Annotations cc: Liv Vaisberg

Liv Vaisberg, (co-)founder of several pioneering fairs, including COLLECTIBLE in Brussels and New York, shares her approach to collecting, and her commitment to supporting emerging designers and artists. A former lawyer driven by a deep love for art, design, and dialogue, she has built a career at the intersection of curation, and community. Through her initiatives, Liv creates platforms that amplify new perspectives and connections. In this conversation, we explore the power of gathering and how that act can reshape the way we experience design and culture.

Anoe: You’ve described yourself as a founder, and it seems like the concept of the fair holds a significance for you. What is it about it? Is it the independence it offers, the impact of creating an event, or something else that plays to your strengths or instincts?

Liv: I used to be a lawyer, but I’ve always had a strong interest in art and furniture. I love bringing people together—hosting dinners, mixing unexpected guests. I enjoy creating something new. I observe constantly and keep asking: where do we need to go next? Visiting collectors' homes, I noticed that while the art they collected was bold and experimental, their furniture was often conventional—always the same brands. In conversations, I realized many simply didn’t know where to look for emerging design. That insight led to more encounters and observations. At major design fairs, I kept wondering: where was the space for the younger generation? That led us to launching COLLECTIBLE in Brussels.

 

A: It’s not just a fair or an event; it’s what happens before, during, and after: conversations, encounters, and ideas. It’s an effect that multiplies. There’s definitely a kind of amplification that happens, not just among designers, but within the community and with visitors too.

L: When we launched an open call for the Design Biennale Rotterdam, which took place last February, we were overwhelmed by the response. Other people in the city started organizing their own pop-ups. A chef met a designer and created a cutlery set. Fundamental, a temporary restaurant in a design gallery context, joined in. I hadn’t planned that; it just happened. That’s the power of giving people a platform.

 

A: I sense that you have a deep empathy for the political layers of design. Beyond aesthetics, you seem attuned to issues of representation and inclusion.

L: Empathy is both a strength and a weakness. There’s always a tension: am I the right person? Am I giving the right stage to the right voices? When I curated the show on gender and design, Cruising, Discomfort as a tool to depatriarchise design, at the Huidenclub, I questioned whether I was the right person. But through conversations and real, honest interactions, I connected the dots. I realized these stories need to be told. The design canon is still white male-dominated, and I try to contribute, even in small ways, to shifting that.

 

A: What other values push you forward, beyond empathy?

L: That’s a hard question. I guess it all comes back to support. Supporting people. It might sound cliché, but I thrive on it. I used to be a legal advisor for book publishers and independent filmmakers, and even then, I loved helping people I believed in. I believe in small steps. You’re not going to change the world overnight, but you can still create something meaningful.

A: Support also relates to care, generosity, and sharing—especially in the context of an event that brings so many designers and guests together. There’s this strong sense of community.

L: Yes, and it keeps me alive. Without art and design in my life, I’d be deeply unhappy. It’s like breathing to me. It even spills into my private life, which my son rebels against. He’s probably been to more art and design biennales than any other kid his age.

A: I’m sure he’ll appreciate it one day. It’ll shape him in ways he doesn’t even realize yet.

L: I hope so. It can be intense raising a kid in that environment, but I think it’s good. I want to make the art and design world more approachable. A lot of people feel intimidated, like it’s not for them. I want to break that barrier. I have a friend who’s a lawyer. She knew nothing about art or design, but when she attended our exhibition on queer perspectives, she saw this wild mirror by Korean artist Kurina Sohn, Off Surface, and bought it on the spot. That’s the kind of story I love. You bring someone in from a totally different world, and they find themselves drawn in.

A: Drawn in collecting. What does collecting mean to you personally?

L: For me, collecting is about being a mini patron—not necessarily in a big financial way. We’ve had pieces made just for our home, like our dining table designed by Johan Viladrich. We buy art and design because we love it and because we want to support the people making it. Even small contributions can make a big difference. If more people collected like that, it would help artists immensely. And besides, it’s amazing to live in a personal, unique space rather than a generic one. There’s so much possibility. That’s what I’ve decided to support. I want to show that design can be as intellectually, aesthetically, and conceptually stimulating as art—also in terms of exhibition-making.

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Text: Anoe Melliou
Installation Views: Curated Section at COLLECTIBLE 2025, Photography by Adrien Maurice; Umberto Studio, and Max Radford Gallery at COLLECTIBLE New York 2024, Photography by Simon Leung; Design Biennale Rotterdam featuring Studio Robert van Oosterom, Sabine Marcelis, Umberto Bellardi, Ricci, Saskia Noor van Imhoff, and Yoon Shun, Photography by Michèle Margot; Cruising at Huidenclub, featuring Kurina Sohn, and Flora Manon Lechner, Photography by Michèle Margot; COLLECTIBLE Brussels 2025, Photography by Michèle Margot