How private shows are changing how we consume art

On a balmy summer evening, I walk down the winding garden path of an east London townhouse for Rêverie de Fleur, the latest iteration of the roving Salon that’s quickly gaining traction on both sides of the Atlantic. Over the light splatter of rain, the rustle of leaves, and the sound of jazz, I hear chit-chat flowing from inside. Founded in 2024 by Lauren Gardner, the invite-only experience promises to deliver a nighttime soirée of art, music and poetry — all packaged as part of a roaming contemporary art gallery with regular pop-ups in Paris, New York and London.

I head up a flight of stairs and towards a crowd of black-and-white-clad art aficionados sipping champagne from Château La Mascaronne in the home of beauty entrepreneur Nupoora Reddy. In the last few days, her Victoria Park residence has been completely redecorated with artworks evoking a rêverie de fleur — this season’s theme, which translates as ‘a daydream of flowers’. Expressionist interpretations of Soviet-era photographs from Katya Granova expand from floor to ceiling in the living room, while a series of pink-tinged pieces from self-identified witch Olivia Strange transform the stairwell into a Sapphic, occult shrine. Above marble counters decked out with hors d’oeuvres and cocktails by Double Dutch, the spectral oil paintings of RCA graduate Zhenlin Zhan offer a contemplation of queerness and fractured identity. It’s an undeniably chic affair.

The idea behind the Salon is simple. Every season, the home of a different matron of the arts — always a woman— opens to an exclusive selection of guests for a night of conversation among a carefully curated collection of artworks. “The fun part about a home is that you must reckon with the pieces in a more intimate way,” Gardner tells me. “I love imagining somebody meeting someone else for the first time, and there’s this painting in the background, and they’re looking at their face, and then they’re looking back at the painting. It all becomes part of the same story — there’s something poetic to it.”

These intimate moments of connection shape the Salon’s answer to the stark white walls of traditional gallery spaces. Indeed, there’s something about contemplating a painting above the bed of a friend or nestled in a hallway alcove that feels innately more personal. “When I go to galleries,” Gardner continues, “I do a scan of the art in case something resonates, but it feels like I’m not allowed to truly reflect.” Instead, the Salon fosters more meaningful engagement. The fact that the artists are usually hovering around their paintings means you can’t help but acknowledge their backgrounds and how it relates to you in turn. Even the placement of the pieces becomes a focal point for conversation. “It facilitates this beautiful living with art,” Gardner adds.

This ‘living with art’ is intensified by the series of artist talks that take place during Salons. Tucked in a nook behind the stairs or squeezed beside a clawfoot tub, guests are encouraged to chat about anything and everything. Conversations can be more formal, niche — I learned that one artist uses 600gsm paper as a canvas — or casual than you’d find in a typical gallery. At one point, I found myself having a lengthy discussion with Portuguese artist Matilde Roque about her gratitude for being able to spend her life as a “serious artist”. At another, I learned of Strange’s love for three-day-long raves. 

If a community gathering in domestic spaces to appreciate art sounds familiar, it should. In the 1920s, Americans in Paris opened their homes to artists as influential as Henri Matisse, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Pablo Picasso. Though Gardner is a little skeptical of the comparison, the film Midnight in Paris offers a quick introduction. Reflecting on the legacy of these original salonnières — think Gertrude Stein and Natalie Barney — the Salon’s founder tells me, “These women fostered a level of friendship and community while putting major modernist figures on the map — that’s inspiring.”

Though they do hark back to this history, Gardner’s Salons aren’t afraid of their modernity. “People sometimes assume that we dress in old-fashioned clothes and have tea,” she says. “But we’re not that at all. It’s quite fashionable. It’s very fiercely a celebration of the now. It’s not about the Belle Époque.” She continues: “Our musicians play at Bowery Electric and the Green Room at The Devonshire. Most of our artists are less than five years into their careers. Even though some of our lore comes from heritage, there’s nothing archaic about us.”

Still, there remains an undeniable link between the interwar years and today. When the first Salons were popping up in Paris and abroad, fascism and political polarisation were spreading alarmingly quickly across Europe. As we approach a decade defined by a similar level of uncertainty, another question is raised — why revive the Salon now? “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it rhymes,” is Gardner’s answer. “When things start to get a little scary, there are these salons — these private spaces — where you can be exactly who you want to be. Where you’re safe.” The salon is something of a haven in this way. “Think of Peggy Guggenheim — she housed Max Ernst, all the surrealists. She paid for them to get across the border. That’s a salonnière.”

As Gardner begins her usual welcome toast — a slightly tongue-in-cheek “Happy Salon!” accompanied by the clink of a champagne glass — it’s clear why art enthusiasts are so keen to revive this tried-and-true format of consuming art. Yes, it may not be the most accessible way to view art (once again, invite-only), but we get it. The Salon allows for a different level of vulnerability in both the exchanges between art and viewer and among fellow art lovers. The free-flowing champagne might help with the latter.