Alto Bardo Madrid: Interview with the curator. Irene Sánchez Gómez.
After Alto Bardo Madrid exhibition, Irene Sánchez Gómez reflects on her role as a curator in an interview with Myriam Martínez Gómez.
Who are you?
I’m Irene Sánchez Gómez. I come from Guijuelo (Salamanca, Spain). I studied Fine Arts at the University of Salamanca, and later completed a master’s degree in Advanced Studies in Artistic Practices and Production. On my own, I also took courses in curatorial studies and in LGBTQ+ education in school settings. In Berlin, I found my true calling: everything related to Art Curation.
What factors do you consider when curating an exhibition? Which artistic fields are you most drawn to?
Beyond looking for a coherent and aesthetic thread, which is the foundation of any exhibition, I care deeply about the artists’ background and context. My approach is to get to know them, see their work, evaluate whether something new can emerge, and understand where they are in their practice. I use social media to “discover” them, but what works best is word of mouth, being present at events. I’ve also realized the potential of open calls. I used to apply as an artist, and now I’m on the other side. It has pros and cons, but it’s a great way to meet people.
And of course, there’s the space, in the most literal sense. Performance, for example, is one of the hardest artpieces to place. It often ends up as a video or a live action, but I’m interested in the challenge of translating it into photography, into an artist’s book, etc. I specialized in performance and worked on it as an artist too, focusing on installation sculpture related to the body. That background helps me decide what to include in an exhibition and how, always seeking a more conceptual and contemporary outcome. I think in terms of projects, of processes that can take years.
How did you make the leap from artist to curator?
As an artist, I suffered from impostor syndrome. It was very hard for me to create, even with university deadlines that were supposed to help. Most of my ideas didn’t convince me; when something worked, it was because it was genuine and intuitive (and that only happened about once a year).
I’m especially proud of “The exhibition Irene set up in an industrial estate one damned sunday”, my undergraduate thesis and the result of months of lockdown during COVID. In June, before my uncles used a ham-curing warehouse in Salamanca, I transformed it into an exhibition space for one day, with the help of my parents. The place created an (accidental) immersive experience thanks to its metal doors, projections, and shadows. I also included a collective piece: I asked visitors to bring food, and photographed the table before and after. It was my first community-based installation, and I loved it.
I’m also really proud to have been part of the collective “Las Ocho”, which confirmed to me that I don’t believe in the isolated “genius artist”, even though the university barely understood our approach. For me, art is social and collaborative. Working together was intense: we were six people, very different from each other, and there were constant clashes, but we produced artworks that I still find incredible. I learned that community is not only a refuge; it also requires work and facing conflicts. For our final presentation, we destroyed the exhibition space, dancing while the jury observed us. It was an act against the rules, and yet we got a very high grade.
The collective dissolved with a symbolic performance at the Cemetery of Art in Morille, a space where artists bury real works. We left part of “La Cámara“ there. Every time I return to Morille, I take a photo with the headstone.
If my artistic side was somewhat tumultuous, with curating I realized everything flowed much more naturally. Visualizing the space and exhibition just happens for me, and often what I first imagine is almost the final result. “Linking Lives” exhibition was just like that. I still have impostor syndrome, but it no longer paralyzes me.
“Linking Lives” was your first solo curatorial exhibition here in Berlin, at Bardo Projektraum. How was it? What differences do you notice compared to “Alto Bardo Madrid”, your most recent exhibition?
With “Linking Lives”, I already knew where each piece would be located before I had even seen them all. I knew where Victoria Llorente and Raquel González Obregón’s work [“(Other) Voices”] would hang, and that Martina Carbone’s piece [“R:OSARIUM:)”] would go upstairs. Later, of course, you adjust details, but intuition really guides my process.
From July 30 to August 23, 2025, we presented an exhibition in collaboration with Galería Nueva Madrid. Our goal was to create connections by bringing the methodology and the work of seven Latin American artists who had previously participated in shows at Bardo Projektraum. The project came together in a very short time, but we maintained the same spirit as in Berlin: the focus was not on a stereotypical gallery model, but on a living space where things happen.
As curator, it has been an incredible experience. It was our first show in Madrid; and in August, which, as anyone who knows the city can imagine, was a real challenge. The heat played a major role in the logistics (especially with electronic works or even double-sided tape), but despite these hurdles, the program was a success. International transport of artworks was also demanding, and I learned a great deal about cultural management along the way.
Since the artists could not be present, we launched an open call for Latinx FLINTA migrant artists living in the city at the time. In the end, we organized two workshops and two performances, along with the opening and closing events: six activities in total during the exhibition. We were able to build many bridges.
I believe the positive response to the exhibition was largely due to the novelty of the artistic proposal. In Berlin and at Bardo Projektraum, this kind of conceptual contemporary art is more normalized. In Madrid, however, the context gave the artshow a sense of curiosity and freshness. This project has made me realize that Bardo Projektraum is open to everyone. For me, it has been a launchpad into Madrid, but also a true starting point for what is yet to come.
Your curatorial practice spans different artistic media.
Yes. It’s ben a learning process, but also a matter of preferences. For example, I’m not really passionate about painting (when I work with it, it’s because it truly says something to me), but I love performance. I love working with it, but I also want to protect it. I only engage with it when I have the time and energy. It’s also what feels most complicated, because it touches me so deeply. I happily work with installation sculpture or video too, but performance remains my most delicate and cherished medium.
I’ve also discovered the world of residencies. Last year I took part in “All About Curating”. I wasn’t a mentor, I managed support and logistics. I really enjoyed it because it wasn’t an authoritarian role, but I was still part of the decision-making team. It was an in-between position, and it was fascinating to see how projects developed from the inside: artists would tell me their ideas, I gave feedback, accompanied them and, on the final day, I helped set up whatever they needed.
This year, “Resonance” has been a huge learning experience on how residencies are formed: selecting participants, seeing all the amazing projects people propose… and having to decide who gets in and who doesn’t, which is very difficult. I think it’s important to acknowledge that it’s both a great power and a great responsibility.
Do you think you enjoy accompanying artists through that process because of your own artistic background?
It could be. People often say I’m very “motherly”, I want everything to be as good as possible. I like accompanying them because I also enjoy the process: building trust, learning how projects evolve, what people need. In fact, my goal is to produce my own residencies in Spain. I’d like to create spaces where artists live and work together. I think that’s a beautiful way to create. Even if I’m not making art myself, my curatorial work usually carries a political component. The very act of working for the community already is political.
How would you describe the role of a curator?
Just as many outside the art world don’t understand what a curator does, within the art world too there’s misunderstanding. The artist has their work, maybe even in the space, but someone has to coordinate, measure, organize, and give it meaning. That’s the curator’s role. For example, in a project in Barcelona, Juan Perdiguero Trillo contacted me saying: “I produce, but I don’t have anyone to handle communication or curating. You don’t produce, but you do that part, shall we team up for “Cuando pienso dejo de sentir”?” And so we did, because he understood the need for my role.
I’ve also seen you set up many artpieces, play with space and light…
I love it. I’ve even thought about specializing more in installation than in management, though I don’t think one excludes the other. Sometimes curators are seen as “spotless” figures who don’t get their hands dirty. Not me: I pick up the roller, climb the ladder… I enjoy hands-on work. I don’t like to say I’m a perfectionist, because some people are much more so, but I am very demanding with certain details. If I see something that breaks the harmony, I change it. It comes very naturally. For me, an exhibition is successful when it meets those standards, and when it brings in lots of visitors, creating networks and connections among people.
Do you also measure success on social media?
In a slightly shallow way, yes. I feel accomplished when an exhibition gets traction on Instagram. But more and more I understand that’s not real success. For me, it’s also crucial that the artists are happy with how their work was shown. It’s like with a tattoo: if the tattoo artist isn’t satisfied, it shows. At Bardo Projektraum, they always tell me I’m very attentive about this. I care that the artist is proud, that the exhibition adds to their portfolio or CV, that they feel satisfied.
What are you looking for in the future?
Like I said, my goal is to create a network of artist residencies across villages in Castilla y León, the so-called “empty Spain”. I want to build networks between villages and show that living and creating there is not boring; that not everyone has to move to the big cities. I’d like to provide spaces, workshops and activities that encourage people to stay and build community.
When you finish university, it often seems like your only option is to go to Madrid. I want people to explore what exists locally, especially in Salamanca, which is what I know. That’s why I want to bring residencies to rural Castilla and, from there, develop projects and activities that keep the cultural scene alive.
Now that I have some distance from university, I realize how much misinformation there was. This year marks 10 years since I started my degree (in 2016) and about 4–5 since I finished. In that time, I’ve realized we were trained to produce as artists, but not to sell ourselves or navigate the real world. Everything was about applying to calls for years on end. I’d like to bring a broader concept of residencies to Salamanca: how to enter the art world, how to build networks of people and events, without everything depending on the buying and selling of works.
I’d also love to give talks at the university, to share my experience honestly and show there are more professional paths. In fact, I hadn’t even heard of the curator’s role until I came to Berlin. It’s almost invisible, and I find it shocking that it isn’t even mentioned.
Your idea is not just bring contemporary art to “forgotten places”, but also to revalue folk art.
Yes, always with respect, because it’s a fine line. Sometimes I think: “What if I don’t do it well, or I come across as disrespectful?” But I believe that opening these spaces is already a step. Even if it sparks controversy, just talking about “village art” is positive.
In Castilla, many people ask me what an artist residency even is, because it’s not common there. I understand, I didn’t know either until recently. And I think it’s a project that greatly enriches a town. For example, thanks to “Resonance”, suddenly there were six young women living in Coswig, working on their projects, shopping at local stores and, eventually, organizing an exhibition or recital that attracted neighbors and visitors. Even if the pieces were super contemporary and even I didn’t fully understand them myself, people came, gathered, had fun. And that created a new social space. That creates community, which for me is essential.
Are you interested in that clash between worlds?
I don’t want to bring “just” contemporary art; I also want to recover folklore. I think is noteworthy nowadays how artists feel a strong need to return to one’s roots. My friends and I all have projects linked to our traditions. In Salamanca, for example, I’ve even seen a kind of competition about who is “more charro”, more “local”, which also happens in other regions. I think it signals a need for belonging. Berlin and Barcelona are some of the most cosmopolitan places I know. Returning to Castilla would mean leaving part of that modern environment to step into another kind of knowledge, neither better nor worse. It’s a big shift.
The key is avoiding the “messiah” role, thinking your arriving with knowledge to “enlighten” others. That’s outdated. It’s more about connecting tradition and novelty, keeping roots alive without losing touch with the contemporary world.
What does Bardo Projektraum mean to you?
Bardo Projektraum broke all the models I knew of exhibition spaces. It gives voice to everyone, especially Spanish-speaking people, though that’s not a requirement. We don’t close doors to projects from other origins if they’re interesting. What matters is that the people have the chance to exhibit and develop their ideas. The community that forms here is very healthy. There’s no competitiveness and we don’t follow a traditional gallery schedule, we organize activities, workshops, talks, etc. This attracts people who network, collaborate and create together. Even in residencies, valuable networks form.
I love it. I remember shedding a tear on my first day there: it coincided with an “ABC Culture” meeting where they spoke about power being horizontal. That struck me deeply, because I came from experiences with rigid hierarchies, where the artist or gallerist was at the top and you were just an executor. At Bardo Projektraum, everything was horizontal and respectful. I spent six months there as an intern. When it ended, Marcela Villanueva asked me if I wanted to keep working, and I said yes.
It’s the union of my three favorite things: art, talking with everyone and creating spaces where people can meet and collaborate.
Myriam Martínez Gómez
