Henrique Faria On Venezuelan Art and Cultural Persistence

As people turn their attention toward Venezuela and its art scene in the wake of the capture of former President Nicolás Maduro and the United States’ takeover of Venezuela’s oil economy, it’s worth remembering that the country’s artists haven’t been working in a vacuum these past many years. Dealer Henrique Faria owns one of the galleries that has served as a dedicated bridge between the country and the broader international art world.

Faria’s eponymous gallery opened in New York in 2001, focusing primarily on Latin American geometric abstraction and work by contemporary mid-career artists. In 2007, the gallery ventured into the still little-known terrain of Latin American conceptual practices, with a particular focus on artists from Venezuela. “In terms of Latin American galleries in New York, we are one of the few that has consistently worked with Venezuelan artists—possibly the only one. We were also the first gallery from Venezuela ever to be accepted into Art Basel Miami,” Faria tells Observer.

He was born in Venezuela and grew up there during the 1970s, in a period of remarkable prosperity. “The country had developed a highly educated elite, very smart and very sophisticated, which is why museums in the 1960s and 1970s were extraordinary—truly glorious—in their collecting across Latin America,” he recalls. “Mexico was important, Argentina was important, perhaps Peru as well, but none reached the level of Venezuela in terms of sophistication. And just as important was the breadth of collecting in Venezuela at the time.” As a child, he visited friends’ homes and encountered works by Picasso, Jean Dubuffet and Francis Bacon—entire collections of some of the most significant figures of modern art in private houses. “We grew up surrounded by art. It was part of everyday life.”

At the same time, there was strong institutional support for Venezuelan artists who wanted to travel to Europe for education, something reinforced under President Carlos Andrés Pérez. One of the key figures behind this effort was Leopoldo López Sr., the father of Leopoldo López, who directed the Fundación Gran Mariscal de Ayacucho. This is how Venezuela developed its own voice within postwar modernism, through the so-called “dissidents” of the 1950s—artists such as Carlos Cruz-Diez, Jesús Rafael Soto, Alejandro Otero, Gego and Mateo Manaure. Their work aligned Venezuela with international modernism, positioning the country at the forefront of kinetic and geometric abstraction by the 1960s. Most importantly, that generation laid the groundwork for Venezuela’s extraordinary cultural moment in the 1960s and 1970s, when abstraction and kinetic art became embedded not only in museums but also in public architecture, urban planning and everyday life.

Through the 1970s, and even into the early 1980s, Venezuelans were able to travel more, engaging with cultural life elsewhere and bringing those experiences back home. “We grew up exposed to art from all over the world—and that exposure shaped an entire generation,” Faria says, noting how many of Latin America’s most defining artists of the time often made their first significant international breakthrough in Venezuela through exhibitions at the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Caracas.

Founded in 1973 by Sofía Ímber, the museum was one of the most ambitious modern art institutions in Latin America. Under her visionary leadership, it built an extraordinary international collection and became a crucial gateway through which many Latin American artists achieved global visibility. It also acquired major works by Picasso, Miró, Calder, Bacon, Léger, Fontana and Wifredo Lam.

“That institutional leadership played a crucial role in positioning artists on the global stage,” Faria says. But by the 1980s, the situation began to change. The economic abundance of the 1970s faded and public investment in culture became more limited. What emerged instead was a strong internal market that sustained itself for quite some time. “Artists traveled less than they had before, but they continued to be supported locally, because there was a deep understanding of what collecting meant and what it meant to live with art.”

That shift meant that only the biggest names continued to gain visibility abroad, while many other important artists—those who remained in Venezuela and relied on local collectors—found themselves increasingly constrained by changing economic conditions. Venezuela’s once-robust collector base, cultivated in the 1970s when museums, galleries and private collections flourished, weakened as the country entered a prolonged crisis, and the internal market that had sustained artists gradually contracted. “Artists who had been successful locally in earlier decades, many now in their 70s or older, did not have the mobility of younger peers who could simply relocate and continue their careers elsewhere; as a result, many of them stayed behind and have been hit particularly hard by the ongoing economic and cultural downturn,” Faria explains.

Since its founding, Henrique Faria has worked to provide visibility to Venezuelan artists while also highlighting early, once-overlooked figures such as Gego and maintaining a close focus on contemporary Venezuelan production. “We have worked with masters like Soto or presented what was the first show dedicated to Gego in the United States. That history has always been central to what we do,” the dealer says. “At the same time, we have always had a clear vision of incorporating contemporary art.”

For Faria, the only way to understand where we are today is by placing the present in dialogue with the past. “The issues that define our present moment are often most clearly articulated by contemporary artists, and it is through that comparison—between historical work and current practice—that those questions fully come into focus.”

Asked to describe Venezuelan art today, he points to a complex, layered landscape. “There are older generations who stayed in the country, and then there are younger artists today who are training and developing their own voices.” Over the past 14 years, he adds, the gallery has sought to present both. “That’s really been part of our mission: to provide a platform for these Venezuelan artists of two different generations.”

In identifying threads across their practices, Faria highlights the enduring legacy of geometric abstraction, which continues to flow from modernism into contemporary work. He also underscores the importance of a conceptual turn and the presence of politically engaged artists, particularly within the diaspora, where there is greater freedom to address urgent issues. “When you’re outside the country, there’s more space to work at that level of direct engagement, because inside Venezuela, there are pressures that make artists approach political themes more quietly,” he admits. “It’s not censorship in the way you see in places like China or Cuba, where the state directly tells galleries what they can or cannot show, but there’s still a sense that you don’t want to call attention to certain things because it could create problems.”

He also sees a new wave of artists working with landscape—whether figurative or abstract. These works may still carry political undertones, but in subtle ways that are not immediately apparent, particularly to audiences within the country.

The larger structural issue, however, is that museums have largely stopped collecting—and with the collapse of local purchasing power, there are far fewer private collectors. This has dramatically reduced opportunities for Venezuelan artists looking to break through internationally, especially if they are based in the country.

In the past, the middle class not only understood art but actively collected it, making the Venezuelan art market nearly self-sufficient. “Today, the middle class is poorer, and many wealthy families have left the country,” Faria says. “Without platforms supporting a cultural ecosystem like before, relationships with museums and foundations have weakened.” Even though the situation had begun to show slight signs of improvement before Maduro’s consolidation of power, most institutions now operate with far more limited resources than in the past and are more likely to rely on established names from their permanent collections rather than mount ambitious new exhibitions.

As a result, promoting artists within institutional contexts has become a central focus of the gallery’s work. “What matters most to us is maintaining strong connections between our artists and major museums,” Faria emphasizes. He points to collaborations with Museo del Barrio, various institutional exhibitions and, more recently, a show by Trinidadian-Venezuelan artist Valerie Brathwaite at MALBA in Buenos Aires. Over the past year, the gallery has also worked with the University of Florida in Gainesville to organize an exhibition featuring José Álvarez Fernández and Valerie Brathwaite, now traveling to the museum at American University in Washington, D.C.

“In many cases, these projects only happen because we provide financial support,” he acknowledges, pointing to the lack of institutional platforms as one of the biggest challenges facing Venezuelan and Latin American artists more broadly. “Local infrastructures are limited, so it becomes essential to build connections elsewhere,” he explains, noting the gallery’s role in facilitating the inclusion of Venezuelan artists in institutions such as the Guggenheim, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and MoMA. “We see our role as connectors—linking artists, whether based in Venezuela or part of the diaspora, with curators and institutions, so they are part of the broader conversation. Access is not evenly distributed, and that mediation is crucial.”

This, Faria suggests, is not only cultural resistance but also cultural persistence—a principle that has guided his gallery since the early 2000s and continues to animate the Venezuelan artistic community globally. “That has been our guiding principle: continuing to resist erasure by using culture itself as a form of commitment and continuity.”

Support from the Venezuelan diaspora—both from collectors and the broader community—remains present, although it is no longer as active or as wealthy as it once was. “Wherever we go, wherever we show Venezuelan or Latin American artists, Venezuelan collectors consistently come to see us,” Faria says. “They congratulate us on the program, and when they can, they support us—by buying works, by helping in whatever way is possible—because they understand how important it is to keep this flame alive. Otherwise, it risks disappearing.”

This, he stresses, is not just about artists but about a culture and an entire nation that is still alive. “Venezuela was once an extraordinarily sophisticated society, where culture played a central role in everyday life. There were public parks with museums, private collections that were widely accessible, and a broad understanding of art across social classes. That legacy remains,” Faria emphasizes. “Venezuelans still have a deep sensitivity to art and an ease in connecting with the work of others. That exposure shaped generations. Even today, despite all that has changed, a shared cultural memory and a sense of responsibility among the diaspora persist, driving a commitment to sustain that history and keep it visible.”

While Faria acknowledges that the gallery is ultimately a commercial enterprise and must sell work, its mission has never been based solely on commerce. What matters most to him is assembling exhibitions that are intellectually rigorous and thoughtful—shows that engage with important questions and help audiences understand the transformative potential of art.

“We see ourselves as educators and contributors to culture. We are very conscious of the responsibility that comes with that role, particularly when it comes to keeping Venezuelan art visible and present internationally,” he says toward the end. “It’s essential that people understand why this work matters, why what we do matters, and why it is important for Venezuelan artists to continue to be seen, discussed and included in the broader cultural conversation.”