It’s Thursday afternoon on the Lijnbaansgracht. We’ve arranged to meet at the new gallery of Alex Daniels: The Residence. From a distance, I already see him — sweeping the sidewalk, as if it’s his own front porch. And maybe it is. We greet each other and walk inside, talking as if we’re simply continuing a conversation that never really ended.
The space is bright and warm. Sunlight pours in through tall windows. A piece by Peggy Kuiper leans casually against the wall. “That one’s ready for transport to Mexico,” he says offhandedly. Downstairs, in the open kitchen, a large bowl of popcorn sits on the counter. “My son and I are addicted,” he laughs. “It’s our go-to for Star Wars marathons.” He pours himself a glass of sparkling water and reaches for a book on the shelf. Alex Daniels is a gallerist, a publisher, a storyteller. And somehow all of that fits in one breath.
Behind him, the shelves are filled with books by artists from all over the world: David LaChapelle, Araki, Moriyama, Beard. Big names, but in his words, they feel light. “It’s not just about what they make,” he says, “it’s about what they see. Their perspective shifts something in you. That’s where the magic is.”
“What’s the role of a gallery today?” he asks aloud. “It’s no longer just about providing a white space for art. You’re a curator, a manager, a motivator. You offer perspective, challenge assumptions, help shape ideas.” The concept for The Residence came from that same line of thinking. A gallery that’s also a home. Minimalist, inspired by John Pawson — not cold, but warm. A place where art breathes. Where artists can live, create, and simply be. “It’s actually just a house,” he smiles. With a fold-out Japanese whiskey bar, a kitchen, a bed. Everything fits — but nothing shouts.
He describes the space as a kind of living organism. “It’s not static. Work is made here. Something happens. You can feel it in the walls.”
Talk turns to the Miniature Museum, something Alex once mentioned briefly during our podcast recording. His eyes light up as he begins to explain how the project came to be. Although he’s always been involved, he emphasizes that the idea truly belongs to his parents, Ria and Lex Daniels. “It’s really something special. Forty years of work, and something I witnessed as a young boy from the sidelines.”
In the 1980s, his parents were fashion designers with their own shops, selling labels like Issey Miyake, Claude Montana and Thierry Mugler. “They were pioneers. People appreciated the clothing, but it wasn’t always affordable.” That environment — surrounded by creatives like Karel Appel, Anton Heyboer, Keith Haring and Marte Röling — sparked their love for art. They didn’t have a big budget, but they collected what they could: small works, sometimes traded for clothes. “At some point they had around 80 tiny works. They just hung them at home, with dozens of little holes in the wall.” When the family moved, the works were boxed up — and that’s when the idea for a miniature museum emerged.
He speaks with calm conviction about what art has brought into his life. “Everything. It’s my work, yes — but also a way of seeing. Artists help me see the world differently. I’ve never been bored. Not for a minute.”
What began as a personal collection evolved into a project of more than 2,500 works by 1,100 artists worldwide — including a tiny guppy sent by Damien Hirst. “The beauty of it was the limitation: maximum size 10 by 12 cm. But that limit gave total freedom.” He laughs: “Someone once called it a miniature Gotham City. And that’s exactly how it felt — tiny, but full of power.”
We continue walking through the space as Alex reflects on what he looks for in an artist. “Something original, but also aesthetic. Something that can challenge people — maybe even make them uncomfortable. Some works take time to grow on you. I’ve had that too. But when it clicks, it clicks.” He compares his role to that of a coach. “You’ve got your defenders and your strikers. The steady ones, and the ones who suddenly go big. It’s all chemistry. Energy. If the connection is there, it works. If you only look at the product, it doesn’t.”
Inspiration, for him, comes from movement. “If I’m stuck, I go for a walk. I watch a film. Then ideas come. And sometimes you just need to say yes — even if you don’t know how it will work out. That’s when the real game starts.”
He smiles at the memory of such a moment. “Once, I said yes to a project I absolutely couldn’t afford. But I knew the opportunity wouldn’t come again. So I said yes. And only after that did I start solving the puzzle. That’s entrepreneurship — feeling something before you fully understand it.”
We walk back toward the door. It’s still open. The wind has blown in dry leaves. “Keep shooting spontaneously,” Alex grins. As I tuck the Peggy Kuiper book into my bag, he slips a copy of Todd Hido’s book into my hands. “Signed,” he says, like it’s nothing.
Not two minutes later, on my way to the car, my phone rings. It’s Alex. “Anouk, there’s a beautiful docuseries on Prime Video by Jason Momoa — ‘On the Roam’. One episode’s about Todd Hido.”
Of course there is.