I said to ORIE in the spring of 2016: "Let’s set up the gallery here, at home. I don’t want to saddle ourselves with an exorbitantly expensive space in town, when we have no products to sell, no clients, no retail location, no reputation, and absolutely no competence to run a gallery."
She replied, "But with my smile and my Korean determination, we’ll make it happen"—Naturally! So, we decided to launch the gallery right here.
It was December 15, 2015. In a space in the Grund district—the site of a new gallery opening—about forty people were mingling with glasses of champagne when three women walked in. The woman in the middle appeared Asian and looked determined as she headed straight for the startled gallerist. She spoke to him in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear: "Nicolas, you stole this gallery from me, and you deserve more than what I’m about to give you."
She delivered a resounding slap—sending his glasses flying across the room—and then she and her two friends walked out with dignity, leaving the stunned onlookers shrieking in shock. Her anger had dissipated.
That slap was the founding moment of this gallery, Artskoco, which was established a few months later. The Asian woman was Orie, of course; the gallerist was the sorry character who had appropriated the gallery they were supposed to have created together.
Orie is an opera singer, but alongside her Korean cultural activities, she wanted to open a gallery to promote emerging Korean artists. I was an aerospace engineer, keenly aware of my wife’s distress. Following the December fiasco, I said to her in the spring of 2016: "Let’s set up the gallery here, at home. I don’t want to saddle ourselves with an exorbitantly expensive space in town when we have no products to sell, no clients, no retail location, no reputation, and absolutely no experience."
She replied, "But with my smile and my Korean determination, we’ll make it happen"—naturally! So, we decided to launch the gallery right here. In the meantime, that unsavory character filed a criminal lawsuit against her, claiming €160,000 for his bruised reputation and ego, yet never dared to appear before the judge. His lawyer secured an award of €5—another symbolic slap in the face—which Orie never actually paid. The man’s gallery went under and closed just a few months later.
We launched on September 20, 2016, and went on to participate in Luxembourg Art Week, hosting a total of over 90 events—both at the gallery and off-site—across Luxembourg, Switzerland, France, Belgium, and even Korea. We have showcased more than 60 artists, and tonight, we are proud to feature some of the very best among them—representing over a third of that total group.
During the COVID lockdowns of 2020 and 2021, we obtained a license to operate a café and serve alcohol. We pivoted to a catering service offering Korean dishes prepared by Orie—delivered here or directly to customers—which allowed us to survive and subsequently bounce back.
Let’s talk about the artists: is there a specific trait common to Korean artists?
I dislike generalizations—they tend to be essentialist and often carry prejudice. Instead, I will simply highlight the selection criteria guiding our choice of the artists present here—traits frequently found among Korean artists: meticulous, often grueling work that is unrivaled and inimitable; work rooted in a distinctly Korean tradition; or work inspired by the experience of meditation and the intersection of Asian and European philosophies.