Hey Alex! How’s it going?

Last day vibes, you know? I guess we are all more relaxed, and tired. [laughs] But I am definitely happy. 

Should we start this with a little introduction about your work?

Sure. The story actually traces back to 2018. I first used the project name “Foreign & Domestic” when I participated in The Salon de Normandy’s first edition, back in 2019. The name originated from an exhibition I held in London in 2018, titled “European Foreign and Domestic,” which was inspired by a road sign advertising mechanic services in Los Angeles. You see signs like “Foreign and Domestic” throughout the U.S., often referring to parts from both Europe and America. But the phrase sparked a question for me: What’s truly foreign nowadays? So, everything kind of revolved around this theme and wordplay.

I held the show in a big abandoned hotel in London, and one of the artists showing was actually The Community. There’s an exact replica of an English town in China, It’s called Thames Town. This town, a near-exact recreation, even down to its decor, served as a fascinating setting for their work. Replicating European architecture like this isn’t allowed in China anymore, as recent policies under Xi Jinping restrict European-style designs. But back then, they were able to create almost identical replicas. 

The Community contributed with a video filmed in Thames Town. They sent two of their members to stay in an Airbnb that looked like a stage set for an English home, complete with decor that imitated traditional British interiors. The effect was surreal—like a TV set with three walls, furnished to mimic a scene straight out of the UK. That’s what they brought to my space, capturing this unique blend of cultural imitation. 

How did, from there, Foreign & Domestic become what it is today?

In 2020, I moved to New York. I kept the original name, dropped European –The shadow of the old continent. One of the first artists I showed in NYC was Michael Iveson, a British artist whose work I had shown extensively in London. He created a significant installation there, featuring double-wrapped sculptures and smaller prints. It felt right to bring Michael back into focus, and his work is also here at The Salon. Now, five years on, in 2024, things have evolved. I’ve been running a more established gallery program since December 2022, with Michael set to have his next show in November. My presentation at the Salon this year is straightforward, showcasing snapshots of recent gallery highlights: the previous show with Joseph Brock, the upcoming one with Michael Iveson, and the show I did with Greg last year, which I also curated for another exhibition. 

You were there for the first Salon de Normandy, The Community’s project that served as the baseline for where we are right now. How would you say the project evolved?

It’s definitely more professional now, but the spirit remains the same. NADA and The Community might operate slightly differently, but they share the same mission. There’s a special energy of support and innovation. They even had artists giving away work for free—a beautiful gesture. I’m referring to Nick Sethi’s performance. I think they managed to elevate and translate to a bigger framework what the original Salon was. A very diverse mix of people visited the fair, and the presence of music and art roaming through the halls adds a unique touch.

Would you say your role as an exhibitor, or perhaps how audiences interact with your work, has shifted over these years?

Yes, in some ways. It’s a more diverse audience now, and it’s exciting to see people interact differently with the pieces. I’m showing at NADA Miami next, where I’ll explore this further.

What drew you to participate in fairs? Is it just about exposure, or something deeper?

Mostly, it’s about connecting with new audiences who resonate with the gallery’s programming. Fairs like NADA’s or The Salon attract a unique crowd, and the community among exhibitors is strong—each gallery has its own story and perspective, which keeps the experience rich and varied. Which I think it’s what made this experience very interesting. Each exhibitor had its own very individual aesthetic, program, history, but we managed to create a communal experience. A certain kinship I’d say. Neighboring galleries often collaborate, and friendships emerge organically. These “invisible lines” form between spaces, making the event feel truly communal.

How would you describe your curatorial approach?

I’m interested in the personal connection and experimenting alongside the artists. The results come naturally through these collaborations. Some artists I work with are known for using found or recycled materials—like magazines, old t-shirts, or even candles—giving their work a raw, sustainable quality.

The relational side seems essential in the way you work, beyond just what ends up on the walls.

Absolutely. A gallery is like an iceberg—the art on display is just the visible tip of a much larger social and creative context. I still very much believe in the idea of social scenes, and I mean that in a more meaningful way, not just you know, going to openings and the social side of being in the art world, and I see that a lot in the interactions we managed to build here during these four days.