Seeking the Light with Maria Vogel

June 29, 2023

Maria Vogel embarked on a career in the art world to satiate her creative cravings, which emerged once she got a taste of all that New York City had to offer her. But her first glimpses of that realm didn’t align with her expectations — for an industry that can be so colorful and full of light, Vogel found that the many museums and institutions she visited were lacking just that: a glimmer of hope, an air of warmth.

That’s not to say that Vogel didn’t still want to immerse herself in the landscape of artists and advising, but she decided she wanted to do it her way. Leading with compassion is the founder and advisor’s supreme rule for her advisory, Rococo. Making sure to advocate for the artist every step of the way, Vogel imbues this sometimes intimidating landscape with tenderness and togetherness.

Interview by Kayla Curtis-Evans
Photos Courtesy of ALMA Communications

Rococo launched in 2022 and organized its subsequent Rococinco dinners the same year. office dove into Maria’s art journey, discussing her primary business principles, finding your tribe, and more, below.

Even before Rococo, you were an art advisor beforehand. What incited this journey within art originally?

I feel like this is the typical path for someone who feels super creative and inspired but doesn't necessarily know where they land. And by that, I mean, when I was in college, I dabbled in so many different creative fields. I had a degree that was communications journalism and art history and throughout college, I thought I would land in any one of those places at a given time. But I later started realizing, one by one, that all of these professions after college weren't what I wanted to do. Meanwhile, art history was always there. I was always a history buff throughout my life. I learned that I could go on to study art business in a graduate program. When I am convinced of something and I want it, there's no stopping me. So it was at that moment that I decided I was going to get into this course and move to New York. What I didn't know is that there was so much more outside of positioning myself in a university context in the art world that would come and the learning curve that would come even after getting that degree. Art was never in my life growing up, at least not presented in this formal way, and then as soon as I realized it existed, I wanted to be a part of it.

I feel like when we're a bit younger, we don't even know of what jobs are out there in the creative field. So I think that's really cool that you found that pocket here and could see a future in New York City. What lessons did you learn before Rococo that you still carry with you now?

I had a pretty untraditional pathway towards Rococo in that I purposely wanted to try a lot of different roles within the art world and sponge up all the information I could from different parts of it. As soon as I felt like I wasn't being challenged or there wasn't growth available, I moved on. So that was pretty much my entire twenties. And at one point within that period of time, I worked for an advisor. I was really starting to feel like I was coming into my own through this position. So after I finished working with that advisor, I continued to advise on my own while supplementing with a full-time job. After all of those full-time jobs that I went through, I felt like I had done it all. My last full-time job, when I was ready to leave, I had this thought of, 'Okay, I think this is the moment where I go off onto my own,' and that was always something I had in the back of my head anyway. The typical art advisor is primarily a salesperson who is helping to sell art. I think my interpretation of how I operate is very different than maybe a traditional, sales-focused advisor. I'm sales-focused too, but I'm also focused on all these other considerations of how artists and people in the art world want to be treated. I used to spew a lot of negative talk toward myself because I was frustrated I could never just focus on one thing. But now I can give myself a little bit of grace and realize that all of it had intention behind it, whether it was obvious to me at the moment or not.

What were some of the practices or traditions in the advising realm that you noticed, that you decided to restructure when you went to start Rococo? I know your approach, as you mentioned, is an artist-based approach that aims to lead with a little more compassion for the artists and the people that you work with.

I think a lot of it stems from my first job in the art world, which was at a blue-chip gallery. Those are the mega galleries that have locations worldwide and rosters of one hundred-plus artists. Landing there, I felt so fortunate that I was offered a job and the gallery had a name with a lot of weight to it. And then I got there and it was a cold, shallow place — I felt like we could have been selling car tires or something because the artistry felt so distant from where I was. From where I was standing, it seemed very far off from what I thought working in a gallery or in a job in the art world would feel like. It was sterile and unpleasant to work there. And it was a very confusing moment when I was able to say, 'I don't want to be here.' Because you think when you land at that type of place, you've made it, right? So everything thereafter, I was searching for something that gave me the exact opposite feeling. I was chasing places and people within the art world that felt like the loving compassion for art was fully there.

From then, I pretty much aligned myself with positions that made me feel that way and also inserted myself in such a way that I was able to interact with artists on an individual basis. I started doing a lot of studio visits and it became a big part of my life. I've met so many of my friends through these essentially ‘cold call’ type visits and then you never know what's going to blossom out of that. And I love that you used the word compassion because I'm always approaching with that as well.

Accessibility in these spaces is something that I think is like really hard for many people to grasp. It just seems when you're younger, that these things are so far away from you — especially in the art world. It doesn't seem like these things are extremely accessible to the average person. And once they become accessible to you, it's like, 'Wow, okay, now I'm here and I have to revel in this.' But I think there's often this facade within art, and media as a whole because these things look glamorous from the outside and then you're working in it and there is a disconnect.

As soon as the veil was lifted for me, I couldn't pretend for a second that anything would change or be different. And as I got older, I had other big galleries reach out to me for job opportunities, and part of me was tempted — but I had to remind myself why I'm doing this.

But that's why I think, in your case, creating that space where you couldn't really find one that you resonated with is really important.

I think New York itself can confuse you a little bit when you land here and you have to think, 'Who am I? Who do I want to be?' Especially in inherently exclusive industries. So that was also something I definitely have carried with me — don't be the person who thinks they need to buy that outfit because they saw someone wearing it and they looked prestigious.

I've been getting glimpses into your artistic community through you, and everyone is really friendly and welcoming. I wanted to hear from your viewpoint — how you would describe the creative community that you now surround yourself with?

There's just this palpable, contagious energy that the people I work with carry where you realize that must mean they have really awesome values backing up their work. A lot of my close friends are also entrepreneurial and doing their own thing, whether it's running their own gallery, working on the tech side of art, working in PR, and so on. Some of my best friends are artists. I'm dating an artist. I'm surrounded by this beautiful bubble of both the people who are the backbone of the art world, and other people who, similar to me, are continuing to make things happen in their own very unique way. It's really anyone who has similarly approached the art world from a 'come one, come all' warm, welcoming stance that I find myself surrounded by. I have a lot of female-founder friends too. And that's really cool and exciting because it ends up being this unofficial support group. I have to pinch myself sometimes when I realize the amazing support, specifically from women in the art world, that exists surround me. Because there was a moment when I never thought that was possible. It was a saving grace.

Where did the name Rococo come from?

I'm so glad you asked that. When I made the decision about a year ago to formalize my advisory, I did not want it to be something where my name was the first thing you knew when you heard about it. Honestly, I was like, 'Who cares about Maria Vogel?' I wanted a name to carry this that wasn't mine. And Rococo, the art period, has always been one of my favorites. It's a period I felt really drawn to. And as soon as I started reading about it more, I realized that in art, every time period that comes after the one prior tries to push the limits a bit more. So Rococo was supposed to rebel against the time period that came before it, but it also translates loosely in French to 'shell' or 'rock.' Those two things are so mundane and I liked that too. It just feels like my stance on the art world which is: let's not take it too seriously.

I mean speaking of symbolism, I like that you mentioned shells and rocks — those are a possibility of what a grain of sand can become. And we're talking about the notion of transformation here, so I think there's a lot of symbolism there.

I've got goosebumps. It's easy to forget how much work went into this with my daily proceedings, so the word and the name give me so much comfort at this point.

I think that's beautiful. I wanted to talk about your dinners as well — and I was lucky enough to be there at your last one. You started Rococinco in 2022 and five contemporary artists are honored through a five-course dinner. Each dish represents the distinct style or perspective of each artist's craft. But the general format or template for it is just a bunch of friends sitting down over dinner. Why do you feel it's important to bring like-minded people together in that way over a meal? Why do you think food is the ideal vessel to celebrate these artists and their visions?

When you sit down, no matter if it's strangers or people you might know vaguely or well, there's something about having the food there that opens people up. It's a way into learning about other people. There's something that you're all sharing. You're having the same experience at the same time, and therefore it makes conversing and hopefully getting to know one another that much easier. There are so many moments of the art world that people can be in the same room and no one wants to interact with one another because of the environment or the space. It kind of rewrites what an art world event could feel like. It's an amalgamation of many different things, but I had been to many gallery dinners celebrating one artist after their show opens and I walked away often meeting really interesting people. So just having this foundation of how to speak with those around you, I find it very welcoming and open.

And I think it's a really cool visual way to show people who maybe aren't familiar with some of the work of the artists that you're honoring. I do want to dive into the five artists that were featured at the last dinner. I would love to hear why you chose each one and then what their work generally is centered upon.

So with each dinner, the idea — though there are consistencies — is that it will be shaken up each time to keep things interesting, exciting, and different. And one of those things that changes each time is how I frame choosing five artists. So the first dinner was in New York, where I've been for almost 10 years. The second dinner was in LA and featured five LA-based artists. For this most recent one, I chose five artists whose works were on view in some capacity in New York, so that everyone could go out into the world after the dinner and see that work and experience it in, hopefully, a new light. The work of each of these artists could not look more different, and yet, there are so many parallels between them and I just think that speaks for art in general.

Kenny Rivero is a Dominican-American artist, speaking through his identity with his work. He has a visual language that's very distinct to him. And that was really important for him to map out in order to understand his identity. We had Madeline Pekcenpaugh — I think her work subconsciously is the perfect amalgamation of her two parents who she grew up with, who are both artists as well. She creates her works based on the feeling that she gets while she's making them. And the end result doesn't so much matter, so I love that. Bony Ramirez is also Dominican. He immigrated from the Dominican Republic when he was 13. A lot of his work places brown people and people of color in almost the historically celebrated portraiture-type styles that you would see colonizers posed in. He distorts the figures in a way too. So it's not this prim and proper thing, but kind of this caricature meant to be a celebration of the people who made his home. He uses a lot of iconographies that are very distinct to life down there as well. We also had Devin Morris, who is a resident at the Studio Museum in Harlem this year, which is a really great honor within the art world. Three artists are chosen every year and their year culminates in a show at the MoMA PS1, so he'll have a show there in the fall, which is amazing. Devin uses found materials so he's very big on repurposing everything. He's speaking a lot about his identity, sexuality, and growing up in Baltimore, the expectations that were placed upon him in those areas, and rewriting his experience growing up in a space that had a limited understanding of what identity, sexuality, and boyhood can look like.

And then HyeGyeong Choi is from Korea and she turns modesty and femininity — these kinds of narrow constructs of womanhood — on their head. She paints figures that exude femininity, but aren't necessarily tied to a complete feminine lens. She poses them in these scenarios where they look like they're enjoying life to the fullest, lounging by water, or eating food. Usually, they're nude and they're just kind of basking and free. She's really working in direct opposition to whatever ideas of womanhood were imposed upon her and her work is very lush. Even if people know the artist's work when they sit down at the table, I hope that they get to experience it, after the fact, with a new understanding or a new experience. I think that's kind of the cool thing about it is that you can come to the table from any understanding of the art and the artists, and, I think, still really walk away with something.

You referenced going to different gallery opening dinners and bonding over a shared love of art, but then there are maybe a bunch of other things that you sit down and you learn you have in common. That feeling was something that inspired you to do this, but what is the feeling that you want people to leave with after they leave your Rococinco dinners?

The gallery dinners were the partial inspiration, but they were also jumping off points for doing something different in that I've always felt inspired and good when I leave those dinners, but if you look around the room, it's a very limited crowd. So I thought, 'How do you create something similar that invites in a lot of different kinds of people?' I want people to feel like they can interact with art and, by extension, artists, no matter where they're coming from. Artists are, for better or for worse, kind of removed from the art market in a lot of ways. They'll be at their openings, but if you don't know them are you going to go up and say hi? Probably not. I just want more people to feel like the art world is something that they can feel closely connected to.

How do you hope to continue contributing positively to the art world, advocating for the artists around you, and just leading with that sense of compassion that we talked about, maybe a few more years down the line?

I want to be seen as someone that brings people in. Whether that's working with first-time collectors who never thought that they could own a piece of artwork or an artist that's just starting out. There are so many people who take collecting and this whole world so seriously, and you have to admire that, but I want to bring people who thought they could never come to an art show or to Basel and show that, 'We can do this too.' Just helping to facilitate more and more people being interested in a part of this world.

Art

LIA by Iga Drobisz

Your work often explores intimacy and vulnerability. How do you create a safe and authentic environment for your subjects during a shoot?

The past few months, I’ve been working on two series of photographs: nudes of women in their own apartments and portraits of women before and after giving birth. Both series involve capturing them in deeply personal spaces—bedrooms or nurseries—where they feel at ease.

Shooting in their spaces, in their own beds, plays a crucial role in creating comfort. I choose film and cameras that show them in a way they find beautiful and empowering, emphasizing softness and warmth. It's a stark contrast to modern, hyper-detailed phone cameras that sometimes reveal more than one wants to see.

Your photography has a distinct emotional depth and texture. How do you approach the interplay of light, color, and composition to achieve this?

My process is highly intuitive. I’ve never formally studied photography or apprenticed under anyone—I learned by experimenting and seeing what felt right. It’s about trusting my instincts rather than adhering to rigid rules.

What role do personal experiences or cultural influences play in shaping the stories you tell through your images? Many of your photographs feel deeply narrative.

Growing up, I was surrounded by great cinematography. My grandmother had a TV, but my mom only brought home VHS tapes—films with substance. I think that exposure shaped how I see the world, how I approach subjects, and the narrative depth in my work.

What role does spontaneity play in your shoots? Do you leave room for improvisation, or is everything carefully planned?

To balance spontaneity and structure, I go in with a clear plan and strong direction, but I remain open to surprises. It’s about letting the subject feel like the shoot is about them, not me. That openness often leads to the most unexpected, meaningful moments.

What inspired the shoot with singer Lia? How did it come together?

Collaborating with Ruby and Naomi always takes me out of my comfort zone in the best way. For this shoot, we wanted to transform someone with an iconic face but also someone like Lia—someone with a clear sense of self.

Giving her a completely new look was exciting; it brought an unexpected energy to the set. The approach was playful and experimental. The night before, I had no idea what wigs Ruby would bring or what colors Naomi might choose. It was a beautiful mix of spontaneity and collaboration.

What inspires you the most?

Movies and music are big inspirations for me, as well as the work of other photographers like Carlijn Jacobs, Harley Weir, Rineke Dijkstra, Charlotte Wales, and Nan Goldin.

What emotions or truths are the hardest for you to express through your art, and why?

I don’t think I consciously try to express specific emotions when I work. Instead, I follow what feels right in the moment—what draws me in or excites me that day. It’s less about a deliberate expression and more about letting intuition guide the way.

Art

Luna Luna: Surrealist Spectacle Lands in New York

November 21, 2024

In the 1980s, André Heller, an Austrian artist, singer-songwriter, and former actor, was looking for a new place to showcase his art. He had already taken to gardens, creating a colorful, surrealistic character using 40,000 flowers, and to the skies, organizing a 'fire theatre,' which involved an over-the-top fireworks show complete with steel-frame sculptures set on fire. But he had never tried out a fair.

So began "Luna Luna." Created as the world's first art carnival, "Luna Luna" combined the spectacular with the absurd, showcasing original rides and attractions from rising and already-at-the-top artists in Hamburg. Nearly forty years since its debut, followed by foiled plans for a worldwide tour, breached contracts, and 44 storage containers, the art fair has finally returned, calling New York home after re-debuting last year in Los Angeles.

By Hailey Johnson
Photography by Delvin Claro and Sabrina Sarnitz, courtesy of Luna Luna LLC

On a recent evening in Hudson Yards, a small carousel featured characters in quirky, Twister-like poses and an outstretched dog with seven legs. (Almost a century old, the rides are no longer rideable.) Goofy wooden sculptures were elevated in another corner, some of them cross-eyed or with a horn for a nose. A geodesic dome glowed, with Gregorian chants hovering somewhere above it.

"It's an art experience like no other," Michael Goldberg, Chief Experience Officer of Luna Luna, said recently. "People get to see artists do things they've never done before," he added.

Goldberg, founder of Something Special Studios, a creative agency behind many Nike campaigns, was determined to resurrect “Luna Luna” after reading about it online in 2019. Goldberg shopped for investors, eventually teaming up with DreamCrew, a media company co-owned by the rapper Drake. (Details on the company's investment remain vague; sources have reported that DreamCrew spent over "100 million dollars.") In 2022, an intensive restoration process began, with a team of artists reviving many of the original works, which had remained in boxes in a Texas warehouse for over thirty years. Several had been in pieces. (The team reportedly had to rebuild each work "bolt by bolt.")

That night, at the Shed, fourteen out of the original thirty-five works were on display, including the small carousel (Keith Haring), the goofy sculptures (Kenny Scharf), the neon dome (Salvador Dali), and a towering Ferris wheel decorated in drawings of stick figures, upside crowns, and references to Jim Crow (Basquiat). Missing works are in a "constant state of restoration," Goldberg said. Meanwhile, new attractions are joining the line-up. For the New York show, the Puerto Rican duo Poncilí Creación was commissioned to create "PonciliLand," a blink-and-you-miss-it section where guests "can create fantastical characters out of custom building blocks." Poncili also developed floating characters, inspired by performers who circulated the original “Luna Luna” fairgrounds in 1987. Known as "Lovers," the two characters, large and dreamlike, teetered to one side, mumbling the kind of nervous groans one does before a fall. (They never ended up falling.)

I asked Goldberg if, given that today's culture doesn't quite look or feel the same way as it did in 1987, there was any hesitation in showing some of the original works. On a back wall, a tribute featured Manfred Diex's "Palace of the Wind," a show featuring performers who fart into a microphone; on another, two ornate pedestals held sculptures of spiral poop.

"I don't see any reason why we wouldn't show any of these works," he said. "A lot of the time, art is exclusive and uninviting. The big difference between “Luna Luna” and other art experiences is that it has many sides to it, and things that have a bit of humor and playful energy. "As for "Palace of the Winds,” the decision to keep it was simple: farting is universal. He went on: "The “Crap Chancellery" is, conceptually, one of the most important works in “Luna Luna.” Daniel Spoerri's dad was killed in the Holocaust, and the work was inspired by Albert Speer, who was Hitler's architect. He took the facade of what was meant to be a Nazi shrine and turned it into the facade of a bathroom with two steaming statues of shit standing on the outside. These works are extremely important and are things that we would definitely want to honor and draw attention to."

As “Luna Luna” further develops, the show will likely change. "It will continue to evolve as we go to different cities in response to the spaces that we pop up into and in collaboration with the local city," Goldberg said." With it, there will be new characters and new stories to tell. One aspect that won't change, though, as Goldberg assured, is a long-held sentiment about a potential partnership. At one point, early on during the original “Luna Luna” era, McDonald's wanted to buy into it. Heller said no, adding that he "didn't want it to feel like Disneyland." Goldberg agreed. Nonetheless, as I watched Kenny Scharf's dizzying swing ride go around for what felt like the hundredth time, with the cartoon characters decorated on it blurring together (one with a villain's grin, another morphed into a martini glass), I couldn't help but feel like maybe I was at Disneyland, only not as robbed, but just as entertained and exhausted by its rides and fantastical characters, and wanting to go again.

Luna Luna, Hamburg, Germany, 1987.

Art

Pamela Sneed’s Speaking Tongue opens at Dashwood Projects

November 15, 2024

Pamela Sneed’s latest exhibition, Speaking Tongue, will be on view at Dashwood Projects from November 20 to December 21. The show features twenty watercolor and ink paintings inspired by her recent trip to Kenya, where she was deeply moved by the elegance of giraffes, the landscapes, and the energy of Nairobi.

Blending her background as a poet and visual artist, Sneed’s work reflects on themes of identity, nature, and connection. Her paintings capture the beauty and spirit of the animals she encountered, alongside reflections on her own experiences as part of the African diaspora.

This exhibition marks Sneed’s first solo show with Dashwood Projects and will be accompanied by a new book, also titled Speaking Tongue, to be released in December.