With nearly 35 years in the profession, the gallery owner discusses the history of Espacio Mínimo, Elena Blasco’s exhibition *MIX. La donna è mobile* as the opening event of Apertura Madrid Gallery Weekend, and tells us about the new venue he is preparing in Vallecas.

Espacio Mínimo was founded in Murcia in 1992 in a 14-square-meter space. Eight years later, it moved to Madrid, at a time when Doctor Fourquet Street was not yet the gallery district it is today. Luis Valverde founded the project alongside José Martínez Calvo—known as Pepe—his partner and colleague, who passed away in 2023. Now, under the leadership of co-director Oscar López Fernández —and one day before the opening of Elena Blasco’s “Mix,” which kicks off Apertura Madrid Gallery Weekend, and with the gallery’s 35th anniversary just around the corner—Valverde is preparing another move. He has purchased a space in Vallecas and has put the Lavapiés location up for sale.

Its program has never relied on a single, recognizable aesthetic. Espacio Mínimo’s continuity is evident in its long-standing relationships (sometimes as close as that of a manager) with artists and in its constant focus on works that challenge dominant narratives—and on the art discourses that emerge from the margins. Several generations of artists from very diverse backgrounds have passed through its galleries, including Liliana Porter, Ana Vidigal, Manu Arregui, Diana Larrea, Donna Conlon, and the star of the current exhibition, Elena Blasco. But also artists as unconventional as Tom of Finland and Erwin Olaf.

Before moving to its new location, the gallery kicks off the season with *MIX. La donna è mobile*, Elena Blasco’s second solo exhibition at Espacio Mínimo, which coincides with Apertura Madrid Gallery Weekend. The exhibition brings together installations and drawings created between 1986 and 2026. In this interview, Valverde discusses the gallery business, collecting, art fairs, and a life she has had to reorganize following Pepe’s death—as well as how she now feels she is “living in the future.”

Espacio Mínimo was founded in the midst of the 1992 crisis. What were you hoping to achieve back then?

We wanted to have a voice of our own. Pepe (Martínez Calvo) had worked in cultural management for the government, and he didn’t have the final say. The only way to take control was to create our own project. In that first location, we shared fourteen square meters: two small offices, a restroom, and the exhibition hall. Pepe used to say, “A gallery isn’t a space—a gallery is a project.” We also said “Get that out of here” a lot, he recalls with a smile. That was the idea. To chronicle our time through the things that unsettled, motivated, and concerned us. Almost 35 years later, our goals have taken shape as we’ve worked. What remains is our commitment—which returns with every exhibition—and also a certain sense of mission accomplished.

What did it mean to open a gallery outside of Madrid in the 1990s?

We opened in Murcia, but we wanted to work as if we were in Berlin or New York. The attitude had to be the same. From the very beginning, we had an international focus and wanted to see if what we were doing could be understood anywhere. Murcia ended up imposing a certain limit on us. Back then—fortunately, that’s no longer the case—Murcia lacked the necessary art scene, and some foreign artists were hesitant to work with us because we weren’t in Madrid. But we were also practically a virtual gallery. We were constantly traveling. When we arrived at Doctor Fourquet, we had to reintroduce ourselves, even though ARCO had already been our first gallery in Madrid.

Why did you choose Doctor Fourquet when it wasn’t yet the hub of the art gallery scene that we know today?

We were looking for a location near the Reina Sofía and a place where the project could grow. There were already good galleries in the area, such as Salvador Díaz’s and Helga de Alvear’s. Plus, prices back then were lower than they are today. The space had been a bar and then a furniture store, and it had been vacant for some time. The street wasn’t as bustling back then as it is now. Moving here meant starting over. We repeated our program, reintroduced the artists, and used the small room downstairs as a guest space for projects that didn’t get as much visibility. It wasn’t just a move. We had to build a new context.

You talk about art as something that exists on the margins. Has that been a hallmark of the program?

Yes. Art lies, above all, in what slips away and in what remains on the margins. I’m not interested in slapping on a label and calling it a day. For a long time, the history of Spanish art was told through fractures and abrupt shifts between generations. Now, more nuanced connections are beginning to emerge. Each work must stand on its own merits and engage in an equal dialogue with the others. We have tried to work from that perspective, focusing on works that may not have received enough attention.

That breadth is also evident in your relationship with Latin American artists. How did you build that network?

Naturally, through travel, art fairs, and gatherings. Liliana Porter exhibited at the first Espacio Mínimo. She was very generous: we were just kids in Murcia and didn’t have the money to pay for a ticket or transportation. She understood the gallery’s scale and adapted accordingly. Relationships are formed that way, with time and trust. Sometimes the artist makes the proposal; other times, you do. The key is that you’re interested in the work and that the artist is interested in what you do. We’d been traveling to Miami since the late ’90s, and in the United States, we were immediately welcomed into the Latino community. That community has been a part of our history for a long time.

Much of what ends up in museums was first shown in a gallery. We don’t charge an admission fee, and we take on the risk of putting on an exhibition without knowing when a sale will come through.

Luis Valverde, director de Espacio Mínimo

What does Apertura Madrid Gallery Weekend mean for a gallery with your track record?

The opening of Madrid Gallery Weekend is a joint celebration of the work of galleries as free and accessible cultural spaces. We often find ourselves at art fairs, away from our galleries, and these days bring the focus back to the exhibitions. An art fair isn’t the best place to view a work of art in depth; that’s what museums and galleries are for. Our work isn’t just about selling. We represent artists and support them over the years. Sales pay the bills and allow us to continue, but we also carry out a cultural mission that isn’t always well understood.

Elena Blasco and the Art of Mixing

Elena Blasco is an artist from Madrid who has been working since the 1970s at the intersection of painting, drawing, photography, sculpture, and installation. Her work combines color, humor, and everyday materials to disrupt the apparent normality of objects and domestic interiors. Beneath this playful surface, relevant questions—such as identity, prejudice, assigned roles, and the various forms of social violence that women in particular may suffer—emerge, seemingly lighthearted at first glance.

You’re kicking off the season and the Apertura Madrid Gallery Weekend with Elena Blasco. Why was it important to start with her?

Elena is central to the gallery’s history. Even before we opened, we wanted to work with her. We considered her one of the most modern and interesting artists in Spain. We began discussing a collaboration around 2021, and this is her second solo exhibition with us. Although she has been working since the 1970s, her work retains a very contemporary energy. Several years had passed since her first exhibition, and both she and we felt it was time to showcase her work again.

What can a gallery offer an artist whose career began in 1976?

A long career doesn’t mean that a work is set in stone forever. The gallery can bring it back into the present, offer a new context, and encourage institutions and collectors to take a fresh look at it. That’s what has happened with Elena. Her work has been included in the Reina Sofía, the Madrid City Council’s Museum of Contemporary Art, and the IVAM, as well as in private collections. She brings a vast body of work, and we provide the platform, the promotion, and all the tedious administrative work.

How is *MIX. La donna è mobile* structured?

The title refers to Elena’s process: selecting and mixing. That has always been the starting point for her work. There are pieces from the 1980s and 1990s alongside recent works, but the exhibition is not intended to be a retrospective. These are selections that work together and offer a glimpse into how she composes her works and her visual world. Furniture, drawings, textiles, ceramics, glass, and objects are on display… At times, the room resembles a furniture store gone wild. The domestic is present, but never in a docile way.

What does the subtitle, *La donna è mobile*, add?

It speaks to the possibility of changing a choice. This comes in, that goes out; this now works differently. Elena wanted to revisit her own work without being constrained by a historical interpretation. This fluidity is evident in the staging and in her way of working. The pieces come together, contradict one another, and take on new meaning when paired differently. The title also retains a playful touch, something very characteristic of her.

The exhibition features works from 1986 alongside installations completed this year. What happens when you bring them together?

It is clear that time has been kind to her work and that it is characterized by a consistent and coherent aesthetic. We didn’t want to arrange the pieces chronologically. It’s very difficult; *El niño* and *Se comunican solo por un hilito* share the room with *Cortina azul*(1994) and *Todo se me hace poco para ti* ( 1986 ). The dates are different, but the way she chooses materials and makes one piece interact with the one next to it remains consistent. Elena wanted to revisit her own work without confining it to a historical review.

The exhibition occupies the three rooms and also extends into the room downstairs. How is the tour organized?

The first room features recent drawings and installations in a wide variety of formats. The second room displays *Bailarina*(1989), *El niño*(completed in 2026), and *Todo se me hace poco para ti*(1986). The third room brings together *Dos naranjas* and *Lo intentan* along with other drawings. In another space, visitors can see works on Korean paper from 2025, a polyurethane piece from 2004, and the engraving *S-PAIN-T*. The exhibition does not follow a chronological order and allows the materials and forms to establish the connections.

Furniture and home interiors appear time and time again. What role do they play?

Elena takes that familiar, even petty-bourgeois world and makes it uncomfortable. A curtain, a display case, or a chair no longer fulfills the purpose we expect of them. The house becomes a place where identity, conventions, and uniformity are questioned. Everything seems familiar, but no room quite behaves as it should.

There’s color, humorous titles, and a lighthearted vibe. Could that surface hide the work’s most critical aspect?

That’s exactly what makes it so interesting. Elena blends an almost childlike irony with very serious issues. She brings together high and low culture, fine materials and everyday objects, drawing and three-dimensional forms. Humor draws you in, but then prejudices, assigned roles, and a certain domestic or social violence come to the surface. Her work doesn’t deliver a definitive lesson. It disrupts the familiar and lets the viewer make the connections.

Why does contemporary drawing have such a strong presence at MIX?

Because it shows that the mix doesn’t depend solely on large-scale installations. The 2026 drawings combine oil sticks and collage. Those from 2025 are done on Korean paper. They still exhibit the same freedom to combine images, textures, and gestures. When placed alongside three-dimensional works, the two-dimensional plane ceases to be a separate category and is understood as another part of the same artistic vocabulary.

Necesito un lugar nuevo para un tiempo nuevo. Lo anterior seguirá conmigo, pero he elegido la vida y quiero trabajar desde ahí.

Luis Valverde, director of Espacio Mínimo.

“Looking at a play isn’t the same as scrolling”

You say that the main goal of Apertura Madrid Gallery Weekend is to get people to come in and learn about the galleries’ work.

You have to see a work of art in person. A brochure can spark interest, but the artistic experience is best enjoyed live. I’m concerned about those “reel-mode” visits—where you walk in, spend two seconds in front of each piece, and walk out… That’s the opposite of an aesthetic experience. You have to pay attention, accept a certain amount of discomfort, and step outside your comfort zone. The more effort you put in, the more you enjoy it. These four days of Apertura Madrid Gallery Weekend are important for all of us because galleries are regaining their prominence. During ARCO, the noise is overwhelming, and exhibitions often take a back seat.

Has collecting grown at the same pace as Madrid’s galleries?

There are too many galleries, too many artists, and too many offerings. What’s in short supply is money and collectors. People talk about young buyers, but many young people don’t even own a home. Audiences are changing little by little, and so are their tastes. Madrid is now welcoming more foreign collectors, although we’ve known them for decades because we started traveling to Miami in the late ’90s. But those who are collectors have been collectors for a long time—it’s not because they move to a different city or country.

From the outside, a gallery that’s been around for more than three decades may seem like a stable structure. Is it?

I don’t really like that word. All of us gallery owners are “emerging” every day because this is such a precarious business. To bring a work to the public’s attention or develop an artist’s career, you might work for two or three years before seeing any financial return. We provide the resources, we put on the exhibitions, and we’re the last to know if there will be any profit. That’s why I say it’s more of a way of life than a business. Sales matter, of course, but they come after a lot of work that the public doesn’t always see.

You also talk about the gallery as a producer of memory. What role does the archive play?

We have an archive of what we’ve done: exhibitions, images, texts, trips, and relationships built over more than three decades. The activity itself is what matters, but documenting it adds tremendous cultural value. An exhibition tells the story of what was happening politically and socially at a specific moment. When we celebrated our 30th anniversary, we shared some of that material on social media. I didn’t want others to tell our story without having access to the sources we had produced.

Do you feel that the cultural role of the galleries as a whole is understood?

Not always. Art is still presented as something that belongs only to a select few, when in fact it is a right and a necessity. Much of what ends up in museums was first shown in a gallery. We don’t charge an admission fee, and we take on the risk of producing an exhibition without knowing when a sale will come through. I’m not asking for special treatment, but I do want people to understand that a gallery generates knowledge, preserves memory, and supports artistic careers, in addition to participating in the market.

A New Space for a New Era

After Pepe’s death, the constant challenge of keeping a business afloat that can be so unstable at times (the reduced VAT rate for art hasn’t been approved yet), and some health issues you’ve already overcome—what motivates you to open the gallery every morning?

Most days I don’t ask myself that, because if I did, I might not come. But something new can happen every day, and that’s a privilege. After losing my partner and having a few scares due to stress, I had to find new points of reference. Once, at the Fundación Jiménez Díaz Hospital, after a scare, I heard the opening notes of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1, performed by Pau Casals, and I thought, “Art has saved me again.” That’s why I come here. I’m also proud to have created a framework that allows some artists to sustain their careers. That commitment carries weight, but it also brings joy.

What will change with the move to Vallecas?

I want to work differently and set my own pace. If I want to put on three exhibitions, I’ll put on three. If I want to put on thirty, I’ll put on thirty. I also want to undertake projects that don’t depend solely on the artists I represent. The new space in Vallecas will give me that opportunity. The Doctor Fourquet space is for sale. It has given me everything it could. I need a new place for a new chapter. What came before will remain with me, but I’ve chosen life, and I want to work from that place.