Pivoting from fashion to art, Angelina Jolie wants to build a community of creatives, thinkers and doers of all kinds, in a storied building at 57 Great Jones Street. She’s picking up where Warhol and Basquiat left off. https://t.co/evQx9yXbRr
— New York Times Arts (@nytimesarts) March 24, 2025
Angelina Jolie Wants to Pick Up Where Warhol and Basquiat Left Off
The actress is building a community of artists, thinkers and doers of all kinds, in a storied building in downtown Manhattan.
By Melena Ryzik
March 24, 2025
It was a Saturday night, and behind the graffiti-scrawled facade of Atelier Jolie, her downtown creative space and gallery, Angelina Jolie was in conversation with the artist Shirin Neshat.
The topics were heady: the plight of refugees, the rights of women, how to wrench meaning from exile; the value of art in all that. Jolie, ethereal in a cream dress with an embroidered capelet, was gracious. “I’m so happy to be with all of you,” she said to the invited 50 or so guests, adding that she sought community to “keep trying to understand ways to help.” For her, being an artist was a means of communication: “I want to know if you feel the same pain.”
Jolie listened intently to Neshat, the Iranian visual artist and filmmaker, a striking figure with kohled eyes. “Art doesn’t come from intuition,” Neshat said. “It has to come from the life you have led. It has to relate to the world.”
At the reception, notables like the musician Jon Batiste and the author Suleika Jaouad (his wife), and Jack Harlow, the chart-topping rapper, mingled amid the artwork. A Sufi dancer in a crimson gown twirled between the tagged-up walls.
And Jolie, the Oscar-winning actress, humanitarian and object of global fascination, was not the red-hot center of attention. Which is just how she wants it. “I like to see what other people make,” she said. “That’s part of my creativity.”
For a little over a year, she has endeavored to build Atelier Jolie into a hub for artists and makers — and chefs, students and Broadway stars. The building comes with an almost unparalleled artistic pedigree: 57 Great Jones Street was once owned by Andy Warhol, and inhabited by Jean-Michel Basquiat, who had his studio there until his death in 1988.
Jolie’s dream was for the space to once again be a cultural locus, a clubhouse full of inspired and international creatives, and also a magnet for a curious public — to come and browse, take a class, refuel with a slice of orange almond cake at the global-cuisine cafe, Eat Offbeat.
It did not immediately work out as she envisioned. “It’s been tricky,” she said in a recent interview. “I found that this has been a lot of what not to do.”
Its initial incarnation was as a pop-up fashion studio for visiting designers, “because I think the world’s most interested in that,” she said. “People focus on fashion.”
“But,” she added, “it was very quickly clear to me that that wasn’t going to be my love,” in part because she rejected the environmental impact of the typical fashion cycle — water pollution, greenhouse gas emissions, landfill-fueling consumption. “I don’t want to tell people that they need to buy something new every few months.”
So she pivoted, expanding her web and sharing the rarest New York commodity: square footage. For free.
The French multimedia artist Prune Nourry, who helped organize the Neshat event as part of an exhibition called “Strand for Women,” has become the atelier’s artist-in-residence, with a second-floor studio where she expects to sculpt sometimes mammoth works over the next two years.
The Invisible Dog, a beloved, 16-year-old art space, whose original multistory Brooklyn building is being redeveloped, has arrived as a resident gallery. Nourry introduced its founder and curator, Lucien Zayan, to Jolie, and he is busily programming shows and cultivating community in his new Manhattan neighborhood. In the Warhol-Basquiat era, he said, the building was a gathering place, too: “There was a big communal table in the space. People were always coming and chatting together,” he said. “That’s exactly what she wanted.”
For Jolie, a singular celebrity with a reputation for unknowability — a mystery, in an era when the famous spill all on social media — to start a public gathering space seemed an improbable move. She has been far more visible in her advocacy for others, as a high-profile envoy for the U.N. Refugee Agency. (She stepped down from that post in 2022, after more than two decades.)
But in her circles, she is known as a connector, who is quick to open her home, offer help and learn one-on-one; she has painted, danced and attended silk-screening, felting and cooking classes at Atelier Jolie. “I wanted a place where I could spend time with local artists,” she said. She hoped to conjure the vibe of a film set, she said, especially one with a crew from the far-flung corners of the world: “You can feel that feeling of being purposeful with others.”
In Nourry, Jolie has found another artist striving for community. With her nonprofit Catharsis Arts Foundation, Nourry has planned monthly talks at Atelier Jolie as part of her residency. The first, with Dr. Rita Charon, a Columbia University medical professor and literary scholar who created the field of narrative medicine, drew other searching minds, like David Byrne. The topics vary (in March, Neshat spoke about Iranian liberation), but the themes are similar — whether “art can heal,” Nourry said.
Jolie said, “It’s like a platform for discussion. It’s not dictating.”
Nourry, 40, and Jolie, 49, met nearly a decade ago through a mutual friend, the filmmaker Agnes Varda, after Nourry was diagnosed with breast cancer. Jolie, who lost her mother, grandmother and aunt to cancer, and who underwent a preventative double mastectomy in 2013, advised Nourry early on. And she co-produced Nourry’s 2019 documentary, “Serendipity,” in which Nourry takes stock of her own illness through art making. In the introduction to one of Nourry’s books, Jolie recalls being in her Paris studio, looking at her sculpture of a breast carved in wood, which had split during fabrication. “Isn’t it even more beautiful?” Nourry asked her.
Nourry’s light-filled space at Atelier Jolie (which once housed Basquiat’s bed), is filled with anatomical models and history books. In “Strand for Women,” people from around the world snip off a bit of hair, in solidarity with the #WomanLifeFreedom movement for women’s rights and justice. (Jolie donated some strands with her daughters.) The locks hang in the basement at Atelier Jolie, below what looks like a minidress made of hair, by the Iranian-German artist Homa Emamy, seen in an exhibition here presented with the help of Invisible Dog.
Collaboration is the thread: “That’s kind of the rule — you can’t just come in for yourself,” Jolie said. “You have to come in and also be there for other artists.”
Through Eat Offbeat, Nourry hosted an “archaeological dinner” with an Afghan chef who cooked a traditional meal covered in clay. “Everyone had a little hammer, like an archaeologist, and had to break the clay to get the dish,” Nourry said. It was a reference to the ancient Buddhist monuments, a source of national pride, that were destroyed by the Taliban in 2001, and to Nourry’s own sculpted Buddhas.
Atelier Jolie is barely one-fifth the size of the 30,000-square-foot Invisible Dog, a nonprofit that opened in 2009 in a former factory. But Zayan said that he and Jolie, from their first conversation, shared a conceptual blueprint that incorporated performance; viewed dining as a form of cultural discourse; and gave artists studio access. “When you create work in the space, that makes a huge difference,” he said, “because you leave the spirit, the soul, in the space. It’s not just hanging art.”
Atelier Jolie, a for-profit public benefit corporation (a certified B Corp) with the goal of social good, is not charging Invisible Dog any rent for its yearlong residency. In Brooklyn, the gallery needed $500,000 annually “just to open the door,” Zayan said, and regularly held fund-raisers. Now donations can support work directly. “We’re doing well, and we’re building a new model," Jolie said of the financial prospects of Atelier Jolie, which has an eight-year lease on the building.
Zayan aims to make it a destination for downtown and beyond, just as Invisible Dog was in the Boerum Hill section of Brooklyn. And Jolie has been an eager partner. They communicate almost daily, he said. “When you email her, you never know where she is, what time zone, but she answers you immediately. She’s very involved.”
Fashion is no longer as central to the atelier, but Jolie still gave a studio stint to Zarif, a brand created by artisans in Kabul. With its founder, Zolaykha Sherzad, Jolie sketched a capsule collection of embroidered jackets and capes, which she wore to the Neshat talk. Jolie offered the atelier “as a platform to highlight the craftsmanship, their talent, their resilience,” Sherzad said of her team of Afghan weavers and tailors.
Though films still take up much of Jolie’s life, she has been spending more time in New York lately, for the gallery and as a producer of “The Outsiders,” the Tony-winning Broadway musical. Cast members turn up at the atelier, helping her think through how the space can serve young artists. “To see these worlds all coming together, that’s what’s so exciting,” she said.
Jolie loved the squat, sprayed-up building (which had recently housed a restaurant) when she first saw it in 2023 with one of her daughters. “I wasn’t interested in being on the Upper East Side,” she said, explaining why she sought out the downtown neighborhoods she had wound through in her 20s, while studying film at New York University. But, she said, “I was also intimidated by the history.” She got in touch with Basquiat’s sisters, who gave the atelier their blessing, and turn up at events.
The architects Bonetti Kozerski, who designed the Pace Gallery flagship in Chelsea, oversaw a renovation, preserving walls covered in graffiti by Al Diaz, who created the SAMO© tag with Basquiat. Basquiat’s early comics are still pasted up there, too — a portal to another New York legacy. The facade changes constantly, as taggers continue to leave their tributes.
In conversations this month, Jolie seemed frustrated that the atelier was viewed as another exclusive downtown boutique. “The act of creation should be accessible to everyone,” she said.
“It’s what I need as an artist,” she added. “It’s what I want for my children — to learn about other people and discover and connect and share and play.”
She was speaking from a Manhattan hotel room; the New York apartment she bought in her 20s is now inhabited by one of her sons, and is a crash pad for his five siblings. Mom is welcome — sometimes. “The other day I said I was going to pop by, and he was like, can you just give me a day to clean?” she said. “I thought, I appreciate that, you should clean up for your mother. But also, how bad is it?” She laughed, and I got a glimpse of the less studious Jolie that friends know.
“Whenever I’ve seen Angie in the field, she loves to sit with a group of people, whoever it is, and just feel part of that community,” said Giles Duley, a British photographer and chef who met Jolie through her U.N. work.
Last summer, Duley, who lost both legs and an arm to an explosive device in Afghanistan in 2011, exhibited his images of unexploded land mines at Atelier Jolie. “I did a talk in there, and people sat on the floor and kind of perched on the side of tables and chairs,” he said. “It’s certainly not a place full of airs and graces.”
At the event with Neshat — on International Women’s Day — Jolie answered questions from Bronx high school students and greeted artists from the Middle East and Europe. Her friend Mustafa, the 28-year-old Canadian-Sudanese musician, brought Harlow, the rapper, as his guest. He marveled as Jolie worked the crowd. “This is not her at her most comfortable,” Mustafa confided, adding that she put herself there to spotlight the work of those around her.
As Jolie moved through the rooms of her gallery with a cup of tea, she paused to take in the unlikely scene. “Sometimes I think, what are we doing?” she said. A clutch of women had found their place beside her, urgently wanting to talk about art and activism. “And then I think, no, this is everything.”
