In the midst of a summer storm of gallery closures, understanding what shape the art world might take next means paying close attention to new players stepping in to occupy the space left behind—often with models vastly different from those of their predecessors. LATITUDE Gallery (which, after five years in a modest Chinatown space, recently inaugurated a new 2,800-square-foot, two-floor location in Tribeca) is an interesting case study.
The move marks a significant shift for the gallery—a reflection of its growth and evolving presence in New York City’s art scene since its founding in 2020. And yet, when Observer spoke with the gallery’s founder, Shihui Zhou, to learn more about the story behind the move, it was her community-focused model that made that growth possible.
Since the gallery’s inception, Zhou has placed people at the core of her vision and strategy. She launched her first space in Williamsburg after graduating from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and moving to New York. At the time, she still thought of herself as an artist and was working with textiles—she relocated from China to the U.S. specifically to bring her career to a global stage. But soon after graduating, she faced not only the challenges of building an artistic path but also the visa hurdles of remaining in the States. It quickly struck her how many other Asian artists and professionals must be navigating similar situations.
Yet there was no gallery in New York specifically dedicated to championing and uplifting Asian artists and those from the Asian diaspora. Zhou decided to fill that void, opening what she has always considered more of an artist-run space than a commercial gallery. Identifying this underserved niche at what turned out to be just the right moment turned out to be one of the key factors behind LATITUDE Gallery’s success. “There aren’t many galleries directly focusing on supporting diasporas or Asian immigrants,” she said. “So, it was easier for us to carve out that space and make those exchanges.”
She transformed her apartment in Williamsburg into a space to showcase art by her peers. “It was an easy decision for me because I knew so many talented artists, some of whom had just graduated. I immediately had people willing to contribute and bring their work, without even discussing who would cover shipping costs. We were just having so much fun.”
<img decoding="async" class="lazyload wp-image-1580461 size-full-width" src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAAAAACH5BAEKAAEALAAAAAABAAEAAAICTAEAOw==" data-src="https://observer.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2025/08/5I6A8858-HDR-copy.jpg?quality=80&w=970" alt="A bright white gallery wall displays four abstract paintings in various colors and styles, with a colorful vertical sculpture placed on the floor to the right." width="970" height="647" data-caption='A view of “Birth of the Between: The Infinite Interchange,” curated by Neil Jiang. <span class=”lazyload media-credit”>Photo by Yanmei Jiang, courtesy of LATITUDE Gallery New York</span>’>
From the outset, Zhou envisioned the gallery as a space built by and for a community, and she resisted the convention of naming it after herself. “I wanted something that felt bigger than me,” she recalled. One day, her friend Nijah Cunningham—an English professor at Hunter College who understood firsthand her struggles as a migrant artist—stopped by the space. He was the one who suggested the word “latitude,” not only in its geographic sense but also as a metaphor for giving people room and freedom. The name clicked.
When the pandemic hit, Zhou didn’t stop. Instead, she focused on expanding her reach using technology to connect with a broader audience beyond the gallery’s walls. “I just put more effort into it—using social media and hosting artist talks,” she said. “It was easy for me to leverage those platforms, and people were really paying attention back then.”
Zhou also used the time to study how to run a gallery. A self-taught dealer and entrepreneur, she knew she needed to become more business savvy to grow, expand her impact and remain sustainable. “At first, I was only focused on the art, but during the pandemic, with all the financial hardships, I realized that artists need money for expenses. The space also needed to be sustainable to keep everything running,” she admitted. She was initially uncomfortable making money off the artists she was working with or becoming too commercial by selling, but as some of those artists began gaining attention, she made the shift.
When the gallery began to grow its roster in 2022, Zhou moved her operation to a modest space in Chinatown. “I was strolling through the Lower East Side, and many storefronts were vacant as they had shut down over the pandemic,” she said. “As I walked around, I realized that Chinatown felt like a mothership calling us.” It was the perfect neighborhood for her gallery—not only aligned with its mission but also rooted in the community whose voices she wanted to amplify.
If you know anything about New York real estate, you probably know how difficult it is to secure a space in that neighborhood if you don’t have ties with and, more importantly, respect for the key players in the community. Zhou found herself negotiating with the old Chinatown mafia. Concurrently, she learned she was pregnant, and the baby arrived during the gallery’s first year. Each life change brought new challenges.
Success didn’t happen overnight, and the challenges were manifold. But Zhou acknowledged that you can’t expect to build something groundbreaking overnight or win everyone’s heart right away. “You have to be dedicated and consistent, but over time, the older generation and the local community became curious. They saw us every day, putting out interesting shows, engaging with the artists. They soon realized we were serious about what we were doing. It wasn’t just a game; it was our job.”
Zhou proactively cultivated her place in the community and received an unexpectedly warm welcome and recognition, which allowed her to expand her collector base in deeply authentic and sometimes surprising ways. “We got some collectors who were not our typical ones, i.e., those who had been in the game for a long time,” Zhou explained. She recalled one occasion in which an older woman came in to rest for a moment. “As she enjoyed the art, we started talking. She told me she was a cancer survivor and had always thought about decorating her home with amazing artwork. Eventually, she decided to start collecting. Those types of encounters were truly incredible.”
For the people of Chinatown—mainly Chinese and Asian migrants like Zhou—the gallery became a place where they could feel represented and see art that reflected their identities, daily struggles and memories and traditions of their home countries. Zhou was offering the community more than art; the gallery was becoming a place to gather and find a voice.
She soon realized that what they were doing wasn’t a minor thing. “Slowly, we were drawing attention to Asian diaspora artists and Asian immigrant artists. We helped cultivate a growing community, and it’s been amazing to be part of that,” she reflected. “It’s been rewarding to see the artists we supported getting bigger gallery shows, collaborating with larger galleries.”
From the beginning, LATITUDE Gallery aimed to be a self-sustaining artistic hub where people could grow together, find support and have a voice. “We started to get on the map not just because we’ve worked hard, but because our artists, colleagues and even former interns are doing so well. They’ve gone on to work with others, helping us all become more visible in the scene. That was crucial for us to expand and widen our reach.”
Providing career opportunities not only for other Asian artists but also for young art professionals has also been integral to Zhou’s vision. To that end, LATITUDE Gallery developed a dynamic internship program to support Asian immigrants, Asian graduates and foreign students seeking to build careers in the arts. Each intern works one day a week on a rotating basis, assisting the gallery while gaining valuable experience. “Many immigrants and professionals in the arts need a starting point, too. I’m happy to offer them opportunities through internships or recommendations to people I know,” Zhou explained. “It’s been a great way to contribute to their professional growth and provide visa support while containing costs.”
Although Zhou has taken some risks, she said she’s still cautious when it comes to spending. “I’ve always played it a little safe to ensure that it’s not just about my ambition, but also about sustaining the gallery and ensuring its long-term success.” LATITUDE Gallery has participated in fairs like NADA, Untitled Miami and, more recently, fairs in Asia such as 021 in Shanghai. Still, Zhou has been careful not to overexpose the gallery, which has primarily focused on less traditional approaches, such as gallery collaborations, to branch out and reach new audiences and geographies while keeping things fresh.
Even now, one of the main reasons for the move to Tribeca after five years in Chinatown was to have the space to experiment with new models and formats. As the environment around her has shifted, Zhou has thought a lot about how to expand and maintain sustainable programming. “It wasn’t about proving a point with the closures happening around us—it was just time,” she reflected. “We had spent five great years in Chinatown, but eventually, we realized the space could no longer accommodate the shows and the growing needs of our artists.”
That said, it didn’t hurt that Tribeca was clearly becoming the city’s next art hub, with more and more galleries making the move there. Zhou wanted to be part of that shift. When she found the new space, she wasn’t immediately drawn to it, but she also realized taking it was the only way to secure a ground-level location that was double—or even triple—the size of their former site. It was important to her that LATITUDE maintain the same level of accessibility it had offered as a storefront. “You check off the boxes, but pick what truly matters to the programming and to you,” she noted. “That’s where we got the most foot traffic—curious people just walking in, even accidentally touching the artwork. We really wanted to keep that accessibility.”
The new space, which opened last week at 5 Lispenard Street, spans two floors, both significantly larger than the previous Chinatown location. According to Zhou, the expanded layout will let the gallery host meaningful two-person shows that will put artists’ works in conversation.
At the same time, the gallery’s basement will serve as a space for experimental, conceptual and boundary-pushing exhibitions—many of which will be mounted in collaboration with other galleries. “We’re thinking beyond just New York, even to places like China or Berlin, serving as a bridge between regions,” Zhou said, describing the model she’s been envisioning as older players are stepping back and the old structures no longer seem to be working.
“In the past, I’ve collaborated with galleries in China and other places, and I think if you keep an open mind and stay flexible, you can make things work. New Yorkers are really good at making things happen when people are determined.” She’s committed to bringing that same energy into LATITUDE’s new space by partnering with galleries, artists and even scrappy DIY art groups to continue uplifting new voices.
For Zhou, the formula she applied from the beginning—growing a broad community—remains the key to allowing a new generation of dealers to do things differently and thrive. Embracing collaboration, engaging the public and extending programming beyond exhibitions is what she believes will drive success.
“We started with the idea of supporting the artist community, as I was once an artist myself. But over time, I realized that curators, writers and art administrators are also part of that community,” she considered. “LATITUDE can be their home, where they begin their careers and learn something new. And hopefully, in the future, they’ll return to support our programs.”
LATITUDE’s new space opened with a group show, “Birth of the Between,” curated by Neil Jiang—a collector and friend who has been close to the gallery throughout its growth. For Zhou, the collaboration is another way to make collectors more participatory, helping them feel directly involved in the gallery’s mission. “I feel like art collectors, especially immigrant collectors from China, are also a part of that community. Sometimes they face discrimination, too, and they’re working to maintain an image of being thoughtful collectors—not just people with money, but passionate ones who study and understand what they’re buying.”
Zhou admitted that building a community over time is slow work—you can’t expect quick rewards. But she genuinely enjoys it, and she’s deeply committed to it. “Over time, I’ve seen my community grow bigger, and I realized that the collector community, art professionals and artists’ circles have merged in a way. I want to keep this ecosystem thriving, which is why I’m open to collaborating with other galleries, sharing resources and connecting people. It’s about creating a world where we all know each other and come from this space.”
She recalls the uncertainty during the pandemic and the chaos surrounding the 2020 election, and how, in that moment, it became clear how important it was to be an anchor for artists. “All this gave me a sense of purpose and hope,” she said, adding that for some gallerists, these challenges become a reason to try one more time, while for others, it’s a one-time gamble—a burn-it-down moment in the hope of building something better, stronger, more sustainable. “After the pandemic and all the ups and downs in the economy, this is really about the persistence of independent gallerists.”
Today, LATITUDE’s mission of creating a community platform feels even more essential, as the art world navigates a rapidly shifting market and a fragile political climate marked by division and anti-migration rhetoric. “I think it’s crucial for all community members—collectors, artists, curators and art professionals—to come together, stay connected and stick together. Otherwise, no one will truly survive in this environment.”
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