when the exhibition ends, they’ll already be spreading…
 

JS: What led you to make this exhibition? What’s the relationship between the Anthropophagic movement and this structure you’re describing? And what will happen later to all this nature that is exhibited here—after it transforms?

Paulo Herkenhoff: I think the broadest cannibalism is humanity’s cannibalism of the Earth.

We’re not talking about Anthropophagy as that discourse of symbolic exchange. Today we’re talking about cannibalism as the destruction of otherness.

And the otherness being destroyed here is nature-otherness. For Indigenous peoples, nature is a continuum: there is no separation between human, animal, stone, water—whatever it may be. So this destructive movement…

In the São Paulo Biennial of 1998, when I worked with anthropophagy and cannibalism, cannibalism was above all social, interrelated. There’s cannibalism by penury—by survival: like those survivors in the Andes, that team of players—(I think it was the Andes case)—the plane crashed, they survived for a while and practiced cannibalism.

But we’re talking now about conscious cannibalism. Today, if you ask any child with a reasonable level of education, they know we must preserve the Earth. And yet those who are most able to preserve the Earth are the greatest cannibals—as the previous Brazilian government was, and as the current government in the United States is.

China is beginning to assume its role of no longer being the great villain.

One of the many lessons from Krenak is that he says art can sensitize humans to postpone the end of the world. He has that belief. And of course all of this points to histories—for example, Goya—through large reproductions: The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters. The sleep of capitalist, industrial reason produces monsters: destruction, catastrophes.

It’s a shame that today the “rehearsal for the end” isn’t here, because there’s a revision of the electrical system happening precisely in that area—the work by André Severo—dozens of videos with small takes of atomic and nuclear explosions, experiments.

We have histories inside history.

Do you know Peter Greenaway’s work—years ago—where he mapped all the atomic bombs?
 

JS: Yes, I do.

Paulo Herkenhoff: Here it’s different, because it carries another connotation: it shows how American society produces the bomb and produces fear within its own society.

 

JS: And do you draw a parallel with Brazil?

Paulo Herkenhoff: No. Brazil doesn’t have the bomb. Brazil accepted… There was Nuclebrás, there are remnants of Nuclebrás. Nuclebrás isn’t about the atomic bomb; it’s about energy, about energy protection. But Brazil chose not to—Brazil signed the non-proliferation treaty.

So we have artists from all over Brazil, and from several countries in Latin America. Not only Brazil—Latin America. And there is also Falguère, who is French.

 

JS: But he has a direct relationship with Brazil, which is why he was chosen?

Paulo Herkenhoff: No. Falguère, for example, is a surviving soldier, completely bandaged—because one of the destructions of the world is war. War, exiles. So we open a very large world.

The exhibition is disposed in a way that uses a digital model—a rhizomatic model, from French philosophy, the rhizome.

And we arrive, for example, at women’s production—and women’s production about femicide. Women’s production about confronting dictatorship in Brazil and Peru. These are ways we stitch things together.

And there is also something I don’t usually do: I don’t count what is man, woman, Indigenous. I think this comes naturally when you incorporate.

For example, we’re missing a garden made by a babalorixá that will be installed—he became ill and couldn’t take part. But the structure of the exhibition…

 

JS: Did you build this structure continuing your long-standing theme—anthropophagy—or is it purely political, coming right after COP30 that solved nothing?

Paulo Herkenhoff: It began earlier. The mounting takes years.

The exhibition was suggested by Sidnei Gonzalez—director at FGV (art, knowledge, sustainability)—and he suggested that I do something about sustainability: two tasks—art and sustainability.

But here we have sub-histories. For example: the histories of the great dams and their problems. Paula Sampaio works in the Amazon on hydroelectric plants that are killing. Then Niura Bellavinha works on the first dam in Brumadinho… and from Brumadinho we move to Mariana…

 

JS: Is your approach atemporal, or deliberately temporal?

Paulo Herkenhoff: It goes here and there. The exhibition has no chronology. Because the world is not chronological.

When you look at the world, you look here: you see Sugarloaf Mountain—millions of years old. You see a building by Neymar. You see an artist’s garden. You see a taxi line running on gasoline. Behind here there’s a supermarket. In the exhibition you will find “dilated” products.

And inside a financial institution: FGV.

As Helio Oiticica says: it’s easy to point out other people’s contradictions. The hard part is to see your own contradictions.

My responsibility is with the public.

 

JS: What is the mission of this exhibition’s expansion?

Paulo Herkenhoff: Perhaps the most important thing is the work with children. You form future generations.

We have an Indigenous person who made the educational material together with Baidu, who is an artist.

I think this work with children is crucial—because children today know about responsibility. And we also have this encounter among diversities.

Here there is a display of printed material—about ten items: only two are by men; the rest are women. The women include Angela Davis, contemporary American artists, Hannah Arendt… these are “ends of the world.” And the men are Eduardo… and “Caboclo,” which is a piece.

And there is also Saci Pererê… I’m not sure if it’s already here; it came from a show I did in São Paulo.

 

JS: You were a key figure in contemporary Brazilian culture—Funarte, Biennials, international intellectual networks…

Paulo Herkenhoff: Funarte gave me a lot.

I worked with a woman, Edimeia Falcão. On the day I took office, she told me two things: never spend without a budget forecast—that’s what I ask of you. And: you have X amount to do whatever you want.

So I created a scholarship—two scholarships per year.

That was a lesson: how to conduct a public process with responsibility and openness to society.

We lived censorship. She taught me. When Rogéria’s show happened, Zé Aparecido put pressure in the newspapers to try to bring her down… And Edimeia said: I will not remove it, not in any way. That’s also a lesson in how you act.

And she gave me Brazil.

Because we had to be a Brazilian institution—for Brazil. I traveled the entire country. I only didn’t go to Acre, Rondônia, Roraima, and Amapá. But I traveled everywhere else. This notion: we were an institution of Brazil, for Brazil.

 

JS: Were you already a militant before that, in the late 60s and 70s?

Paulo Herkenhoff: I was a militant… I didn’t do theater—I did performance, etc.—but I wasn’t linked to any resistance movement. I acted on my own. I had small constraints.

I did something at IBEU, and then IBEU asked: who allowed you to show this? I said: freedom. Freedom of expression. Freedom…

 

JS: Did you give a lot of freedom to the artists here?

Paulo Herkenhoff: The freedom here is very big. But we have budget limits. You can’t want to build an installation for 100,000 reais if we don’t have it.

Can we reach a high level? Yes. We managed it with Rosana, with Cabelo. But if someone wants a one-million-real installation, we won’t have it.

 

JS: Will you travel with the exhibition?

Paulo Herkenhoff: Today Ricardo Ohtake came here, looking, thinking about taking the gardens.

You know the Instituto Tomie Ohtake? It’s wonderful—there’s a skylight that washes a large space with light. And the idea of integrating floors visually… it would be interesting to bring certain pieces.

Tomie once went to Japan and brought back an orange seedling—a typical Japanese orange. So you could place a pot with the little seedling she brought.

 

JS: It’s very oriented toward sensations—touch, perception, not only vision.

Paulo Herkenhoff: My formation comes from Neoconcretism. Neoconcretism takes the subject in their integrity: reason and perception, body and mind. I don’t have a schizophrenic division.

I read many forms of phenomenology.

And I could have included other artists, but space isn’t elastic.

 

JS: I loved Ernesto Neto’s work downstairs.

Paulo Herkenhoff: You know that piece is… receptive, right? It survived that windstorm in Rio. It fell and we replanted it.

Another artist’s piece also fell and cannot be redone. Ten days after the opening, it happened.

It’s interesting—for the work, for the exhibition. In the Biennial I did, there was a storm too. Here there was less damage, because we knew the fragility. But I didn’t imagine a wooden construction with ceramic tiles would be used. I’m studying how we show the work now—maybe through photos of the project.

 

JS: Will you create a program of conversations, discussions?

Paulo Herkenhoff: We’ll have some talks. With children, we work every day. We’ll have Raimundo Genac organizing two debates. I’ll participate laterally.

And this garden question deserves a good reading: we have one, two, three… at least twelve gardens. You can make a whole history of gardens: gardens of thought, gardens of images, gardens with soul, gardens of ideas.

The positioning of works comes from conversation with artists.

And there’s the “tripartist”—Hilo, a forest engineer. You can’t do this if the sun will kill it. This here can take rain. That one needs rain to flower amid the destruction of furniture. We planned for wind, but not enough.

 

JS: You give Neoconcretism a tridimensionality—through images and through that kind of reflection. And it feels very Brazil. Very Brazilian.

Paulo Herkenhoff: If we take Neoconcretism as a discourse tied to symbol—not sign—working subjectivity, understanding it is endowed with sensory senses… we have taste. There are flowers you can eat.

We have the sixth sense—those arrows made me feel terrible, because I was afraid someone would get hurt. The arrows were pointing outward—dangerous for a child. The artist didn’t resolve it, so I said: either we close it off, or we do it and you can later see if it worked. We reached a consensus.

That is proprioception: a sense that triggers defense.

We also have dreams, water dreams, history, geography. We have smell. We have the senses of the human body. We have geography—because the Brazil map has soil from the five regions.

What sprouted naturally from those seeds…

 

JS: And COP30—what do you think, what do you propose? People left disoriented.

Paulo Herkenhoff: I think it created an even stronger awareness of the gravity of the problem.

Brazil did very well in organization; Belém did very well. President Lula did very well. Itamaraty was splendid. It showed, once again, that we’re capable of organizing major international events. And it raised our awareness of responsibility.

Regarding the United States, with its indifference, I think a more critical eye emerges toward the U.S.

We have the goals to reach by 2030… What’s happening? Brazil is accomplishing many things: leaving the hunger map, building houses, improving access to education. Even while offering the Chinese oil prospecting in the Amazon—these are contradictions.

The Amazon remains a crux, a knot, a problematic point. But there are improvements—like reducing deforestation areas.

 

JS: Will you bring Indigenous groups here?

Paulo Herkenhoff: Today we already have an Apinagé group, calling this “Aldeia FGV.” We’re going to make a book about Apinagé memories. They didn’t present gardens; they preferred to show current pieces.

This space is built with each exhibition. The closed gallery used to be a bookstore. But 99% of commerce today is online, so this is a good space to keep closed.

There’s a proposal to create galleries, because the president of the foundation—Carlos Ivan Simonsen Leal—realized art mattered in the formation at FGV. FGV was very strong in exact sciences, mathematics, urban sciences, but it needed that part.

We’re starting a collection.

But this is not an advertising space. This is a space for reflection.

I don’t want to innovate. I want to do self-critique.

 

JS: In Europe we see galleries closing and obtuse governments cutting arts subsidies—here it looks like the opposite.

Paulo Herkenhoff: Brazil loves itself. Brazil loves itself with all the terrible things that happen here— injustices— but Brazil loves itself. Brazil did not love itself in the last government.

Even Funarte was created during the dictatorship, because Brazil understands it exists thanks to its culture, not thanks to its riches as a society.

And more and more I understand: culture is not “white culture,” not just the dominant class’s culture. We have everything here.

People will recognize themselves: “I eat this.” It doesn’t matter the financial value. The idea is identification.

 

JS: You worked with Venice, Biennials…

Paulo Herkenhoff: I did Venice twice. Once when I was at Funarte—I took two older artists… In the 1990s I did the political print show three times.

In the first, in 1992, I began curating an Afro-Brazilian room—prints, photographs, drawings.

At Funarte I invited Lúcia Vidal to do an exhibition on Indigenous body painting.

And the issue of women—for me, naturally—women made me become an art critic. Ana Maria Maiolino made me. Edimeia Falcão took me from a law office to work with art.

 

JS: You still curate beyond here?

Paulo Herkenhoff: I now do volunteer work for the Museu Nacional de Belas Artes—obtaining donations.

If I go to São Paulo, I have to pay my ticket and lodging. The taxi is on me. There’s no reimbursement.

Voluntary.

Why? Because it was the first museum I knew that truly had a great collection. I knew it as a child—it was an expedition. I was director, I left to co-found the MAR, and I left an unfinished work.

The unfinished work was: filling gaps. I’ve already secured a Mestre Valentim, a great Black artist from Rio; I’m securing a spectacular Aleijadinho; I got a Vicente do Rego Monteiro from the early 1920s; Zina Aita, who took part in Semana de 22… Rebuilding the collection.

A national museum must have Brazil in it: Amapá, Acre, Piauí… The visual identity of Piauí comes through the santeiros—the first two, then five, then thirty masters. I met the first two when I was at Funarte, early 80s.

All donations. I also donate.

Is it better to donate or buy from artists? I think artists can—those who can, can—support the greatest museum of Brazilian art.

The Museu Nacional de Belas Artes was created from two collections that arrived with Dom João VI: his own collection, which Dom Pedro I bought, and the French Artistic Mission.

More than 200 years ago that collection arrived. Of 96 pieces, only two were not found. That doesn’t mean they’re lost—there are unclassified works…

 

JS: Would you say Rio is still the capital of Brazil?

Paulo Herkenhoff: No. Rio is a centrifugal city—it shines outward. But it has remnants of 200 years of capital: Jockey Club do Brasil, National Library, Botanical Garden.

Rio has always been a story outward.

 

JS: You studied law?

Paulo Herkenhoff: At PUC, and I did a Master’s at NYU. Around 74–75.

The most important part is that I met people: I met—and I can send you names—Hélio Oiticica, Meredith Monk, and many others.

I didn’t “collect” exactly—there was exchange: an artist gave me a gift; I exchanged a text for something.

The best thing after studying law was… law served me in two ways: I taught law during the dictatorship. It was important to understand my way of discussing freedom.

I taught urban law, including the preservation of springs, lagoons. In the 70s, ecology, waste—what you do with garbage.

I learned from a specialist in urban waste: that little cellophane strip people pull off a cigarette pack and throw on the ground—by the end of the day, collected across the city, it becomes four or five meters of little golden fragments.

A great lesson, isn’t it?

 

Adiar o Fim do Mundo
Curadoria: Ailton Krenak e Paulo Herkenhoff
29 October 2025 — 21 March 2026

FGV ARTE Praia de Botafogo 190 – Rio de Janeiro, RJ

 

 
 

Leasing the Sky: Christophe Guye on Conceptual Photography, Risk, and Reputation
 

There is a particular kind of ambition that does not announce itself. It builds—quietly, almost stubbornly—through consistency, through taste that can be argued with, and through a sense of responsibility that is less brand than ethic. In Zurich, a city whose elegance often lies in restraint, Christophe Guye has shaped a gallery identity that feels distinctly Swiss in its discipline yet unmistakably international in its reach: rigorous, curious, and unafraid of the contemporary.
 

For Guye, photography is not a genre defined by cameras but by thinking. The medium’s tools—analog or digital, pigment or paper—remain incidental. What matters is image-making as a form of authorship: sustained, conceptual, and art historically aware. The gallery’s program privileges the new, the newest, even the ultra-contemporary—work from the last two to three decades that treats photography not as a single act but as a serial practice: ideas tested over time, themes returned to with insistence, formal languages refined until they become unmistakable.

 

Julieta Schildknecht: You describe your gallery as rooted in a personal philosophy. What defines its underlying vision?

Christophe Guye: It begins with my personal preference for conceptual photography — work that is art historically relevant and that challenges me intellectually at the highest level. It must engage me every single day. That is the first condition.

The second is sharing that passion with collectors. Ideally, they experience the same intellectual and aesthetic fulfillment — while also having the security of acquiring a work that is valuable and resilient over time. That duality — passion and responsibility — defines my role.

 

JS: What qualities must an artist have to enter your program?

Christophe Guye: The artist must operate within new and newest photography — what I would call contemporary to ultra-contemporary. For me, contemporary photography begins after World War II, but my real focus lies within the last twenty or thirty years.

All artists in my gallery are conceptual practitioners. They are visual artists who happen to use photography as their medium. The camera is not the point — it is merely a tool. Many combine photography with sculpture, performance, illustration, or painting. Roger Ballen is a good example. The medium becomes secondary to the artistic inquiry.

What fascinates me is not only conceptual rigor but a unique formal language — something visually compelling and unmistakably individual.

 

JS: In an era of infinite digital images, how has your understanding of authorship and value changed?

Christophe Guye: The decisive moment is no longer the defining paradigm. What we see now is the expansion of photography as index — and the democratization of image-making.

Interestingly, I believe this democratization has benefited artistic photography. Many people came closer to photography through taking pictures themselves. But there is a vast difference between a randomly successful iPhone image and a sustained, multi-year conceptual engagement with a relevant subject, executed at an exceptional level.

That level of consistency and depth remains rare. And that will not change.

At the same time, digital expansion — including AI — has paradoxically revived interest in analog processes. Younger artists return to the darkroom because they seek a different relationship to the image. Materials are disappearing; certain photographic papers are no longer produced. This will make works from the last decades increasingly rare. Material scarcity adds another layer to value.

Ultimately, what matters to me is image-making. Whether analog, digital, or hybrid — it must be extraordinary.

 

JS: Fashion photography still provokes skepticism in some circles. How do you see its place in art history?

Christophe Guye: Portrait painting in earlier centuries was commissioned and commercial — and yet today no one questions its artistic status. Fashion photography operates similarly. It documents how people present themselves in their time, how identity and desire are constructed.

Fashion photographers often work under the tightest constraints — format, clothing, branding, deadlines — and within that framework they must create something entirely new. That is an immense creative challenge. Historically, figures like Avedon, Newton, Penn, Lindbergh — they are now firmly established in museum collections.

Fashion photography is an important chapter of visual culture.

 

JS: You began your career in advertising before founding the gallery. How did that transition shape you?

Christophe Guye: It was a significant risk. I had no formal art education. I was a classic outsider. But for nearly twenty years I worked closely with leading photographers on major campaigns. I was deeply involved in creative direction, image selection, conceptual development.

Through decades of exposure, I developed what I would call a very strong instinct for photography.

When I left advertising, many people wondered whether I could succeed in the art world. I wondered myself. Five weeks after arriving in Los Angeles, I opened my first exhibition and invited the entire art scene. It was bold — perhaps even reckless.

But I felt prepared. Advertising taught me discipline: a project must have a strong concept and strong execution. That principle remains identical in my gallery.

 

JS: What was the greatest risk in that transition?

Christophe Guye: Starting from zero in a new field, in a new country, without a network. There were moments driving along Santa Monica Boulevard delivering a work to a collector when I realized: I have truly started over.

But risk also creates clarity. Over time, the reputation grew — slowly. Much more slowly than in advertising. The art world requires stamina.

 

JS: How do you approach editions and pricing?

Christophe Guye: Edition discipline is essential. An artist defines an edition — for example, five works plus two artist’s proofs — and that is contractually fixed. Transparency is key. Every edition is documented and traceable.

I also believe strongly in responsible pricing. Long-term trust is more important than rapid escalation. If collectors later see that a work they acquired has increased in value, that builds confidence. I prefer gradual growth over speculative spikes.

This is a long-term relationship — between gallery, artist, and collector.

 

JS: You have participated in fairs such as Paris Photo, Photo London, MIA Milan, Unseen Amsterdam, and Photo Shanghai. What role do fairs play for you?

Christophe Guye: Fairs are less important as direct sales platforms for photography because editions reduce urgency — there are multiple copies available. However, fairs are crucial for visibility and reputation.

They allowed me to meet the key figures in this industry worldwide. That network has been fundamental.

Interestingly, over 50 percent of my sales are international, and many collectors have never physically visited the gallery. Switzerland — and Zurich specifically — offers a reputation of stability and reliability that helps enormously in global transactions.

 

JS: Does Switzerland shape your gallery’s identity?

Christophe Guye: Switzerland carries a strong international perception of trust and precision. That helps. But nationality alone is not enough — reputation must be earned.

Zurich is one of the most livable and culturally dense cities in the world. It is international, open, and collectors here are remarkably cosmopolitan. Unlike in some countries, Swiss collectors do not buy only Swiss artists. They are genuinely open to global practices. That is ideal for my program.

 

JS: You also teach and have curated educational programs. How important is education to your practice?

Christophe Guye: Extremely important. I once developed a university program where students analyzed theory, curated exhibitions, and even installed them in my gallery. Education sharpens the eye.

You can study art history extensively — but without a trained eye, you cannot be a gallerist. Sensitivity matters.

 

JS: Finally, if we return to the metaphor “Leasing the Sky,” what does it mean to you today?

Christophe Guye: It reflects the temporality of vision. We do not own the sky; we engage with it for a moment.

Photography is not about possession — it is about perception. If an exhibition changes the way someone sees light, structure, or narrative — even slightly — then it has succeeded.