Sargent’s Daughters’ Allegra LaViola Is Playing the Long Game

Over more than a decade of operation, Sargent’s Daughters has demonstrated that it is possible to build a sustained gallery program and support artists over the long term through gradual growth, relationship-driven development and a pricing ladder strategy that ensures access at multiple levels. Dealer Allegra LaViola entered the gallery with a distinctly art-historical background, studying in Europe at the University of St Andrews in Scotland. She later spent several years living in Italy, a formative period that deepened her engagement with European art history and informed the classical sensibility that shapes her approach to building a program. Central to Sargent’s Daughters’ vision is a humanistic attention to broader cultural discourse, examining global connections across history, literature and artistic production while tracing recurring motifs across cultures and geographies.

LaViola has moved fluidly from presenting exhibitions by contemporary figures such as Jordan Casteel to foregrounding contemporary Indigenous artists like Wendy Red Star, engaging with self-taught figures such as Thornton Dial and championing overlooked historical artists such as Leonora Carrington well before their current market and institutional recognition. “What really started to bring it together for me was this idea of global connectivity—the sense that there are stories that exist everywhere,” LaViola tells Observer. “Every culture has myths of origin, things they return to, and a shared desire to communicate, even when what they’re making isn’t labeled as art in a formal way.”

This month, the gallery participated in Art Basel Qatar as one of the youngest exhibitors, presenting work by Pakistani-born artist Aiza Ahmed. LaViola welcomed us into her office, which reads more like a classical studiolo of a literati, embodying the syncretic curiosity toward diverse cultural expressions that shapes her understanding of contemporary art as something that must engage with broader, potentially timeless questions. Paintings by artists on the gallery’s roster hang alongside traditional theriomorphic masks from Indonesia, shells and other compelling objects and human-made artifacts—not always classified as art but imbued with a distinct mystical or energetic charge.

“That impulse felt deeply interesting to me, especially the idea of breaking down those barriers. Being more fluid in acknowledging artists and creators that matter—and recognizing that these practices exist on a continuum across geographies,” LaViola reflects, noting how human expression shares archetypes, symbolic codes and recurring forms. “I’ve always been drawn to those cross-cultural threads and to the way influence moves globally,” she adds, observing that for a long time the art world tended to reduce those connections into siloed narratives—political, identity-based clusters—rather than recognizing their underlying universality. “Every culture has art, has the drive to make art, to connect.”

LaViola recalls that when she presented artists like Thornton Dial in a group exhibition and later visited his studio, or spent time with Joe Minter as he created his yard works, what struck her was that they were not producing work because they had set out to “make art” in a conventional sense. “They were driven by urgency, by something internal they felt compelled to express. That urgency, and the way those stories resonate with other stories elsewhere in the world, has always been central to my focus.”

The exhibition now on view through February 28, embodies this philosophy. Curated by Sadaf Patter, “BOUNTY” is a timely exploration of an eco-human continuum shaped by modes of engagement ranging from stewardship to exhaustion, articulated through practices spanning geographies and generations. While the project was inspired in part by the regenerative work of Grown in Haiti, a reforestation organization based in the mountains of Jacmel with which the curator has long been involved, it is anchored in LaViola’s family collection, inherited from her late father, Alex Pagel, whose deep engagement with Haitian art laid the foundation for the exhibition. This lineage becomes an energetic and generative throughline, bringing into dialogue works by Haitian artists such as Georges Liautaud, Janvier Louis-Juste and Damien Paul—created in the mid-1950s from discarded steel oil drums—with contemporary artists working across Caribbean, African and Asian diasporas, collectively engaging in an urgent reflection on histories of Western intervention that have reshaped ecological, social and spiritual systems across different latitudes.

LaViola launched her first gallery under her own name, Allegra LaViola Gallery, on the Lower East Side. “I was doing a lot of very experimental, performance-based work and installations, which I loved, but it was extremely difficult to sustain,” she recalls, noting that she could not really sell anything and that it became challenging to continue in practical terms. “At the time, it didn’t matter as much—I was young, I didn’t have a family—but it was still difficult to sustain a personal life because I was doing everything myself. I loved the work, but it wasn’t sustainable.”

In 2013, she announced a partnership with Meredith Rosen, who had worked at BravinLee gallery. From that collaboration came the rebranding of Allegra LaViola Gallery to Sargent’s Daughters, along with a shift toward contemporary art grounded in historical lineage, officially launched in 2014. The new name was drawn from John Singer Sargent’s painting The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit, now in the collection of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. The large oil painting, depicting the Boit sisters in the dim interior of their family’s Paris apartment, absorbed in their psychological and imaginative worlds, reflects LaViola’s interest in bridging historical and contemporary art, linking the lineage of Western and European classical painting with new forms of expression.

“John Singer Sargent is often thought of now as a very traditional portrait painter, but in reality, he was a revolutionary. He wasn’t bound to a single place—he traveled constantly,” LaViola reflects. “Of course, he had to paint portraits to survive, but the way he executed them was visionary, completely unlike what others were doing at the time.”

Soon, LaViola became a defining presence on the Lower East Side, among the first to open there and later helping anchor a scene that expanded significantly in the years that followed. “I was focused on the Lower East Side,” she recalls, noting how many spaces were narrow and constrained by low ceilings. She eventually secured a larger space in a newer building. “Then 2008 happened, and as the world was going downhill very quickly, we were able to get a deal on the space—the landlord dropped the rent significantly. Suddenly, it aligned with what we were trying to do and what we could realistically sustain.”

As the gallery celebrated its 10th anniversary, Sargent’s Daughters joined the post-pandemic migration to Tribeca, relocating to a larger space at 370 Broadway. In 2017, Rosen exited the gallery and LaViola regained full control of its identity and program, which has remained closely aligned with her personal vision.

Not long ago, Sargent’s Daughters opened an outpost in Los Angeles, a brief parenthesis driven by the pandemic market boom. “There was a sense of heightened demand—so many people asking for work that it felt impossible to keep up,” LaViola recalls. “Shows were selling quickly, and when that space was offered, it seemed like an opportunity you don’t say no to. I remember thinking that if I didn’t take it, I might regret missing it.” The experience ultimately clarified something essential: she did not need multiple permanent locations. “I’m a New Yorker. My community is here. I’m much more interested in pop-ups, collaborations and fairs.”

That realization shaped how LaViola thinks about strategy today. “The pace of the pandemic and its immediate aftermath was unsustainable in many ways, so the rhythm has shifted,” she notes. There is now less emphasis on constant expansion and greater focus on collaboration, particularly with other galleries, as a way of entering new markets. This summer, for instance, Sargent’s Daughters is planning a show with Berry Campbell gallery in Chelsea. “I’m very drawn to collaboration and to the idea of community—across different generations. Competition will always exist, but it doesn’t have to define everything.”

Despite multiple market cycles and crises over the past decade and a half, what has remained constant is the rigor with which Sargent’s Daughters has resisted trends, prioritizing artists’ visions over shifting tastes. LaViola recalls how, in the early 2000s, there was a stronger allegiance to European minimalism, with highly conceptual and often cryptic works that felt inaccessible unless one already had deep theoretical or philosophical grounding.

LaViola has long maintained that art should operate on multiple levels, allowing for varied forms of access to meaning, from an immediate sense of urgency to more layered and universal reflections. “You shouldn’t need that level of prior knowledge just to begin,” she asserts. “There can be urgency, there can be an immediate cultural or emotional reaction. You might not understand every reference or problem embedded in the work, but you can still connect to it on a human level. Then, if you do know more, you can keep going deeper and deeper.” She does not believe everything must be for everyone, but she also rejects the notion that accessibility is inherently anti-intellectual. Humans are storytellers, she notes, and most artists are as well.

A recent exhibition by Pakistani-born artist Aiza Ahmed exemplified this approach. Ahmed constructed a dense narrative world in oil painting, populated by suspended figures rendered in a style that recalls comics, political satire and caricature. The works examined the fragile performance of patriarchal power and the male gaze, exposing the hypocrisies and paradoxes embedded in socially coded, gendered behaviors. “You could walk into the exhibition knowing nothing and immediately feel that you were entering the artist’s world,” LaViola argues. “If you knew the film, the book it was based on, the broader references, then it opened up entirely new layers. But even without that knowledge, you could still be absorbed by it. That sense of entering an artist’s universe is very important to me.”

Many of the artists in LaViola’s program are world-builders—figures who have found in art a channel through which to construct expansive imaginary and symbolic universes, often developed intuitively over time. When selecting for her roster, LaViola’s process is organic and instinct-driven, guided by three central questions: “The first question is always visual—does the work immediately appeal to me? Does it hit me in that visceral way where I respond instinctively to what I’m seeing? The second question is how it connects to history and art history, to a broader lineage. And the third question is about mystery. What remains inaccessible?”

That element of mystery—something resistant at the core of an image or object—is crucial for LaViola. It allows a work to unfold gradually, resonating differently with audiences over time, while maintaining a degree of resistance to the easy absorption and rapid obsolescence that define so much of contemporary visual culture. “You want to be drawn into the work, but there also has to be something you don’t fully understand. If everything is completely obvious, then it becomes boring. There have to be layers,” she says. Once that initial emotional or intuitive connection is established, the process deepens through conversation with the artist—where they are, what they are thinking about and which aspects of the work resist explanation. That, she notes, is where the gallery’s role becomes essential: creating the conditions in which the work can be engaged without flattening its complexity.

At the center of LaViola’s approach is always the artist—their vision, their story, their universe. The discovery process is deeply personal and often begins with intuition, gradually developing into a human connection and long-term relationship. She is constantly looking—moving through artists’ websites, following leads, researching schools and paying attention to what is emerging in different places. Travel frequently becomes part of that research, offering insight into local scenes and the people shaping them. The gallery operates with a small team, and discoveries often arise through studio visits, sustained conversations with artists whose practices are still evolving or introductions from individuals who have passed through the gallery over time. Art fairs, LaViola acknowledges, can be visually exhausting, but they are also expansive. “You do discover things there, just as you do by traveling to other cities and seeing shows. It’s a constant process of looking and following.”

Much has changed since LaViola launched the gallery. The field is now far more competitive and significantly more global. There have been multiple moments of crisis—periods when other galleries closed while Sargent’s Daughters not only survived but consolidated, continuing to participate in fairs and refining its model. “Each period has reshaped what it means to be a gallerist,” LaViola reflects. “It’s not always for the better, but it’s forced a kind of evolution.” She describes the present moment as another inflection point, one that again demands recalibration.

“Social media alone has changed everything—the internet has become the primary way people disseminate work, discover artists and encounter exhibitions,” she says. Another major shift is the growing tendency of blue-chip galleries to take on very young artists, something that would have been unthinkable twenty years ago. “You didn’t show at Gagosian or Pace when you were under 30. You were 50+, or dead,” she says. “I don’t want to say it’s good or bad, but it’s a massive change.” The effects, she adds, have been mixed, both for artists and for the broader gallery ecosystem, and are often difficult to navigate.

“There’s a hunger among the larger galleries for freshness, for new energy,” she observes, noting that some have begun to approach this more responsibly by collaborating with the smaller galleries that initially supported those artists. “That way, the smaller gallery doesn’t lose the artist, and the artist still has a personal relationship with a dealer—not just a corporate structure with layers of directors—while also gaining access to a larger platform, resources and visibility.”

Over the years, Sargent’s Daughters has also invested deeply in artists who eventually moved on. Sometimes it hurts, LaViola acknowledges, but it is also part of growth. “You grow together, and then things change. The gallery grows, the artists grow, relationships shift,” she says. “It’s a very personal industry, and when you run a gallery in a very personal way, it becomes emotional. That’s unavoidable.”

Asked about the biggest challenge today, LaViola points to finding new collectors. The way people collect, she argues, has changed dramatically, with a growing tendency to acquire broadly rather than deeply. “In the past, there were collectors who really dug deep—who bought from every show and followed an artist’s career closely. That kind of collector feels increasingly rare.” Still, she emphasizes the importance of maintaining a core group of supporters who believe in the program and follow the gallery itself. That kind of commitment, she believes, fosters a healthier ecosystem and more meaningful long-term relationships.

Notably, LaViola does not consider collectors her primary clients. “For me, the artists are the clients. I work for the artists,” she says. Collectors are essential supporters, but not the central axis. “If the artist is happy and the work is strong, everything else follows.”

That philosophy extends to the gallery’s role in supporting institutional and long-term projects. An artist’s practice often moves beyond exhibitions into publications, installations and public commissions that require swift logistical and strategic coordination. Projects such as Wendy Red Star’s sculpture for Monument Lab in Washington, D.C. exemplify this. “I had about 20 minutes to figure out where that sculpture could go—who could acquire it—because there was nowhere to store it once the project ended,” LaViola recalls. “But it was essential that the work happened.” For her, this is what it means to support artists fully: engaging with the full scope of their ambitions.

She often likens the relationship between artist and gallery to that of a writer and an editor. “The most exciting artist relationships are the ones where artists want feedback—where they want to talk through ideas together,” she says. That exchange, she notes, is intellectually and creatively generative and reflects a curatorial approach rather than a purely commercial one. While not every artist welcomes this kind of dialogue, when it works it frequently leads to stronger exhibitions and more enduring relationships. “It helps cut the story more clearly,” she says.

That hands-on approach is all-consuming. Although Sargent’s Daughters has become more structured over time, it remains closely tied to LaViola’s personal involvement. Navigating boundaries—particularly as a woman and a parent—has been an ongoing negotiation. “Honestly, I’m not sure I have great boundaries,” she admits. “When I’m with my kids, I don’t look at my phone. That’s probably my clearest boundary.” Beyond that, she remains deeply accessible to artists. “This work becomes part of your life,” she says. “It’s not something I experience as separate.”

Today, LaViola is committed to doubling down on her New York space and drawing people back into a physical environment. “I’m not particularly interested in selling work purely online. What matters to me is what happens in person,” she says. While post-pandemic habits have made gallery-going less automatic, the move to Tribeca has helped restore foot traffic. For LaViola, however, the objective extends beyond attendance. It is about what else a gallery can offer to spark conversation beyond what hangs on the walls.

Recent initiatives—book swaps, small clubs, mahjong nights and panels—have expanded the gallery’s function as a social and intellectual space. Many are deliberately free and open, lowering barriers to participation and encouraging wider engagement. “That’s very much a priority,” she says. “Bringing people back into the space, encouraging emotional and physical engagement with the work, and involving the artists in that process.” Access to the artist, she notes, remains one of the most meaningful forms of connection. Even small, informal gatherings can cultivate that atmosphere. “It feels organic,” she says, “and it reminds you why the gallery exists in the first place: as a place for human connections.”

More Arts Interviews