It may seem like a paradox, but the antiquarian’s profession is only superficially about selling (and buying) works of art. The true value he trades in is time, in its various dimensions. Let me explain. Any artistic artifact is also the manifestation of the time required to conceive and create it; of the time needed to generate the economic resources necessary to acquire it; of the time the object itself has traversed to reach the present; and of the time spent by all those who worked to make this possible—antiquarians foremost among them. When this is expressed as a function of the number of hours invested, its value becomes clear to anyone. In the same way, it becomes evident why the lifespan of an antiquarian gallery is such a precious element. A gallery can in fact be understood as a kind of temporal incubator into which an object enters and from which it later emerges “enhanced,” with a greater likelihood of surviving into the future.
If the goal, then, is to offer a work of art the greatest possible additional endowment of time, it is essential for a gallery to pass through generations under the best possible conditions, and to manage these delicate transitions with a care that is cultural and human in nature, before being economic. The antiquarian’s profession requires skills that can hardly be learned from books, and even less improvised. One quite literally grows up inside galleries. This is a professional environment so complex and sophisticated that one can hope to survive only by knowing it deeply, through direct experience, in all its nuances. This explains why, throughout Europe, galleries founded in the first two thirds of the twentieth century have almost always survived to the present day thanks to the founders’ children, and then their children in turn. In this regard, Italy is an exemplary case.
Elisa De Palma, daughter of Alessandra di Castro, graduated in art history, but until a couple of years ago she lived abroad, working in marketing and communication. New York, Washington, and then Paris. Returning to Italy to work in the family business was a carefully considered, conscious choice, one that matured during the pandemic—a true generational turning point, as we shall see later. Today Elisa is 31. “The hardest thing about finding yourself representing the fifth generation of a gallery is precisely being the daughter of… In this profession, credibility is earned in the field,” she says. Elisa continues: “The job is changing, especially in terms of communication. Today there is more information and it is more accessible, but one cannot do without the physical experience of the object. The emotion of discovery remains something indescribable, and irreplaceable.”
Elisa touches on two important points. The first is that in this sector, generational transition is above all a transfer of skills that require dedication and constancy to be developed. It is unimaginable for this to happen without being driven by a deep passion for knowledge. Elisa has gone back to studying. She is attending the Art Market and Museums master’s program at Roma Tre University (directed by Cristina Terzaghi). The second point she raises concerns the relationship with the present, which is possible only thanks to the perspective of those who are younger in age. Indeed, the only thing that should remain antique in a gallery is the works themselves.
Denise Di Castro, Elisa’s cousin, who holds a degree in art history followed by a master’s degree at the Courtauld Institute, has instead always remained within the cultural sector, working on artistic projects in Italy and abroad and accompanying her father, Alberto Di Castro, at major international fairs. “The publication The Castellani Jewelry Workshop marked the beginning of the first important research project that I shared with my father. At the same time, I have always overseen the gallery’s communication, from the website to social media.” Denise lived for a long time in the United States before settling in Italy, also as a result of the pandemic. “Working alongside my father, I learned the foundations of the profession, in a climate of great openness to new ideas. We listen to each other a great deal.” Denise highlights a further key aspect: “In our case, each generation has brought its own point of view, within a logic of constant enrichment. Then, within the gallery, everything has to be in balance, even when it comes to exhibiting contemporary works.” For generational transitions to work, harmony and unity are essential, so that the field of action can expand freely and the gallery’s style can take shape over time.
“As far as I’m concerned, the freedom was almost too much,” says Giulia Gomiero, daughter of Diego, with a touch of self-irony. Yet Giulia immediately acknowledges the importance of having been able to experiment. “From my father I learned to look at works of art beyond chronological boundaries. An object must have value in itself, regardless of the period it belongs to. And this stems from the fact that, in our case, a collecting spirit goes hand in hand with a mercantile one.” Diego and Giulia have worked together for more than twenty years, but even today Giulia does not fail to point out how difficult it was—first as a woman and then as a daughter—to find her own space.
Indeed, the presence of women in the antiquarian art market is a relatively recent phenomenon [we discussed it here, link]. Yet it is also true that over the past two decades it has often been women who have ensured the continuity of many galleries. From this perspective, another interesting case is that of Maria Novella Romano, who together with her brother Mattia represents the fourth generation of the business founded by their great-grandfather Salvatore, later passed on to their grandfather Francesco and then to Simone, the siblings’ father. “Perhaps it’s a matter of DNA,” Maria Novella suggests. “I tried other jobs, but there was nothing to be done. At a certain point something clicked. The passion my father passed on to us ended up prevailing.” Her favorite moments were those spent visiting restorers: “I learned so much—especially from furniture restorers. I remember their artisanal wisdom…” As mentioned earlier, one remains within the furrow of tradition, but then one must also be able to evolve, and to do so it is necessary to stay rooted in the present, even at the cost of sacrificing something. Maria Novella recalls: “A seventeenth-century chest of drawers came up at auction for a very low price. My father said that ethically he could not let such a beautiful piece go, even if that type of chest no longer sells. He bought it, against my advice. Some time later we managed to sell the chest at a profit. For me it was a great lesson.”
Beyond offering yet another demonstration of how, in addition to recognizing the quality of objects, one must also understand when a price truly represents an opportunity, the anecdote also shows how the success of a generational transition depends on the ability of the parties involved to legitimize each other’s points of view—also because in this profession it is precisely by going against the current that one sometimes achieves the best results. The following case is equally emblematic in this regard.
“Our son has always been with us, without any pressure—on the contrary, with tremendous passion,” says Anna Maria Altomani. Her father, Amos Altomani, was also an antiquarian. Her son, Andrea Ciaroni, graduated in Art History and today ensures the generational continuity of the gallery later founded by Anna Maria together with her husband Giancarlo, namely Altomani & Sons. The name itself is already a statement. Andrea is an only child, loves sculpture, and has always been attentive to everything that science can provide in terms of tools for the analysis of works of art. “They let me go in the opposite direction,” Andrea says. “In reality, as a young man I was passionate about computer science. Perhaps that was the secret. That way the choice was truly my own. So instead of enrolling in computer engineering, I opted for a degree in Literature with a specialization in art history. After all, since I was a child I helped my mother and father with the artworks. I always had a Sassoferrato in my bedroom. Today those paintings are all in museums [such as the triptych now in the museum in Urbino, Ed.].” Today Andrea, born 1972, has two sons…
The Bacarelli gallery was founded in 1923 by Rizieri, the grandfather, in the same year that Benvenuto—Riccardo’s father—was born. Riccardo began working in the family business in the 1990s, after spending a period in the United States. For some time now he has been joined by his son, Lapo Bacarelli. “I joined the gallery during COVID,” he says. “I studied art history. I would have continued, and I would have liked to gain experience at an international auction house. But the pandemic disrupted my plans, and at that moment it seemed more appropriate to work alongside my father. We work well together; our perspectives complement each other. I inherited his taste for sculpture and for fine painting.” The experience that could not be built at the time later presented itself to Lapo in recent years in the form of a collaboration with Koller, the Zurich auction house. When a generational transition works, the gallery offers not only a point of arrival, but also the possibility of new beginnings.
As in the cases of Di Castro and Bacarelli, the pandemic also represented a turning point for the Frascione dynasty. In this instance, however, the five generational transitions occurred out of necessity rather than passion. The founder, Enrico Frascione, was already active between London and Naples by the late nineteenth century and corresponded with the Romano of Florence. At a certain point his son joined him, as Enrico was often traveling. At the end of the 1940s the gallery moved to Florence. Vittorio was among the first to travel regularly to the United States and London to buy, and then resell on the vibrant Italian postwar market. Enrico found himself helping his father Vittorio following a serious road accident in which he was involved. Today it is not Enrico’s children, but his grandchildren who carry on the business. Edoardo Baracco recounts how it was the pandemic that prompted him to go and help his grandfather, together with his cousin Federico Vanni (who later moved to Miami). “The age difference in our case is significant, so I can say that I had a great deal of freedom of action from the outset.” The interest in contemporary art—developed especially by Federico—is a natural consequence of this shift in perspective and is grafted onto the collection assembled by great-grandfather Vittorio, who was able to operate in particularly favorable times.
The same was true for Tomaso Piva, a third-generation antiquarian. Before him came his grandfather Giuseppe, from Padua, and his father Domenico, with galleries in Venice and Milan, where Tomaso’s gallery is still based today. At first, his path was different. After high school Tomaso studied law. He did not plan to join the business, even though he enjoyed the art world. “You have to follow your instincts,” he says. “My father started out with my grandfather, but then they split up; they didn’t get along. So my father didn’t push me. On the contrary, when I wanted to spend some time abroad he was ready to help. Thanks to him I spent three years in Paris and was able to cultivate my relationships. In a sector like ours, where human relationships matter, it’s important that everyone has the opportunity to build their own. Especially because times change, and everyone has to know how to play their part.”
Since 1992 Valerio Turchi has carried on the work first done by his grandfather and then by his father. Both of Valerio’s children, Alessandro and Domizia, have been working alongside him for a year now. Their baptism of fire was the 2025 edition of BRAFA in Brussels, where for the first time the three of them worked side by side. “We specialize in archaeology, which in the world of antiquities is a field unto itself. Provenance and interlocutors are always critical elements, and the regulatory framework is certainly complex. And then passion is required. If it’s lacking, one gradually fades away.” As a young man, Valerio was passionate about Roman history. “For me it was simple,” he says. “I was good at recognizing ancient objects. Studying them gave me pleasure. In Italy we are the only gallery still specializing in archaeology.” Why should a young person enter a gallery? “My daughter studied journalism and worked in that field for some time. But then she came back. After all, it’s still a profession where one can earn a good living.”
Conclusion.
The stories we have told show how, from an evolutionary perspective, a gallery’s success is also measured by its ability to create the human—as well as economic—conditions that allow it to traverse time, exactly like the works it safeguards, in a relationship between content and container in which the two elements are, ultimately, interchangeable. When this happens, it goes without saying that the storeroom remains a value that economic data can express only in part. For the heirs of antiquarians this value is unquestionably very high, regardless of any technological revolution: collecting is anthropologically inherent to human beings, just as the need for self-representation is intrinsic to them. On the other hand, one can also observe that the era we are living in does not favor the opening of new galleries. Stock, archives, relationships—each passing year those who can add a piece to what already exists do so; starting from scratch has thus become increasingly difficult. For this reason, anyone wishing to begin might first look to the many galleries that are still waiting to identify their successor. But that is another story. Colnaghi docet.
23 January 2026
