The Tamesis
Editor’s note: This story is part of Newsmakers, an ARTnews series featuring conversations with people shaping how the art world is changing today.
For Alissa Friedman, returning to Salon 94 is like coming home. After more than a decade helping shape the gallery’s image, Friedman left after founder Jeanne Greenberg Rohatyn joined forces with Brett Gorvy, Dominique Lévy and Amelia Dayan to form LGDR. (Greenberg Rohatyn later left LGDR, now known as LGD.) Friedman went on to help launch the American chapter of Stephen Friedman Gallery, only to see it announced that it would close later this month. When she rejoined Salon 94 this winter, it coincided with something else happening: The gallery itself had a clearer vision of a post-LGDR world.
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I met Friedman on a cold Friday morning on the Lower East Side, where she has lived for more than 20 years, and she arrived looking photo-ready, wearing a Dries van Noten jacket with a subtle use of camouflage and a chic green mohair coat. The conversation ranged from the early days of Salon 94 to hospital commissions, from Aboriginal paintings to Korean design, and touched on why the old boundaries between fine arts, crafts, architecture and design no longer exist.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.
Arts News: You first stayed at Salon 94 for 15 years. Take me back to the beginning. What was the situation like at that time?
Alyssa Friedman: I joined in the mid-2000s when Jeanne [Greenberg Rohatyn, the gallery’s founder] Still running something very much like a literal salon. She works out of her home on 94th Street and does a number of thoughtful projects each year. When we opened on Freeman Lane [a space launched in the Lower East Side in 2007]there are four of us in total. This is not Chelsea. This is not obvious. But a new museum had just opened downtown, and it felt like something was changing.
What’s important is that this project was never traditional. It is not built around a single category or hierarchy. From the beginning, there was a real interest in artists and communities that were underrepresented in the New York market.
One thing that’s impressive now is how early Salon 94 engaged with Aboriginal artists, ceramics and design. Today, this feels consistent with the broader conversation. Back then, there weren’t that many.
It really wasn’t a big deal at the time. We don’t do this to make a point. This comes naturally to us. We showcased Australian Aboriginal artists before commercial galleries really did that. We worked with ceramic artists at a time when ceramics was still fighting to be taken seriously as fine art.
In the early days, galleries were sometimes considered eccentric. But I think what’s actually happening is the culture is catching up. Or maybe alignment is a better word.
That early openness seems directly related to what’s happening now, where the lines between art, craft and design are thinner than ever.
They’ve definitely lost weight. Not so long ago, everything was isolated. The art stays in one lane, the design is in another, and the craft is somewhere else entirely. Now it’s smoother. Artist collection design. Designers work like artists. Collectors can switch between categories without anxiety.
If you look closely, you’ll see that many of these practices have been historically marginalized: women, indigenous artists, artists working with materials that were seen as decorative or utilitarian. So the shift isn’t just aesthetic. This is culture.
You left Salon 94 when Jeanne joined LGDR in 2021. Why did you leave at that time?
I have spent my entire career working directly with living artists and helping them develop their practice. I know LGDR will focus more on historical material, which is important work, but that’s not where I find it most useful.
It’s hard to leave. Fifteen years is a long time. But Jenny and I have always worked in a very complementary way. She is responsible for consulting and secondary markets. I love running gallery projects. When that balance shifts, it makes sense for me to find a place that is more aligned with how I work.
This brought you to the Stephen Friedman Gallery, where you helped establish the American presence. What did that chapter give you?
It’s an incredibly professional environment with a great line-up. One of the most satisfying parts is profiling artists who are well-known in Europe or the UK but have not yet opened a gallery in New York. For example, Denzil Forrest, Andreas Eriksson and Claire Woods.
This is also an opportunity to try something out. I started a performance program there, bringing in classical and jazz musicians to respond to the exhibition. I have always been interested in how other disciplines activate space.
At the same time, you also do important work outside the gallery system, particularly in health care.
Yes. I have been working on art acquisitions and commissions for NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital for over a decade. We have placed thousands of works across multiple buildings and large-scale commissions, including a 136-foot-long ceramic mural by Beatriz Milhazes and a large-scale work by Kehinde Wiley.
This is very meaningful work. You see art not as a commodity or a spectacle, but as something that accompanies people in vulnerable moments in their lives.
Now back at Salon 94, the gallery itself feels different. The 89th Street space has a very special presence.
I think the building is a character. Each exhibition is in dialogue with architecture. It’s not a neutral white box, and that’s intentional. Each floor has a different atmosphere, almost a different historical reference.
Currently, we have three exhibitions running simultaneously. The first floor displays paintings by Mantua Nangala and Yukultji Napangati, two leading Aboriginal artists from the Papunya Tula Art Centre. Upstairs, a solo performance by Matthew Krishanu. Another floor displays the works of Korean designer Jaiik Lee, who uses copper as a material and combines cutting-edge technology with ancient craft techniques.
The shows are very different, but they speak to each other. Someone might join for one and leave with different ideas about the other.
You’ve said before that one of the goals is to keep visitors from knowing exactly what to expect.
Exactly. There is value in this uncertainty, as does not knowing one’s own lane. We even installed a small vending machine in the front lobby where visitors can purchase small pieces of art. It sounds fun, but also serious. This is another way to break up the form and invite people to participate.
We regularly have over a thousand visitors every Saturday, many of whom have never been to a gallery before. It’s a responsibility, but it’s also exciting.
What does the next chapter look like for you and Salon 94?
More cross-pollination. More performances, music, designs and artists we’ve never worked with before. The gallery has reopened over the past year and a half and it feels like it has taken a big step forward.
For me, coming back feels like coming home. I work best in small to medium-sized galleries, where experimentation is possible and relationships are very important. This is what Salon 94 has always been about.
