She watched potential go unrealised under rigid frameworks, saw her generation overlooked, and decided to build what was missing: a porous, hybrid platform putting people before products, questions before conclusions. From Ljubljana, Piera Ravnikar is reimagining what a gallery can be—part institution, part community, part act of care.
– An interview with Piera Ravnikar, Founder & Director of RAVNIKAR Projects
You have a background in history and sociology. How did this path lead you to founding your own gallery?
Studying history and sociology gave me a deep sensitivity to structures: political, social, spatial, emotional, and institutional. I became acutely aware of how stories are told, whose voices are amplified, and who is systematically excluded. Founding RAVNIKAR Projects was a response to that awareness, a way to create a space where such questions could be examined with artistic honesty. A place where community, knowledge-sharing, care, and opportunities for growth are not decorative ideals but foundational values.
How has this background shaped your curatorial or institutional thinking?
It has shaped everything. Sociology teaches us to critically examine systems: how power moves, how norms form, and how exclusions are built. This perspective informs every part of my work: how we build relationships with artists, how we care for audiences, how we create space for reflection. I see institutions as evolving ecosystems, shaped by people, their ethics, and their willingness to learn. I intentionally avoid commercial language because I do not see this work as transactional. It is about building something meaningful and lasting together, grounded in generational solidarity and the creation of common goods.
Was there a particular moment or encounter that made you decide to build your own space?
There was not one single moment, but a recurring sense of frustration: watching so much potential go unrealised due to rigid institutional frameworks, lack of openness, or generational gatekeeping. My generation, which I often describe as transitional, has been consistently overlooked. Institutions were not responsive to emerging contexts. I realised that if we wanted space for ideas, dialogue, and care, we would have to create it ourselves. This gallery was born from that need, as a hybrid and porous platform that puts people before products and questions before conclusions.
What kind of artistic gestures or practices have stayed with you since your early experiences?
Those rooted in vulnerability. I am drawn to artists who approach their practice with integrity, who allow space for doubt, experimentation, and collaboration. Artistic gestures that engage with memory, space, and community resonate deeply. They remind me that art is not simply something to be exhibited or consumed, but something to be lived with and learned from.
RAVNIKAR operates as both a gallery and a cultural platform. Was that hybrid nature intentional from the beginning?
Yes, although it is important to clarify that we are a non-profit organisation first, and that brings responsibility. Our work is rooted in giving, supporting, and sharing, even when our financial resources are limited. The hybrid nature was never about market strategy; it was about creating an ecosystem that responds to artistic needs – for artists, curators, writers, and others. A place where care and experimentation are central, and where artistic, educational, and publishing activities sustain one another.
What draws you to the artists you represent or collaborate with? Are there recurring themes or values in your selections?
Honesty, hard work. These are not just working relationships but partnerships. There are no shortcuts or quick fixes. I am drawn to artists who are engaged both intellectually and emotionally, who are generous in their thinking and willing to grow together. The values matter more than the themes. It is about care, reciprocity, and mutual trust. This is not just my job; it is my life.
I also believe art should challenge the times we live in. In today’s world, where women and children are losing their lives in wars and genocide is being screened in front of our eyes, art as a form of soft power feels ever more urgent: a way to act, to support truth, and to stand on the right side of history.
How do you balance visibility and care, especially when working with younger or emerging artists?
Visibility matters, but never at the expense of an artist’s wellbeing or the depth of their process. We meet artists where they are, not where the market expects them to be. It is about resisting urgency, creating trust, and being transparent about what we can offer. Care is the long game; it requires presence, consistency, and humility. The art market is competitive and difficult, especially when coming from a small place like Slovenia. Yet, looking at what we have achieved in the past year, I feel proud of the path we are building.
How would you describe the current art scene in Ljubljana?
It is full of potential, but I wish for more structural collaboration between independent, public, and private sectors. We need more horizontal models where large and small actors work together, and where cultural policy is shaped with greater political responsibility at both state and city levels. The scene is rich in talent and intelligence, but to truly thrive it needs solidarity, not silos. This was one of the main inspirations for founding the Ljubljana Art Weekend: to open ourselves to the international world, to be seen, to connect.
What role does the RAVNIKAR Gallery play in shaping this ecosystem?
We try to contribute by being connectors. We build bridges between artists, institutions, regions, and generations. We are still small, but we believe in the power of modest infrastructures to effect long-term change. Through public programmes, publishing, and regional collaborations, we aim to expand what a gallery can be in a city like Ljubljana. We hope to continue growing humbly, responsibly, and in dialogue with the community around us.
Do you see the beginnings of a generational shift in the local collector base in Slovenia?
Yes, and that is why we intentionally include young collectors in our programmes. We invite them to international fairs, studio visits, and talks: places where they can learn, connect, and feel part of something larger. Ljubljana does not yet reflect the full spectrum of what contemporary art can be, but through exposure and dialogue we are working to change that. Collecting can be about curiosity, not just capital.
What kind of support system exists (or does not) for young collectors or patrons in Ljubljana?
There is very little formal support. That is why we started our own membership programme and invitation-only initiatives: to build informal education structures from the ground up. But let us be honest, Slovenia needs a collectors’ club, an initiative that drives engagement from the other side. Galleries cannot do this alone. If we want a collecting culture to grow, there must be shared investment and infrastructure.
Do you believe there is something like a “Central-Eastern European” artistic identity, or is that just a Western construction?
It is both. There are shared regional experiences: political histories, transitions, cultural tensions, that inform artistic language. But there is also a danger in allowing others to define it for us. That is why independent voices are so important: they create space for nuance, complexity, and regional agency. We need more confidence, more courage to speak on our own terms. The shift is happening, slowly, but it is happening.
Your gallery often works across borders in the region. What strategies do you rely on when building regional collaborations?
Honestly, friendships. So much of it comes down to trust, connection, and shared values. Some of the most inspiring initiatives we have been part of began with meeting a stranger, a shared document, a gut feeling. We are fortunate to have found like-minded partners, people building the unknown. That is the most beautiful part of the work, because friendships allow us to build structures that last longer than projects or funding cycles.
How do you see your gallery’s role in creating a more visible Central-Eastern European network of contemporary art?
By continuing to build infrastructure. Through exhibitions, regional exchanges, publishing, and dialogue, we want to help shape a more connected, visible, and supportive regional art community. Not by speaking for it, but by making room for its many voices to be heard.
How has the Ljubljana Art Weekend changed the city’s international presence or energy? What feedback did you receive from its last editions?
It created momentum. It reminded us, and our guests, that Ljubljana has the potential to be a site of serious and generous cultural exchange. The feedback was incredibly encouraging: people appreciated the openness, the quality of dialogue, and the carefully curated rhythm. Next year, we enter the fifth edition. We know it will take time, but we are committed to its journey.
What distinguishes Ljubljana’s scene and its rhythm from, say, Budapest or Zagreb?
The rhythm is slower, which can be a strength. But there is also a challenge: international isolation. It is a shared responsibility, across sectors, to overcome that. What makes Ljubljana unique is its intimacy and agility. But for it to flourish, we all need to invest in openness and connection.
Do you see Ljubljana Art Weekend becoming a long-term regional platform?
Yes, absolutely. But we do not want to mimic what already exists. We want it to grow in its own way, grounded in care, experimentation, and regional relevance. The 2024–2026 editions are being curated by the ETC. collective, whose vision and integrity we deeply trust.
How did the ETC. magazine come to life? Was it a curatorial need, or more of an experimental publishing gesture?
Both. ETC. emerged from a curatorial need to extend the conversation beyond the gallery walls. It is also a showcase format, co-founded by five organisations and curated by the ETC. editorial team, spotlighting emerging, progressive practices. It is an experiment, a publishing platform, and a collaborative gesture all at once. The team is doing remarkable work, and it allows us to hold conversations that do not always fit within an exhibition, yet are no less important.
What are the most important values in your curatorial approach today?
Care. Coexistence. Curiosity. And sustainability, not only environmental, but also emotional and institutional. I believe in institutions that evolve, that listen, that hold space for others. Curating is a social practice, and that means building relationships that are ethical, open-ended, and brave.
What does “ethical curating” mean to you in practice, in relation to artists, institutions, or the market?
It means transparency in communication, fairness in contracts, realistic timelines, and mutual respect. Ethical curating is not a layer you apply after the work is done; it is the structure that supports it all. It is how we move, not just what we show.
What do you feel you have learned the most from the artists you have worked with?
They have taught me to be a better person. I am incredibly fortunate to work with a group of brilliant, kind, generous individuals. They have taught me patience, how to listen, how to remain open to unknowing. That doubt can be generative. That care is a methodology. That art can transform the way we live together.
If you were not running a gallery, what do you think you would be doing right now?
Probably something similar, building platforms for community, learning, and exchange. Perhaps a publishing house. Perhaps a residency.
Which recent exhibition (your own or someone else’s) made a strong impression on you, and why?
The Ljubljana Biennale curated by Chus Martínez, whom I admire deeply. It did not try to impress; it tried to connect. It stayed with me not because it was loud, but because it was honest. Urgent and gentle at the same time: that is the power of art at its best.
What are you reading, watching, or listening to lately that keeps your thinking in motion?
I return often to A Collective Manual for Sustainable and Inclusive Art Institutions. It reminds me of what is possible when care becomes the starting point. These days, I am thinking a great deal about peace, and how, in a world where war has been normalised, we must reclaim peace, justice, and care as everyday practices.
What would you like to see more of in the regional art scene in the next five years?
More institutional bravery, a willingness to take risks and to stand by artists even when the outcomes are uncertain. More collaboration driven by intuition and trust rather than by trends or competition. I would love to see solidarity in the region move from idea to infrastructure – something we not only speak about but also feel, build, and protect together. And above all, more trust in young people. Giving them space is essential; their perspective is invaluable, and we can learn so much from one another.