Karen Huber reflects on what it means to be a gallerist in Mexico, bringing a collective vision that has helped reshape the country’s artistic landscape.

Her approach to building a dynamic and thoughtful space is grounded in ongoing dialogue with contemporary artistic narratives. For her, learning, collaboration, and a deep commitment to art are essential to continue evolving and strengthening Mexico’s connection to the international scene.

In 2014, Mexico’s art world was thriving. What made you decide to open your gallery then?
It wasn’t so much about the year as it was about timing. After pushing my pop-up exhibition project to its limit, I reached a crossroads: either open a gallery or focus entirely on curating. That’s when I decided to take the leap—create a space under my name and concentrate on contemporary painting.

How did you view painting within Mexico’s artistic landscape at the time?
Back then, painting didn’t have much visibility in galleries. Even though I was surrounded by artists who worked in that medium, it wasn’t something widely promoted. Choosing to focus on contemporary painting was a bold move, especially in an art scene that was beginning to lean toward conceptual and three-dimensional work.

But painting has always been my passion—its smell, its layers, the dimensionality of a flat canvas. I find all of it fascinating. I’m convinced painting will never disappear. It may evolve and adapt, but it will always have a place in the art world.

Your gallery is known for exploring both conceptual and formal aspects of painting. Has there been a turning point in this approach?
Absolutely—and it all begins in the collaborative process with artists. Those pivotal moments come from the shared experience in the studio, but they’re fully realized when we open an exhibition to the public.

One example was the show by Merike Estna, who will represent Estonia at the 2026 Venice Biennale. Her exhibition featured a monumental painting that spanned the entire gallery. Alongside curator Alberto Ríos del Rosa, we organized a series of talks—what we called hangouts—focused on painting. We invited the audience to step into the artwork—literally. We gave out protective shoe covers so visitors could walk on the piece, sit on it, and truly become part of it. It challenged the traditional notion of painting as an untouchable object hanging in a museum.

Another key moment was our collaboration with Ana Segovia and Diego Vega Solorza, where we transformed the gallery into a full theatrical space. It was an immersive experience that blended painting, performance, and set design—complete with dancers, lighting, and sound. It took what’s often a solitary medium and made it something collective. These experiences expanded our understanding of what painting can be and how it can be integrated into everyday life.

Some say that exhibition spaces tell their own stories. How do you balance the architecture of your gallery with the work you show?
That story begins before people even walk in the door. We have no signage outside, which creates a sense of curiosity—something I carried over from my earlier pop-up project, White Spider, where I held exhibitions in bookstores, homes, and abandoned buildings with no clues about what visitors might find inside.

When we designed the gallery, we collaborated with a Portuguese architect but envisioned it as a blank canvas—something that could be completely transformed for each show. We work closely with artists to adapt the space to their needs. Sometimes we build walls; other times we tear them down. We repaint the floors and walls to match the artwork’s energy. Once, we even painted the floor neon pink. Then we reset everything for the next exhibition. Reinvention is part of our rhythm.

You’ve worked with both international and Mexican artists. What differences do you notice in their approaches?
At its core, I think artistic practice is similar everywhere—there’s always a desire for dialogue, feedback, and community. But in Mexico, there’s a unique sense of complicity among artists. Painting is usually a solitary act, yet here, artists regularly invite other painters into their studios to discuss their work. It’s intimate, but it reflects a vibrant, supportive community. It goes beyond the professional—it’s cultural.

Would you say this sense of community is inherently tied to Mexican culture?
Definitely. There’s a strong spirit of mutual support in Mexico. You see it in how artists organize self-managed projects and invite peers to participate. It also shows up in the broader ecosystem—galleries formed the GAMA collective (Galerías de Arte Mexicanas Asociadas), artists rely on spaces like SOMA and its auctions, and even collectors share in that collaborative energy. It’s a unique and beautiful part of our scene.

How do the cultural and social dynamics of Mexico City shape your curatorial direction?
The local context is essential when working with artists. You have to think about where their work fits and how their careers can grow based on that. For instance, even if an artist is well-established in the U.S. or Europe, you have to consider how their work will resonate in Mexico. Our scene can be playful and bold, but it also has a conservative streak.

When a proposal has merit, we look for ways it can connect with local audiences. That means crafting a strategy—choosing artists according to the event, location, or goals we’re pursuing, whether that’s reaching curators, museums, or building international visibility.

Your gallery has been described as a space that “reconsiders” painting. What does that mean to you?
I want people to rethink what painting means today. Yes, we’re surrounded by paintings—but we try to keep a critical lens. There’s a big difference between an artist who occasionally uses painting as a medium and one who dedicates their entire practice to it. That depth is reflected in the craftsmanship, the intention, and the outcome. Here, you’ll always find strong painting—conceptually, formally, or both.

How do you balance commercial demands with your curatorial vision?

There has to be a balance. A gallery is a space for emotion and aesthetics, but also a place to explore curatorial proposals that, while not always commercial, carry cultural significance. I try to balance what can connect with audiences and what may be more complex conceptually or culturally. Both approaches have value, and it’s important to maintain a commitment to projects that may be less commercial but still reach museums, institutions, or biennials.

After a decade of running the gallery, how has your view of being a gallerist evolved?
There’s no formal training for this profession—it’s something you learn along the way. For me, it’s been a constant process of reflection and reinvention. Every two or three years, I reassess what I’m doing and why. Reaching the ten-year mark was especially important. It forced me to ask: What am I doing on autopilot, and what do I actually want to build?

It’s easy to get swept up in the art fair circuit, in biennials, in producing show after show. But pausing to reflect on my path has been transformative. Right now, I’m focused on new approaches, new collaborations, and new ways of doing things. But the mission remains the same: to champion the artists and the work we believe deserves to be seen—locally and globally.

What’s your strategy for positioning the gallery and your artists internationally?
We’re exploring collaborative formats like joint fairs or programs like Condo, where one gallery hosts another’s show, helping build a more connected global art scene.

This year was a milestone for us—we held our first international pop-up during Madrid Art Week, alongside ARCOmadrid. From March 1–15, we presented a group show with four of our represented artists and emerging talents. The space was beautiful and well-positioned among major galleries. Featured artists included Daniel Horowitz, an American painter based in Paris; Alejandra Laviada, who works with sculpture and video; and South African painter Ian Grose.

We worked with cultural producers in Madrid to reach both Latin American and European audiences. It was a powerful experience that opened the door to new possibilities—both in Spain and elsewhere.

Tell us about the gallery’s participation during Mexico City’s Art Week 2025.

We presented a major exhibition by Lucía Vidales, along with a group show featuring new works by the artists we represent at Zona Maco. We also highlighted a special collaboration with Salón Acme, where Merike Estna took part as well.

Interview by: Ana Desentis
Photos: HOTBOOK and courtesy of Karen Huber

QUICK GET TO KNOW GUIDE

Define art in one word.

Universe.

I could never work without…

Coffee.

My dream exhibition would be…

One featuring all the artists I would love to work with.

A corner of Mexico City you always return to.

The restaurant Auna, owned by my brother Alan.

I can’t resist…

Good food.

I start my day with…

Meditation.

Your ritual before opening an exhibition.

Check my hair, lipstick on—ready!

If your life were a work of art, what would its title be?

The Eclectic World of Karen.

Why?

I like many things, and somehow they all come together.

Which artist, living or deceased, would you love to have in your gallery?

Joan Mitchell.

Why?

She was one of the few women of the New York Abstract Expressionist movement, and I’m fascinated by her work.

A book you could read again and again.

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo.

Why?

It’s a wonderful story of Hollywood—glamour, excess, and love. Very compelling.

Your cure for a lack of inspiration.

Listening to music and looking through books.

What would you say to your 20-year-old self?

You’re incredible.

A work of art you wish you had in your personal collection.

Something by David Hockney, Luis Burgos, Jackson Pollock, or Georgia O’Keeffe. Many, really.

What song do you listen to while working?

Instrumental electronic music.

If you weren’t a gallerist, what would you do?

A cultural manager—something in the arts, or perhaps diplomacy.