Gallerist Q&A - Morten Avlskarl

How did you find your way into working in the art world, eventually opening a gallery?

When I was at school I wanted to be an archaeologist. I collected everything I could get my hands on—stickers, chewing gum, everything. In some sense, I am an art collector turned gallerist.

I first ended up in the restaurant business, owning a few restaurants. But in the evenings I read about artists and art movements. I was fascinated by the story of artists living with nothing, holding on to what they believed in and continuing to create. Many of them achieved success, but many not until later in life. I found that incredibly fascinating.

I opened the gallery in September 2008, whereafter the financial crisis hit in November, so it is fair to say the gallery had a fairly slow start. But anyhow, it is never just a matter of opening a gallery—it takes many years to become established and build a network within the art world. As I already knew some artists in Berlin, it was natural for me to start there, inviting them to make exhibitions in Copenhagen.

Your programme includes a strong presence of German artists alongside Danish and international names - can you elaborate on this focus?

It all started while I still had restaurants back in the 90s, when I became acquainted with Tal R. When he exhibited in Berlin for the first time, I went down for the opening. Seeing all the other art on view, I was amazed - especially the German artists. The Berlin art scene was flourishing after the fall of the Wall and was incredibly fascinating. My great love for German art started then and naturally continued in that direction.

Today, the gallery represents three generations of German artists, including Thomas Zipp, Friedrich Kunath, Michael Sailstorfer, Gregor Hildebrandt, and, most recently, Andi Fischer.

What do you consider your key responsibility as a gallerist?

My key responsibility is to promote them in Scandinavia. That is also why I don’t go to fairs in other parts of the world, because they are already represented there. That makes it easier for me to work with the artists, as they know I sell their work here in Scandinavia. That’s what I do.

The role also evolves alongside the artists’ careers. In a way, it’s about nurturing them. To become a successful artist, you need a big ego. You have to believe you are the best, or perhaps the greatest. As a gallerist, part of your job is to support and sustain that confidence.

What do you look for in an artist you choose to represent?

Originality. That’s the top priority and the hardest thing there is. It’s the only thing that survives in the long run. You have to have something inside you and be able to express it. I have often gone for artists whose works I want for myself. That’s why sometimes, when I have to sell something, it can hurt to let it go.

I always avoid mode malerei, which exists in the same way as in music, with many hits over the summer that quickly fade. The same pattern exists in the art world. Alongside these fashionable works are the truly original ones, which are often misunderstood at the time. That kind of work - challenging, ahead of its time - is exactly what I look for.

I also would never take in an artist still at an academy. If you’re at an academy, you’re not an artist, you’re a student. That’s where you get to experiment. It’s only later that an artist reaches a point where they discover something original.

What do you expect in return from the artists you work with?

I always expect direct communication. Some of the artists I work with are represented by very big galleries. To them I always say that I’m only interested in collaboration if it’s direct. I don’t want to go through another gallery, because then it’s not serious.

Have you noticed any changes to your audience and collectors since you started?

At the very beginning I caught a bit of the old, classical collector network in Denmark, which has now somewhat quietened down. A younger generation has definitely come in, and I think more people in general are becoming interested in art. People are braver now, more engaged. The digital world has helped with that as you can follow everything online. I’ve experienced that when we show certain artists, where we suddenly get enquiries from people who already know them, maybe not through us, but because they’ve followed them online.

I also dislike it a bit. People say, “have you seen that exhibition?”, “Yes, I saw it online”. But that is not the same. The physical experience of viewing an artwork is very important. When people write asking for a PDF of works, I always say no. Come by on Thursday at 17.00 if you’re interested, I tell them. Otherwise what would artists need galleries for?

A new collector type has also emerged. In the past, people collected in a more focused way. That doesn’t exist in the same way today. Now you see collections of 3,000 works by 4,000 artists with only one or two works by each. It’s wild. I think it was Daniel Wildenstein who said, when he took over half of Pace Gallery, that the art market had become a stock market. People started investing in art. And like stocks, everything is sold on expectations.

You previously created the exhibition The Collectors Home, where you challenged the traditional gallery exhibition format. Could you tell a bit about that project experimenting with how people encounter art?

That exhibition was about trying something different. It makes a big difference that people can relate to the size of a work, so it makes sense to show it in that context where it will hopefully end up.

I once spoke to a professor in graphic design who told me that the white wall is the worst surface you can show art on, as it kills all the colours. Since then, I have never had white walls in the gallery.

It’s also interesting: if you look back before the 1980s, nobody had white walls. That came with Jay Jopling creating the White Cube in London in 1993. After that, all galleries became white and square. It’s a bit like what’s happening now with Instagram, where people post in the same way: “Happy birthday to the artist”, and then two bunches of tulips from 1995. It becomes repetitive.

If you could encourage collectors to adopt one new habit, what would it be?

Be more curious and ask questions. I am often amazed by the lack of questions. If I say that a sculpture costs 10,000 kroner or 10 million kroner, no one asks why it costs that amount. If a gallerist says, “this is an important work,” then ask: “I don’t understand, tell me why is it important? Why should I buy it?” Not a lot of gallerists can actually answer that question, but I am happy to.

What has been the most memorable or challenging exhibition you’ve done in the gallery’s history?

My biggest achievement was the first exhibition I did with Sergej Jensen. It actually took many years to set up. And he’s the type of artist who, if you tell him the whole exhibition sold out and people loved it, he’ll say, "then I’ll never do that again". He doesn’t want to become someone that makes work from demand. He’s a truly original artist.

What’s the next chapter for the gallery?

I’m always looking for artists who bring something no one has ever seen before. Whenever I’m with artists, I always ask them: what’s the most interesting thing you’ve seen? And often, even when I ask people at an academy or somewhere similar, it’s quite striking - very few of them have actually seen anything new. It’s really, really difficult.

I’m extremely careful not to end up taking on artists just because something looks “good” or impressive. So it can take years from the first encounter to actually making an exhibition and representing them.