The early days

5 Mar

◼︎ The early days

In 2022, I started Ballon Rouge from a very personal dream: a place in Rotterdam where I could work, show photography, and bring photographers together. At the time, the idea was still vague. Maybe even a little romantic, or naïve. I didn’t have a clear plan or a fully formed concept. I just had the feeling that something was missing in the city, a place that felt accessible, visible, and open to makers and their work.

When a space unexpectedly became available, I decided to take the leap. The space itself was far from perfect: a square box, difficult to arrange, with light coming in from only one side. But together with my partner Nanno and my father, we renovated it and slowly turned it into something that felt like ours.

In the beginning, Ballon Rouge was mostly my own workspace. I met clients there, had coffee with other photographers, and occasionally rented the walls to artists who wanted to show their work. It felt small and manageable, a bit improvised even, somewhere between a studio, a tiny gallery, and a meeting place.

Looking back, I think I started Ballon Rouge partly from curiosity, but also from a kind of restlessness. I wanted to be more visible with my own work, to meet other photographers, to create something instead of always waiting for opportunities to appear.

What I didn’t realise at the time was that this small experiment would slowly pull me into the art world, a world I knew almost nothing about. In many ways, I’m still learning. There are many moments when I feel slightly lost in it. The art world can be opaque, full of unwritten rules and networks that take time to understand, and most of the time I’m simply figuring things out as I go. Some ideas work, others don’t, and often the direction only becomes clear afterwards.

Over time, Ballon Rouge started to grow into something bigger than I had imagined. I discovered how much I enjoy thinking about exhibitions: bringing works together, letting them speak to one another, and shaping the atmosphere of a space. New collaborations emerged naturally along the way. Some artists became closely connected to the gallery, and together we started to build something that felt meaningful and shared.

Last year, we moved to a new space: an old, charming little building with a garden, beautiful light, and a characterful facade. It feels brighter and more open, much more “me,” I think.

At the same time, the more Ballon Rouge grows, the more I sometimes miss the simplicity of the early days. Running exhibitions, organising events, supporting artists is incredibly rewarding, but it also means I spend less time on my own work as a photographer and artist.

I’m still trying to find the right balance between those two worlds: making my own work and creating space for others, keeping things small and intimate while allowing the gallery to grow.

In a way, Ballon Rouge is still a search. A place that continues to evolve as I do. Sometimes it feels small and personal, sometimes unexpectedly ambitious. I’m slowly learning that it can be both.

Maybe that’s also what makes it meaningful to me. It isn’t a finished idea or a fixed concept, but something that keeps taking shape through the artists who show their work here, the people who walk through the door, and the questions I keep asking myself along the way.

Marlike Marks
5 March 2026