Lessons from the Margins: Notes by a Foreign Gallerist in Paris
Fostering identity, visibility, community through Galerie BAO
This article is a part of CHECK-IN 2025, our annual publication. You can purchase the physical edition (with access to the digital copy) for SGD38, or the digital copy for SGD5 here.
My Own Words is a monthly series which features personal essays by practitioners in the Southeast Asian art community. They deliberate on their locality's present circumstances, articulating observations and challenges in their respective roles.
Someone once said that migration is a rebirth. Moving to a new country means learning to speak again, misinterpreting signs, and navigating an unfamiliar landscape. When I arrived in Paris in September 2020 amid the COVID-19 pandemic, on a France Excellence Eiffel scholarship, I completed 80 percent of my Master's degree on a computer screen and barely knew a soul.
Opening a gallery in Paris has been a journey of unlearning and relearning. It demands patience, adaptability, and an unshakable belief in the value of one's work. Simone de Beauvoir once said: "L’expérience, c’est le nom que chacun donne à ses erreurs," or “experience is the name we give to our mistakes”. Mistakes remain bitter memories unless we brutally question them. To transform mistakes into lessons, I have noted down fragments of my own soliloquy as a small-scale gallerist of a Vietnamese-founded gallery that operates in Paris, and is dedicated to introducing artists from Southeast Asia.
Must a contemporary gallery in Paris be located in the Marais to gain visibility?
I do not deny the importance of a prestigious address or the proximity to established names. But remember: the true measure of a gallery's reputation is not its postal code but the pulse within its walls. A good gallery, in my humble opinion, is one that can defend its artists’ careers and foster meaningful connections with serious collectors who share the same values.
Lêna Bùi’s solo exhibition Blue Filaments (2024) at Galerie Bao on 15 rue Beautreillis. Image courtesy of Galerie Bao. Photo by Lê Thiên Bảo.
If you lack abundant financial resources, securing a space in the Marais at all costs, especially when your revenue remains unstable, is unnecessary. Budget wisely, and prioritise investments in reputable art fairs rather than an exorbitant lease. Galleries such as Marcelle Alix, Jocelyn Wolff, and In Situ - fabienne leclerc are not located in prime districts, yet this does not prevent them or their artists from appearing at major art events in France and beyond. A gallery on the periphery, if it has gravitational pull, will draw people in. But a gallery suffocating under the weight of rent will stifle even the most compelling vision.
In the autumn of 2025, Galerie Bao will move to a new location at 49 avenue Parmentier, with a larger space that will allow me to have a more dynamic approach to exhibition making.
Must you have a business partner to open a gallery?
A gallery is intensely personal. It is no coincidence that most bear the names of their founders—their lifeblood. Investors in your gallery must only be individuals who understand and respect its artistic vision and the value it brings to artists and the art scene. Many with spare money find the idea of running a gallery appealing, treating it as a philanthropic venture. Be wary of partnering with such individuals, because the cost of wasted time, energy, and the fallout of a failed collaboration often outweighs any initial financial investment they provide. If your start- up funds are limited, consider a modest beginning with collaborative projects and sharing resources. Try running your initiative independently for at least a year to determine precisely what you need in a partner. Rather than rushing into partnerships, cultivate strong, reciprocal relationships with peers. The advice you receive from them is invaluable.
Is the language barrier truly an obstacle?
When I first arrived in Paris, my French was barely sufficient to buy a baguette. The French, especially older Parisians in affluent districts, where most collectors live, enjoy correcting grammar—a habit that can paralyse new speakers. But had I waited until my French was flawless before speaking, I might never have become fluent. Fortunately, contemporary art circles in Paris are largely bilingual, and major programmes accept applications in English. However, amidst the relentless flow of events in this city, communicating exclusively in English severely limits your audience. This is not to mention the press and collectors, most of whom are French.
The French art world remains an insular sphere. If you wish to establish yourself here, fluency in French is non-negotiable. In Vietnam, we are taught: “nhập gia tùy tục”, or when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Making the effort to communicate and promote in French is a sign of respect for the country that hosts you and a declaration of commitment. Your French colleagues will deeply appreciate this effort.
Trần Trọng Vũ, Blue Memory, 2004, set of oil paintings on plastic sheets, exhibition view in There is no lonesome wave (2023) at Poush, Aubervilliers. The show was co-curated by Lê Thiên Bảo, Justine Daquin, Elena Poshokhova and Claire Luna. Photo by Lê Thiên Bảo. Image courtesy of Galerie Bao.
Must you never stay home on a Thursday night?
It is almost a ritual: Thursday evenings are for art-world vernissages in Paris. Initially, I believed attending every opening was the only way to gain entry into this world. Not quite. As a sociable introvert, being everywhere at once quickly drained me. Openings often serve as sites of social performance where art is secondary, and conversations remain fleeting and superficial. Over time, I became more selective, attending openings that genuinely interested me or where I had meaningful connections. I go to share the moments, not to chase opportunities. I refuse to exhaust myself seeking visibility in a crowded room where no one will remember my name the next day. Instead, I focus on spaces where real engagement happens, where discussions matter, and where a community forms around what I am building. It is not the quantity of connections but their depth. And the quality of my work determines collaborations.
Opening of Truong Cong Tung’s solo exhibition The Disoriented Garden…A Breath of Dream, 2024, produced by Han Nefkens Foundation, at Museion, Bolzano, Italy, exhibition view. Photo by Luca Guadagnini. Image courtesy of Museion.
Preserve your cultural identity or integrate into the local scene?
At the start, I often consulted artist Dinh Q. Lê, who cautioned that positioning my gallery as focused on Southeast Asian art could be a double-edged sword. Serious artists wish to be recognised for their work, not their geographical origins. I fully agree and emphasise the uniqueness of each artist's practice, carefully avoiding any exoticisation of their work. However, a gallery is a bridge between artists and the public. Defining my expertise in Southeast Asian art has made my young gallery more memorable in its early stages. It also provides confidence in laying the gallery's foundation within a community I know intimately. I see no reason to distance myself from my identity for the sake of political correctness. In the near future, Galerie Bao will evolve to engage more deeply with artists based in France and the local art scene here. My focus on Southeast Asian artists remains, but I will not confine myself within that comfort zone.
Galerie Bao participated in the 10th anniversary edition of Asia Now - Paris Asian Art Fair, 2024, Monnaie de Paris, with artworks by Nguyễn Duy Mạnh and Trương Công Tùng. Image courtesy of Asia Now, photo by Lionel Belluteau.
End
Paris is an international crossroads, a stimulating cosmopolitan city that has taught me invaluable lessons and led me to many beautiful people over the past four years. To my past self—if you are reading this— breathe deeply, for opening a gallery is an odyssey. It is one where I can choose the path, but the lessons remain unknown. That, perhaps, is the most exhilarating part: the gift embedded in the work itself. I am only at the beginning, eager for all that lies ahead.