I decided to name the gallery Someday for a few reasons. I liked the reverie the phrase evokes—the sort of hazy, aspirational connotations; the dopaminergic hubris of an alpha-induced fever dream; the suggestion of endless possibilities given a long enough temporal runway. It was also a practical solution to a self-imposed problem: I didn’t want to use my name. I was determined to separate the gallery from my personal identity, treating it as a Frankensteinian incubator—fresh, fertile soil for a new autonomous ecosystem to propagate, completely alien and independent from me. But the passing of my first boss and mentor this June has reminded me of an important fact: the best galleries are, by necessity, a reflection of the eccentricities, compulsions, imperfections, and relentless curiosity of their principals. This is true even of the most private, shy, or discreet dealers.

 

Lately, I’ve been reevaluating my desire to remain faceless and challenging myself to be honest about the fact that certain choices I’ve made were not made out of humility, but complacency, or maybe even fear. So I am writing now with an openly personal “hello” in order to say a proper “goodbye.” And while writing this feels uncomfortable—almost painfully self-indulgent after years of trying to stay anodyne—I am choosing to do it anyway, because I have found the art world to be incredibly lonely recently and based on my conversations with colleagues and peers I suspect I am not the only one feeling this way. That this loneliness is just as strong on the opening day of a packed art fair as in a home office during lockdown. A lurking, industry-wide alienation that has grown over many years of coercive isomorphism, normative alignment, and organizational conformity. The over-professionalization and general sterilization and, of course, the money.

 

I want to address the money straight on—particularly with the large wave of gallery closures these past few years. The fixation on analyzing closures exclusively through an economic lens feels both tiresome and reductive, even when technically accurate. Whenever a gallery closes, whether for personal or financial reasons, the headlines seem to only focus on the latter, providing fodder for scarcity mindsets that warp peers and colleagues into competitors. I’ve struggled to not become seduced by these cultural sentiments myself, to work hard without fetishizing hustle culture, and to temper ambition by maintaining fidelity to broader values. And while the press’s preoccupation with the financial narrative may stem more from efficiency than an attempt to be salacious, we could probably all benefit from a little more candor. So yes, of course money was a factor in the decision to close. But reducing the gallery’s story to strictly financial terms feels cheap. A weak market doesn’t adequately convey what it’s like to be tired or feel alienated any more than rising rent or inflation can describe the joy of watching an artist grow, or the frustration of not being able to provide them with the resources they deserve. My aversion to putting my name on the gallery doesn’t mean I lack ego (probably the opposite) and announcing our closure certainly bruises mine. But bruised egos heal faster than moral injuries.

 

I opened Someday to cultivate a certain energy: something about inclusion, maybe, and unconditionality. A space to receive and offer support without contingency, to allow room for both success and failure, and to prioritize play. I am proud that we did that for a little while and look forward to pursuing similar goals in future endeavors. Opening and operating Someday has been the best, worst thing I’ve ever done. I wouldn’t trade the experience for the world, and I hope to never do it again. I am excited for this next chapter: refocusing my efforts toward the most meaningful impact and working alongside a collaborative team guided by the same principles and vision that have always inspired my work, who bring generosity, intellectual acuity, and a little bit of well-intentioned mischief to everything they do. It feels like a natural evolution of our efforts that I can’t wait to share with you.Thank you for being part of this journey.

 

With love and gratitude,

 

Rosie / Someday Gallery