Projects

Community of Tribeca: Bortolami

Words PLUS MAGAZINE

Photography YOUN KIM

Community of Tribeca is an online series exploring the neighborhood shaping New York’s contemporary art scene through conversations with five Tribeca gallerists.

The series opens with Stefania Bortolami. After first establishing her gallery in Chelsea, she was drawn to Tribeca’s quieter streets, once lined with artist studios and historic facades, as the place to reimagine the gallery’s future. Our conversation reflects on the neighborhood’s intimacy, accessibility, and emergence as a center of New York’s contemporary art scene.

PLUS MAGAZINE: What first drew you to Tribeca—not just as a location, but as a context for the kind of gallery you wanted to build? And at what point did it begin to feel like a home for Bortolami?

STEFANIA BORTOLAMI: Before moving into the current gallery in 2017, I was shown several spaces, but this one stood out immediately—even just on paper. I was struck by how centrally located and accessible it felt, in a truly democratic way. Subways from nearly every part of the city lead directly here, making it remarkably easy to reach.

What also appealed to me was Tribeca’s history. It has long been a neighborhood for artists, and in the 1970s, many had their studios in this very area. I’m referring to this particular pocket of Tribeca—not the more polished, residential side. That mix is something I’ve always appreciated: on one side, you have people living in beautiful apartments, many of whom are collectors; on the other, a deep-rooted legacy of working artists.

Another major appeal was the scale of the spaces. Tribeca’s historic architecture imposes natural limits—you can’t just knock down a building and put up a new one—and that restriction creates a kind of intimacy. Even if a gallery is large, it’s still human in scale. You’re working within architectural parameters—many facades can’t be altered, for example—and that fosters a different kind of relationship between the art and the space. It’s generous, but not overwhelming for either the artist or the viewer.

It really started to feel like home once other galleries began moving into the neighborhood. When I first arrived, there were only a few—an art space on Walker Street and a couple of smaller galleries in what’s now a larger exhibition space. That was about it. But over time, more opened nearby, and once there were around ten of us, it truly began to feel like a community.

This part of Tribeca was quite unusual at the time. Aside from a couple of restaurants, there were hardly any ground-floor businesses—no fashion retail, no major commercial presence. Many spaces had been vacant or used temporarily for pop-ups or government offices. Our gallery, for instance, was formerly a Social Security office. So we weren’t displacing anyone or accelerating gentrification the way it sometimes happens in other neighborhoods. In fact, we helped breathe new life into a relatively quiet corner of the city, adding to its cultural fabric.

Now, when visitors come to the gallery, they can spend the day discovering nearby exhibitions, enjoying great food and bars, or walking over to SoHo. It’s become a full experience—and it’s all just steps away.

P: As more galleries moved in, how did you see Tribeca begin to take shape as part of the city’s evolving art scene?

SB: The galleries brought something that wasn’t here before. Chelsea remains important; nothing has been taken away from it, but Tribeca has become an exciting addition to the city’s art landscape.

Someone shopping in SoHo can simply cross Canal Street and see ten exhibitions within an hour. That level of accessibility and density didn’t exist before. Today, Tribeca offers a meaningful snapshot of what’s happening in contemporary art. You can spend just a couple of hours here and walk away with a real sense of the moment.

P: Where are your go-to spots in the neighborhood?

SB: I always go to Petrarca. It’s a family-owned restaurant on the corner of White and Church. It’s one of those places where the menu never changes. I know what I like, and it’s dependable. What makes it truly special is that the family is involved in every part of the experience—from cooking and crafting the recipes to selecting the wine and serving guests. It feels personal in a way that you don’t often find.

P: How do you define the role of a gallery in today’s climate beyond commercial success? What responsibilities or freedoms do you think galleries carry when it comes to shaping discourse, community, and risk?

SB: Galleries remain the primary platform for contemporary art. Museums, by nature, are less able to take risks, whereas we have the freedom to experiment in ways they cannot. We are agile exhibition makers. For example, there are moments when an artist calls and says, “I need more time; I can’t be ready for November.” Suddenly, we have six weeks to create an entirely new exhibition. Sometimes this leads to remarkable results—perhaps a group show or something unexpected. We have the luxury of being nimble in ways that museums or even smaller institutions can’t afford. This flexibility can lead to success, but it can also result in significant costs, and that’s the reality of our work. How this ability to take risks evolves in the current climate, I don’t know yet. But I’m very curious to see what’s next.

P: You’ve spoken about the art market’s oversaturation and the need for intentional choices. How does this influence Bortolami’s exhibitions and approach today?

SB: My main stance is not to expand just for the sake of it, which is why I’m not opening galleries in Los Angeles, Hong Kong, Seoul, Paris, or London. That’s a very intentional, personal decision. I like to be involved in the exhibitions, and for that to be possible, I need to be physically present. You can’t do that if you have spaces all over the world.

I do have another program called Artist/City, which we launched about ten years ago. We just opened our tenth iteration in Wyoming, with Brook Hsu and Louis Eisner. That program gives me the opportunity to organize exhibitions in different cities without the need for a permanent space. It’s the best-case scenario: it allows for real engagement with a new place and its community, without becoming just another gallery trying to stake a claim in every art hub. It keeps things flexible, grounded, and intentional.

P: I’d like to turn our attention to The Campus—a collaborative project among several galleries.

SB: Honestly, none of the six partners involved in The Campus could have purchased the property or organized the exhibitions on our own. Individually, we just didn’t have the resources, whether in focus or financial capacity to make it happen. But by coming together, we could. That, to me, is what collaboration is all about. We’re able to do things that mega galleries do regularly, but only by working collectively and it’s been a success.

Even decisions like choosing the curator or selecting artists are made as a group. We pool our ideas to bring these exhibitions to life. People might be surprised by how expensive exhibitions can be as each one costs hundreds of thousands of dollars. It would be tough for any one of us to sustain that on our own year after year. But with six partners sharing the load, it becomes manageable.

P: Saying no can be just as defining as saying yes. In your experience, how have moments of refusal shaped the gallery’s direction, and what guides your decision-making amid the rapid changes of today’s art world?

SB: And of course, I’ve made mistakes over the years. I’ve said no to artists I should have said yes to, and I regretted it later. I’ve also sold things too early. These are all part of the business. You can’t say yes to everything or everyone – you have to make choices, and choices inevitably come with risks.

But that decision not to expand was a key one for me. I’m very happy with the two spaces we have here, plus the third collaborative space. We also have the third floor where we host lectures, book launches, and dinners. That’s my world and I’m content with it. It’s focused and manageable, which I think is essential for weathering what continues to be a very volatile period in the art world.

P: Looking back so far on your career, from the artists you’ve championed to the spaces you’ve created, what has surprised you most? And looking ahead, what possibilities excite or challenge you as you imagine the next chapter for yourself and the gallery?

SB: I was incredibly excited when we launched Artist/City, and I still think it was a brilliant idea. But that was already ten years ago. Now, I need to find my next Artist/City—something that excites me in the same way.

There are things we need to do to keep the gallery relevant, and it’s not just about adding new artists. Every gallery continuously adds and edits its roster, but that alone isn’t enough. You also need to introduce projects that keep you excited and expand the gallery’s vision. Each Artist/City project sometimes ran for a full year and still cost less than participating in an art fair.

P: There’s been a lot of change across the art world lately, some encouraging developments, but also the unfortunate closure of galleries for various reasons. In your view, what’s one thing you hope to see more of in the art world moving forward?

SB: I think there’s room for more innovative approaches to sustaining galleries. In many instances, closures don’t necessarily reflect a lack of talent or public interest, but rather financial models that are difficult to maintain over time. Running a gallery involves a delicate balance—organizing exhibitions, sharing sales proceeds with artists, and covering rent, staff, and future programming. It requires careful financial management. When spending extends too far beyond the core mission, it can put pressure on the overall sustainability of the space.

That said, there are ways to adapt. For instance, if a space becomes financially challenging, co-sharing with another gallerist could be a viable option—alternating shows, for example. Creative, collaborative models like these can help reduce costs and keep doors open. Because when a gallery shuts down, it’s not just a loss for the founder; it can also be devastating for the artists. Often, artists don’t get picked up by another gallery right away, and without that support, their platform disappears. It can take years for some to regain visibility, and unfortunately, some never do.

There’s been ongoing discussion around the so-called “death of the gallery,” particularly for mid-sized spaces. If you believed everything you read, we’ve supposedly been on the verge of collapse for the last ten years. But I’m tired of that narrative. We’re still here, and we matter. Galleries play an essential role in the cultural ecosystem. The world needs art, and for visual art to thrive, we need a full spectrum of galleries: small, mid-sized, and large. It’s not over, it’s evolving.