Valentina Akerman on unfussy fish and good taste

The first time I was able to buy a piece of art, I felt such joy! I grew up with art in my house—not particularly fancy or expensive pieces, but art that my parents loved and were proud to have around. I understood very early on that the energy of a piece of art radiates into a space like a generous and unlimited transmission of beauty.

But there was something different about choosing and acquiring a piece myself. It felt like crossing a threshold—suddenly I wasn't just someone who appreciated art, but someone who could actively participate in supporting artists and shaping my own environment with intention. That first purchase was both deeply personal and surprisingly communal; I was joining a conversation that had been happening long before me and would continue long after.

For me, it's all about the context and the relationship between the different elements that I bring into the space. One of the main reasons I didn't want the gallery to be in a white box was to create a sense of intimacy with the art and to subvert the hierarchies between paintings and objects. Having the gallery exist in a residential context gives it a complexity that I enjoy, while simultaneously creating a different kind of experience for those who come.

In this intimate setting, visitors might find themselves looking more closely, staying longer, noticing relationships between works they might not have seen in a traditional gallery context. There's something about the domestic scale that invites contemplation rather than consumption. I want people to leave feeling like they've had a conversation rather than just viewed an exhibition—like they've been let in on something rather than kept at arm's length.

I wish this space could serve as Sardine's home base for years to come! I'm absolutely enchanted by this little Alice in Wonderland farmhouse—there's something truly magical about it. Despite being a humble, historic little building, it has somehow accommodated ambitious works at remarkable scales, and everything we've shown here has looked beautiful and felt genuinely welcoming.

But you're absolutely right about Sardine's itinerant nature. While this has been an extraordinary first start, our vision is to continue to bring this project to diverse places and set up site-specific presentations down the line. We're drawn to residential spaces with character and history—places that can bring together art-lovers from all walks of life...

We dream of continuing this project through different cities, always seeking out those spaces that feel both intimate and expansive.

I love food and the ritual of family-style meals at a long table—sitting around beautiful ingredients prepared with love and imagination, talking and exchanging ideas with joy. I firmly believe that providing the artists and everyone who makes the gallery what it is with a beautiful meal elevates the entire vibration of our project and shows how much I care for them.

Food has woven itself through this work naturally. There's something about nourishing people that aligns perfectly with what we're doing here—creating space for connection, beauty, and meaningful exchange.

As for my pantry pasta at the end of a long night: good olive oil, garlic, whatever herbs are thriving, maybe some aged cheese if I'm lucky. It's about transforming whatever's on hand into something that feels like care, made edible. Even when it's just for myself, there's something restorative about that process after a day spent facilitating it for others.

Honestly, as I've sat during the dinners we've actually hosted in the garden, I've felt this overwhelming sense of satisfaction thinking: "Wow, I brought all these wonderful people together!" Artists, musicians, journalists, designers, writers, makers—such an incredibly diverse and beautiful group. These gatherings have left me feeling deeply fulfilled and grateful. I truly couldn't have dreamed of them any better.

But if I could add to that magic? I'd love to have Toni Morrison at the table, Björk—Ruth Asawa and Ana Mendieta would add such powerful insights about place, identity, and the body in relation to art. And Louise Bourgeois—her fierce intelligence and unflinching honesty about the creative process would be extraordinary to witness in that intimate garden setting.

It's like Night at the Museum, but Sardine style! In all seriousness though, getting to spend time with the pieces after the lights are dimmed and everyone has gone home—when it's just us [our family] in our pajamas, reading on the couch or going about our evening routines—feels like an extraordinary privilege. I get so much more from the works than I ever imagined possible. It's as if I'm slowly making friends with each piece.

There's something profound about living with art in this way. I can sit with a painting or sculpture without any agenda, letting it reveal different aspects of itself. Sometimes I'll notice a detail I'd missed entirely, or the way the light changes throughout the day will show me something new. I absolutely love this intimacy with the work—it deepens my understanding in ways that would be impossible otherwise.