A decade later, Yashar celebrates the evolution of that experiment with Nilufar Depot: The First Decade — a richly illustrated book retracing the gallery’s journey — and a site-specific performance by Martino Gamper, conceived in dialogue with the Depot’s architecture and spirit. Gamper’s presence carries symbolic weight: in 2015, he designed the opening dinner’s installation — an ensemble of over 150 unique seating pieces. His return now marks a new chapter in Nilufar Depot’s story, a gesture that bridges memory and transformation.

In our conversation, Nina Yashar shares her inspiring vision: “Being visionary once meant seeing what others couldn’t. Today, it means creating space — for dialogue, for experimentation, for new perspectives.” With these words, she perfectly captures the spirit of our time — and of Nilufar itself.

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I NEVER WANTED THE DEPOT TO BECOME STATIC  

This year marks the tenth anniversary of Nilufar Depot — a space that has become synonymous with experimentation and discovery. When you look back, what emotions define this milestone for you?

It’s a mix of pride and gratitude. When we opened Nilufar Depot in 2015, I knew we were stepping into something new — a space that could accommodate large-scale installations, historical works, and experimental pieces all at once. Ten years later, the project has grown beyond my expectations, so what defines this milestone for me is a deep sense of evolution. It hasn’t only been about design, but about building a place where ideas can take shape freely.

You’ve described Nilufar Depot as “a living, open laboratory.” What has kept this spirit of experimentation alive for an entire decade?

I think it was the decision to remain open to change. I never wanted the Depot to become static; in fact, each year we’ve challenged ourselves to take new risks, bring in unexpected voices, and rethink how we use the space. It’s the designers, curators, and even the audience that have kept it alive.

Looking back at Nilufar Depot, which moment or collaboration feels most defining to you?

The exhibition on Lina Bo Bardi and Giancarlo Palanti in 2018 stands out as a defining moment for both the space and my curatorial approach. It required immense historical care, but also a great emotional investment. It captured what I wanted the Depot to represent — a space that doesn’t simply follow trends but gives room to important stories, even when they’re complex or demand precision and sensitivity. Another key moment was the renovation of the space itself in 2015, when we decided to lower the floor by 80 cm. It was risky and stressful at the time, but it turned out to be the right decision — it gave us the freedom to grow vertically and to think bigger.

MARTINO’S PERFORMANCE WASN’T ABOUT ERASING HISTORY, BUT REACTIVATING IT — MUCH LIKE NILUFAR ITSELF 

For the tenth anniversary, you invited Martino Gamper to return — exactly a decade after he designed the inaugural setting for Nilufar Depot. What inspired this renewed collaboration?

Martino was there from the very beginning. In 2015, when I curated the inaugural installation, I invited him to create a powerful gesture for the opening dinner, and he responded with 100 unique chairs, arranged in a site-specific setting, and a table for 25 designed especially for the occasion — a work that truly captured the Depot’s spirit from day one. For the tenth anniversary, I curated the concept with the intention of marking the moment not only with a celebration but with a transformative act. Martino brought his own language, his energy, and unpredictability to the space. He doesn’t look back with nostalgia; he reactivates and reinvents what he touches. That’s exactly the spirit I wanted to bring into this new chapter.

Martino’s performance mirrors Nilufar’s own evolution. How do you see this dialogue between his work and the space?

It’s very much aligned. His work isn’t decorative — it’s process-based. It challenges what we think an object should be, just as the Depot challenges what a gallery can be. His performance for the anniversary wasn’t about erasing history, but about reactivating it — and that’s also how I see Nilufar evolving.

I DON’T CARE IF SOMEONE IS KNOWN OR NEW — ONLY THAT THEIR WORK HAS MEANING 

How do you decide which designers or artists truly resonate with the Nilufar universe?

For me, it’s about integrity — not in a moral sense, but in the coherence between thought, process, and execution. I’m drawn to people who use design to explore something deeper, whether that’s material, history, or form. It’s less about style and more about substance. I don’t care whether someone is established or emerging; what matters is that their work has genuine meaning.

What kind of “new visions” do you hope to welcome in the next decade of Nilufar Depot?

I’d like to explore new formats — perhaps more interdisciplinary collaborations, new materials, or even new geographies. The goal is to keep the Depot flexible. We’ve built a strong identity, but I don’t want it to become predictable. The next decade is about continuing to take risks, to reinvent, and to stay curious. One concrete step is expanding the international presence of Nilufar Edition. After defining its language and vision, the next challenge is to take it beyond the Depot — integrating it into homes and global platforms. It’s a way to share our curatorial voice more widely, while staying grounded in quality and artistic intent.

YOU HAVE TO AVOID CHASING THE MARKET, BECAUSE TRENDS ARE LOUD — BUT  SHORT-LIVED

Nilufar’s long-standing motto is “Discovering, crossing, creating.” How has this philosophy evolved for you personally since founding the gallery in 1979?

In the early years, “discovering” meant physically traveling — going to markets, visiting archives, meeting artisans — it was very hands-on. “Crossing” was about mixing time periods and cultures instinctively, without overthinking it. Today, the approach is more structured, but the spirit remains the same. What has changed is the scale. Now I work with a broader network of designers and collaborators, and I think more about how each choice fits into a wider cultural conversation. But at the core, I’m still doing the same three things — just with more tools and more perspective.

Nilufar is known for anticipating trends, yet it remains timeless. What does it take to create something that feels both of the moment and enduring?

You have to avoid chasing the market, because trends are loud — but short-lived. What lasts is clarity. When a piece has a strong identity and a reason to exist, it stands the test of time. I’m always looking for work that remains compelling when the noise fades, that feels grounded in real intent.

With Nilufar Edition, you bridged design and Renaissance craftsmanship. How does this project reflect your current perspective on design and culture?

Nilufar Edition embodies my wish to make high-quality design more accessible while preserving the gallery’s curatorial spirit. Produced in-house with careful attention to material and detail, it’s a coherent collection where every piece is both functional and expressive — and designers are chosen for their process, not their popularity.

Throughout your career, you’ve embodied a visionary mindset — intuitive yet bold. What does being “visionary” mean to you today, and how has that meaning evolved over time?

Being visionary used to mean seeing what others didn’t. Today, to me, it means creating space — for dialogue, experimentation, and new perspectives. It’s less about the individual and more about the ecosystem. That’s why I value collaboration more than ever.

After decades of shaping the world of collectible design, what still surprises or excites you most about this field?

The unpredictability. Every year, someone new emerges with an approach I’ve never seen before. It could be a material, a gesture, or a point of view that feels fresh. What excites me is that design never stops evolving. I see it as a reflection of the world — and if you think of it that way, the world is never still.

If you had to define Nilufar Depot’s spirit in one word, what would it be?

Alive.

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