March 31, 2025 was simultaneously the end of the bay scallop season, the closure of 51 Bergen street, the original location of The Invisible Dog Art Center and the beginning of a new chapter for the non-for-profit I have founded in 2009.

Instead of a formal and inevitably sad farewell party, we had 10 days of celebrations, artist party at Oliver, dinner at Katherine, dinners at SAM every night. For the very last four days on Bergen Street, the main gallery became a massive and festive flea market with all kind of “art, stuff and shit” accumulated during 16 years. At the center of the room, a confortable sofa and a few armchairs were installed, inviting guests to sit, chat and share their memories. Hundreds came with their hands full of gifts, notes, flowers, cookies, tears or simply a good story, to say good bye to the wood and bricks, and take with them a little piece of the Dog.

The same question on everyone’s lips: why are we closing?

Earthquake

A year ago, April 5, 2024, a significant earthquake was felt in the New York City area. I was resting on my bed, waiting to head to the monthly meeting with my landlord. I remember thinking half amused, half worried “what else is going to shake today?”. Thirty minutes later, still shaken by the earthquake, my landlord announced me that he was giving a year notice to the Dog.

Lucien: I have mixed feelings after our meeting on Friday - as I know you do - but I always promised you that when the time came, I would give you a one year notice for the sunset of Invisible Dog.

The economics can no longer be justified, but all in all Invisible Dog had a good run here on Bergen Street and we all have much to be proud of.

I did not feel this news as an earthquake, but it wakened the memory of another earthquake that happened in 1997 when my father Zaketo Zayan, suddenly died, at 2am, returning from a party where he danced all night with my mother, Lucie. He was 83, in excellent health. His heart broke. In the middle of the night, the phone rang, my mother in tears. Quickly, I started to read about grief and mourning, trying to not suffer, or less suffer. And the more I was reading, the more I was learning about this year of mourning I have, we have all, to go through: the first dinner, the first holidays, the first birthday, the first anything without. And I understood why a year of mourning was so important: each day is a rehearsal for life without, a slow weaving of absence into presence. Until the year passes. And the pain becomes bearable.

With the news of the closing, I was starting a year of mourning.

The Last Season

On September 2024, we opened the 16th season of The Invisible Dog with a solo show of paintings by Invisible Dog artist Gabe Benzur. The space was packed and festive. I was sitting on the bench outside with my dear friend and artist Steven Ladd, chatting about everything, smoking cigarettes, looking at people entering, exiting, walking by. I shared with him my father’s story. And with his bright and devastating smile, he looked at me and said: The only difference between your father and ID is that ID is still alive—for one more season. You can mourn while still fully enjoying it.

And that’s what I did: enjoying every day, every hour of this last season. I cannot let the artists live with the shadow of the closing, as if we were wearing a dark veil. We celebrated each day, until the last one. I was expecting some kind of sadness. Not a second. Why should I be sad? It would have been almost disrespectful to the artists, the audience members, the technician, the anonymous to everyone who made The Invisible Dog during 16 years. Sadness, bitterness, resentment are not in my mental vocabulary. Instead, we were wearing hope for the future, we were wearing smiles for the community, we were wearing happiness.

This year, was also the time to re-imagine the future of The Invisible Dog. And nothing appeared more important to me than to cherish the beautiful community we have built. And to keep it alive, vibrant, as it has always been. We lost walls, beloved walls, but they are only walls. The spirit, the people, the joy of The Invisible Dog remain.

What’s next?

What does mean the Invisible Dog goes for walk - a brilliant slogan invented by the even more brilliant actress Carmen Pelaez during a hilarious lunch at SAM.

During this walk, The Invisible Dog is going to collaborate with other institutions, venues, art spaces, schools, any place where art and food are celebrated in NYC, in America and why not, all over the world. (it is one the precious advantage to not run a space anymore). These collaborations won’t be just pop-ups. They will be around building program and community, supporting artists, producing and presenting projects together.

To inaugurate this new chapter, Angeline Jolie invited The Invisible Dog for a year residency at Atelier Jolie, a new art space she created on 57 Great Jones street, an historical building formerly owned by Andy Warhol and where Jean-Michel Basquiat had his studio.

Read the story by Melena Ryzik for the New York Times

Another space also welcomes The Invisible Dog: The Scion Project at 288 Smith Street in Brooklyn, recently opened by Eric Calderon, a peaceful cafe with beautiful walls and windows for exhibition and a backyard ideal for performances and events.

And of course, la Salle A Manger (SAM), the project created 6 years ago continues, inviting guests, artists, friends, supporters around the table for an intimate and sophisticated meal prepared by myself or guest chefs.

Many other projects are already in preparation and will be announced soon.

Without permanent walls, this Substack letter becomes the place where everyone who love The Invisible Dog will gather, discuss, comment and support.

Remember that if you subscribe to this publication, all the revenues will go The Invisible Dog and help to produce and present new works, exhibitions, classes, workshops, performances, food events and more.
The ID Art Center is a 501(c)(3) | EIN 47-3931963

Thank you for reading this first letter. Welcome in the new era of The Invisible Dog!