What is special about this activity and contemporary art itself for you?
Being a gallerist isn’t just a profession for me — it’s a way of living."
There’s something in my DNA that keeps pulling me back to art, no matter how far I try to go. I even tried to step away from it, especially during my pregnancy, thinking I could pause or redirect. But time and life always bring me back. It’s simply a part of who I am.
This path gives me something sacred — the chance to witness talent being born, to breathe the same air as artists, and to share space with people who create beauty and meaning in the world. It’s a privilege that keeps me constantly inspired.
At the same time, balancing this passion with family is one of the most challenging things I’ve ever had to do — and truthfully, there is no real balance. I’ve missed important art events because of family, and I’ve missed family moments because of work. But I love both — my family and art — with the same chakra, the same emotional organ. It’s one love, expressed in two vital forms.
Contemporary art, to me, is a global language. It opens doors to different cultures, new ways of seeing, and deeper ways of feeling. It’s how I absorb life — with infinite scale and sensitivity.
How do you evaluate works of contemporary art? When are they impressive, when do you remain indifferent, or maybe indifference is also a criterion?
For me, evaluation happens on a deeply personal level — it's not analytical, it's intuitive."
Sometimes I encounter a work and I just know — Cy Twombly feels cosmic, or Brancusi touches something eternal. That recognition happens first, and only later do I learn more about the artist, which deepens my love and understanding. But the first connection is always emotional, almost spiritual.
With contemporary artists, the personal connection is especially important. I pay close attention to the themes they explore, the sincerity and intelligence behind their work, and, of course, the visual approach. I have a kind of inner detector — something in me immediately senses when a work is pretentious or ego-driven, and unfortunately, there’s a lot of that in today’s market.
What truly matters is that the artist cares. I can feel it when they do — when the work comes from a place of truth, not performance. That’s what moves me. That’s what makes it real
What is the essence of mediating in the acquisition of works of art for you? How do you balance between the work as a cultural value and a market object?Is an art agent today more of a cultural intermediary or a financial consultant?
There’s almost nothing to 'balance' when it comes to selling art — I can hardly sell a work if I don’t love it myself."
Of course, commercial galleries earn a lot — sometimes they’re just across the aisle from us, like at Art Central in Hong Kong. I remember a booth from Opera Gallery sold $4 million on the first day, while we sold nothing, or maybe $20,000 at most. But if I were only interested in business, I could’ve gone into development or opened any kind of company.
Art dealing, for me, isn’t about commercial success alone. It’s not a game with secrets it’s a long journey of taste, trust, and cultural context.
Sometimes I bring work knowing it might not sell or that the chances are extremely low. But I still do it, because I want other cultures to see what Latvian artists are capable of. For me, that matters. It's not just about numbers — it’s about exchange, about presence.
Collectors have started to trust my taste. After 10 years of experience, we’ve reached a point where we can sell what we truly believe in and that’s a rare privilege.
But everything depends on the gallery’s character and goals. We’re not a “mega” gallery, not yet an A-class player in the global art market. The serious investments the ones with real financial strategy often start around $200K to $300K. Those circles have their own rules. It’s like a kind of ‘mafia’ in the best sense made up of wealthy families, museums, curators, critics, and foundations. They move differently.
I can’t lie just to close a deal. I’m not going to tell someone their $10K artwork will become the next Damien Hirst because that’s not how it works. And that honesty might slow things down, but it also builds something stronger: trust, and real connection.