The Evolution of the Sylvia White Gallery

Hi all. I am approaching 4 months since my mother died. I still cannot believe I’m writing these words. I have pictures of her all over my home, and I find myself just staring at them. I talk to them, I tell her I love her so much, and sometimes it feels warm, but mostly I feel sick. I miss my mom. So much.

While I am not spending my days in bed crying anymore (that was month 1 and 2), I am still empty. I feel alone. I feel just completely wrecked. From the inside out.

As a mother myself, there isn’t a lot of time for laying in bed grieving, so I find myself falling apart more in the evenings, after a day of holding it together for my kiddo.

I really want to maintain the integrity of this blog, with art advice and even guest writers (I know my mom was so, so, so well-connected in the art world, I would be remiss if I didn’t ask and invite others to guest write—thank you to a dear art world friend for this idea!)

But for now, I would still like to share stories about my mom.

I grew up going to art openings. Mostly those my mother was hosting. Her first gallery was in Culver City—I still remember the smell of the office. Then she found this great building in Santa Monica, 2022 B Broadway Ave. Her neighbors were George Lange, this badass celeb photographer, who always let me fangirl over whomever he was shooting that day, and a clothing brand called Grassroots. I would beg my mom to ask them for samples of clothes, and she would always come home with the comfiest clothes from this brand (think Gap meets Alo—but circa 1995).

There was a restaurant across the way called “Joe’s.” My mom and I would walk over there for tuna sandwiches and the MOST AMAZING buttermilk donuts. She didn’t allow sweets often, but we would indulge in these, and boy, were they delicious. From there, she moved to 1013 Pico, which was a HUGE gallery, and I remember the openings. Always water crackers and pâté, sparkling water, and white wine from Trader Joe’s. To this day, these are still my favorite things to consume.

Then it was NYC—she opened a gallery in Soho, above Dean and Deluca. I would walk downstairs to this epic market, and get dried cranberries and nuts for a snack and these unbelievable sandwiches. I felt very mature on these trips. My mother would let me answer the phone and it was exhilarating. It would ring and I would say, “Thank you for calling the Sylvia White Gallery!” in my most grown up voice.

She took me on every work trip to NYC. We would stay in a funky little apartment and walk the streets to Broadway shows at night. We had so much fun. It was just us girls (I was probably 14) in the big city. I treasured this time so much. After 9/11, she closed the gallery and focused on…

Ventura. This was big. There were no contemporary art galleries in the sleepy beach town north of LA, called Ventura. She took over a huge building and rocked the town. She won the mayor’s award, launched performance art initiatives that are still in existence—and by the way—SHE OWNED THAT BUILDING. My mom was such a boss. Bought commercial real estate to operate my dad’s studio and her amazing gallery inside. She even ended up building this super cozy apartment upstairs—she was so brilliant. She was ahead of the game with the live-work space, and I just am in awe of all the ways she continued to set the tone for what was “the next big deal for her and her artists.” By the way, the artists that she represented are ones that I have known since I was 5. Renowned art critic Peter Frank lived in my home while his was being renovated—like, the big-time art people in the art world were part of my life and family BECAUSE OF MY MOM AND DAD. They were/are visionaries.

Next was Agoura. My mom wanted to retire. She worked so damn hard. She took a few years off and lived in Texas with me, to help me raise my son. But Austin isn’t LA. So realART was her newest project. She was able to turn a storefront in a shopping center into a really magical gallery space—she had the Midas touch ALWAYS. She had these really fun cupcake and champagne juried shows and was able to give artists a beautiful space to showcase work. She was meticulous with the installs, and she really loved her artists with her entire being.

Her last hurrah was SMA—San Miguel Allende. I remember when she was in talks to get this incredible home—her first idea was, “omg, I’m turning the bottom floor into an art gallery.” I said, “Mom, aren’t you retired? Enjoy yourself—relax.” But she was built differently. This was in her bones.

One night she called me, a little depressed and said “I don’t know if this move was the right thing.” She told me she was a bit lonely- but that she hd been invited to a dinner party that night. I said “GO, HANG UP WITH ME NOW AND GO!” I didn’t hear from her for 2 days. When she finally called me, it was because she was so busy with all the people she had met at this dinner party- fun, art people—and that was it.

Sylvia White Gallery SMA was born.

Our last conversation was Sunday night November 17. She was telling me all about her amazing gallery opening. She had already sold tons of work, and she was so proud. I said to her, “Okay, Mom, now don’t forget to call me every day…” She laughed and said, “Why?” I said, “Because now that your big show is over, I wanna go back to talking every day so I can know everything!” We have always been multiple times-a-day talkers, but the international calling made it a little tougher.

I used to call my mom every year on New Year’s Eve at midnight and scream “Happy New Year” into the phone—this was obviously in my twenties, since I don’t stay up that late anymore—but she really did ALWAYS ANSWER. She was my gal. I could talk to my mom for hours!

I realize this started out as writing about her shows and then evolved into a timeline of her galleries, but I started with tears in my eyes, and now I am wrapping this up with a warm heart—just remembering how amazing my mother was and how lucky I was to be loved by her, raised by her, and will happily continue the pate and sparkling water.