DJ, Producer, and Artist Guy Gerber’s “Separate Ways” Opens for Frieze LA

Guy Gerber has spent decades orchestrating collective transcendence from behind a DJ booth. Now, he’s stepped in front of the work entirely. “Separate Ways,” his solo exhibition opening during Frieze Los Angeles Week 2026, strips away the booth, the stage, and the spectacle—replacing them with photographs layered with paint, pencil, and handwritten text that map a deeply private journey through grief, identity, and reinvention. We sat down with Guy Gerber to understand what it means to pass your own mirror test.

A New Chapter in the Evolving Practice of Guy Gerber

Long regarded as one of the most recognizable names in electronic music, Guy Gerber is not new to art—but he is new to showing it. Born in Tel Aviv and based in Ibiza, Gerber’s visual practice has quietly developed alongside his music career for years: from the Wisdom of the Glove project during his 2013 Pacha Ibiza residency, to Mirror Games in 2022, to his digital work Invisible Trails presented at Art Basel Miami Beach at Faena Forum. His formal debut came with a critically acclaimed show at Art Dubai 2025, followed by the U.S. premiere of “Separate Ways” in New York City last September.

Now, the 21-piece exhibition—curated and produced by Katie Lister—has traveled west, opening at 1144 N Las Palmas Ave in Los Angeles during Frieze Week 2026. The location, not far from what Gerber calls his favorite spot in the city, was a deliberate choice. “The architecture is not there to impress,” he explains, “but to hold the work quietly, to create the right atmosphere so the images can breathe.”

The Work Itself—Photography, Paint, and Layered Meaning

The works in “Separate Ways” begin as photographs—images captured instinctively, often unplanned, during walks through places that provoke a small but unmistakable emotional response. Gerber describes the moment of lifting his camera as being close to how he makes music: “There is a small emotional reaction, almost like when you hear a chord that touches you. That’s the moment I lift the camera.”

From there, each photograph becomes a canvas. Paint, spray, pencil, and handwritten lyrical prose—inspired by music, poetry, and film—are layered on top, transforming documentation into psychological state. The process demands extreme restraint. With limited prints and no second chances, every gesture must be precise. “I add as little as possible—just another texture, another layer, something that you almost don’t see but you feel.”

He knows a work is finished at a very specific moment: “When my intervention disappears inside it. When I can no longer see the act of adding, only the presence of the image itself.”

The Mirror as Recurring Symbol

Mirrors appear throughout “Separate Ways”—not as vanity, but as philosophy. They face the viewer, turn away, and look toward the sky. In earlier work, particularly in his Dubai exhibition “I’ll Be Your Mirror: Journey Through the Shields of Reflection,” Gerber used mirrors as shields and gateways. In “Separate Ways”, the posture shifts. The mirrors are often turned away because he no longer wanted them pointed at himself. “I wanted the viewers to have their own relationship with the mirrors,” he says. “In a way I had to disappear.”

The result is an open space—one the viewer enters and fills with their own story, memory, and meaning.

The Personal Origins of “Separate Ways”

“Separate Ways” did not emerge from artistic ambition alone. Gerber is candid about the personal crucible from which it arose. “The last few years were very difficult for me. I lost my mother, I lost my sister, my country is in a war, and there were other very challenging things in my personal life.”

Rather than escaping the weight of those experiences, he chose to stay with them. He speaks about healing not as something time produces, but as an active, daily practice—something closer to what he describes as fathering one’s inner child. “After a few weeks of really committing to that, something shifted. It almost felt like a miracle. It was a very quiet change, but I could clearly feel it.”

That shift became the seed of the exhibition. Parting—from people, from grief, from former versions of oneself—is the central subject. “Separate Ways” is very much about this transition,” he says simply.

Gerber reflects on a recent article about the Mirror Test, the measure of self-recognition used to assess animal consciousness. He finds a troubling parallel in our relationship to artificial intelligence: we look into it, see ourselves reflected back with startling accuracy, and still fail to recognize what we’re seeing as our own.

“What I’m no longer afraid to see is my own reflection without distortion.”

—Guy Gerber

For Gerber, the mirror in his work carries that same challenge. “What I’m no longer afraid to see is my own reflection without distortion. Not the successful version, not the broken version, not the romantic version—just the honest one.”

Los Angeles, Frieze Week, and the Art of Slowing Down

Los Angeles—a city shaped by image, narrative, and the mythology of reinvention—is a fitting stage for “Separate Ways.” Gerber’s work is deeply influenced by the cinema that thrived here: David Lynch’s fragmented dreamscapes, Wim Wenders’ melancholic roads, the noir atmospheres of Raymond Carver and The Big Sleep, where what goes unsaid carries as much weight as what’s shown. “For me, everything in art is about context. Even the titles of my tracks are an invitation to imagine a story.”

Work titles like Apocalypse Then, A Long Goodbye, and Where Is Laura Palmer carry that cinematic lineage forward, functioning not as explanations but as open doors—invitations for viewers to encounter the images the way they might encounter their own reflection: as a question rather than an answer.

Frieze Week amplifies visibility, accelerates conversation, and brings the art market to the surface. Gerber is aware of all of this—and is deliberately working against it. “Frieze week is very loud, very fast, very visible. My intention is the opposite: to create a space where time slows down, where people can stand in front of a photograph and have an intimate moment with it.”

What he prizes most is the same thing he discovered in New York and Dubai: being present, unshielded, without the DJ booth to stand behind. “Whoever wanted an explanation, wanted to ask questions, or wanted to share their perception of the photos—I was happily walking with them around the works. And being so present has been a blessing.”

Between Music and Image—Two Kinds of Truth

Gerber’s music has always been described in emotional terms: hypnotic, romantic, melancholic. His visual work occupies a different register but originates from the same place. Music is created in solitude, in the most emotionally naked moments—”melodies that give a hug to myself, and later those melodies hug many other people.” The images, by contrast, are born in movement, in encounter with the world: architecture, light, chance, distance. Together, the two practices form something like a complete portrait—interior and exterior, heard and seen, felt, and framed.

“Music is where I am the most emotionally naked. The visual work is where I learn how to look at myself from the outside.”

—Guy Gerber

What Remains Unresolved

Asked what remains open in the reflection “Separate Ways” offers, Gerber gently reframes the question. “I sometimes feel the real question is not what’s unresolved, but what I’ve actually managed to resolve—because I’m still in the middle of that process.”

He returns to a line that has stayed with him: Where your wound is, that’s where the light enters. The reflection, he says, is not a finished image. It’s cracked, shifting, and honest precisely because of that. “That’s the part I trust.”

Guy Gerber in Conversation 

WHITEWALL: “Separate Ways” reflects on parting, not just from another person, but from former versions of yourself. Was there a defining moment when you realized you had outgrown a previous identity?

GUY GERBER: I don’t think it was a single moment. The last few years were very difficult for me. I lost my mother, I lost my sister, my country is in a war, and there were other very challenging things in my personal life. But instead of trying to escape the fear and the pain, I felt a very strong desire to stay with it, to learn from it and to transform it into something. I kept asking myself how do you actually heal, because time only numbs the pain, it doesn’t really change you. I read in a book that healing is connected to the idea of fathering your inner child, doing it daily and very consistently. After a few weeks of really committing to that, something shifted. It almost felt like a miracle. It was a very quiet change, but I could clearly feel it. There was a moment when I realized I was leaving behind a part of my identity. And “Separate Ways” is very much about this transition.

WW: Mirrors have followed you for decades. When you look into them now, in life or in your work, what are you no longer afraid to see?

GG: I recently read an article about the Mirror Test—the idea of checking whether an animal recognizes itself in the mirror. The article was speaking about how today humanity looks into AI and is shocked by how accurate the answers are, but those answers are actually our own knowledge, our own information, reflected back to us. In that sense, we fail the Mirror Test, because we don’t recognize ourselves in what we see. The last few years were very challenging for me. And during that time I kept returning to the mirror, not in a physical way but in an emotional way, to make sure I stay loyal to myself and authentic to my values as an artist and as a human being. So what I’m no longer afraid to see is my own reflection without distortion. Not the successful version, not the broken version, not the romantic version—just the honest one. The mirrors in my work are less about asking who I am and more about accepting what I see. In a way, passing the Mirror Test for me is simply the ability to recognize myself and to stay in alignment with that, even when life becomes very difficult.

WW: You’ve said you travel with a camera and a mirror. When you lift the camera, are you searching for beauty or for evidence?

GG: I’m definitely searching for beauty, but not in the classical sense. I’m searching for a moment of truth that appears for a second and then disappears. Sometimes the place itself is not beautiful at all, but through the frame, through the mirror, through the light, it becomes something else. For me, the camera is not evidence. Evidence belongs to the past, it tries to prove something. I’m not trying to prove that I was somewhere or that something happened. I’m trying to capture a feeling. Most of the photos are very unplanned. I walk, I see something, and there is a small emotional reaction, almost like when you hear a chord that touches you. That’s the moment I lift the camera. So it’s much closer to how I make music than to documentation. The mirror adds another layer because it allows reality and imagination to exist in the same frame. It creates a new world inside the real one. And in that world, I’m always looking for a kind of quiet beauty—something fragile, something that feels like a memory even if it was taken one second ago.

WW: Your works are built through layering: photograph, spray paint, pencil, text. At what point does instinct give way to restraint? How do you know when a work is finished?

GG: This particular exhibition is about letting go. The photographs on their own are already complete, already almost perfect for me, and still I feel the desire to add something very small to each one. Because I don’t have many prints to experiment with—sometimes only one or two—every gesture has to be extremely gentle. I know that if I push too much I might destroy the image and there is no second chance. So the process becomes an exercise in trust and in restraint. I add as little as possible, just another texture, another layer, something that you almost don’t see but you feel. The work has to remain loyal to the original photograph. In the end the image should look almost the same, but carry a different emotional weight. I know a work is finished at the moment when my intervention disappears inside it. When I can no longer see the act of adding, only the presence of the image itself. That’s the point where instinct stops and listening begins.

WW: As a DJ, you orchestrate collective transcendence. In the studio, you confront solitude. Which space feels more truthful to you?

GG: For me the studio is the place where music will always be more honest and more truthful. When I make music I’m speaking from the heart, and very often it is created in melancholic moments when I’m completely alone. In those moments I try to give a hug to myself through the melodies, and later those melodies hug many other people. But the space where they are born is very intimate and very quiet. With the pictures it’s different. Photography happens in the world, in movement, in the encounter with reality. Even if it comes from a very personal place, it already contains distance, light, architecture, chance. Music is created in solitude, while the images are created in dialogue with what is outside of me. So music is where I am the most emotionally naked, and the visual work is where I learn how to look at myself from the outside.

WW: Titles like Apocalypse Then, A Long Goodbye, and Where Is Laura Palmersuggest memory, cinema, and emotional aftermath. In Los Angeles, a city shaped by image and narrative, does context influence how these works are received?

GG: Absolutely. For me everything in art is about context. Even when I make music, the titles of the tracks are an invitation to imagine a story. I’ve always been deeply influenced by David Lynch and Wim Wenders, not only in a cinematic way but also in their aesthetics and in the sense of mystery they create. The titles are not there to explain the work, they are there to open a door. They invite people to look at the images the way they would look into a mirror and ask themselves what they see inside it—what memory or feeling it reflects back to them.

WW: In Dubai, the mirror operated as shield or gateway. In “Separate Ways,” it often feels exposed—sometimes turned away, sometimes facing the sky. Has your relationship to vulnerability evolved?

GG: One of the most difficult things when working with mirrors is that the most natural angle is the center one. In that position you immediately see the reflection of the photographer. At the beginning I was questioning myself a lot. Was I looking for validation? What was I really reflecting? Was it about me or was it about the persons who were holding the mirrors? But I wanted the viewers to have their own relationship with the mirrors, so in a way I had to disappear. And through that process my relationship with vulnerability changed. In “Separate Ways” the mirrors are often turned away or facing the sky because I didn’t want them to point directly at me anymore. That distance creates a space where the viewer can enter the work and write their own story inside it. Otherwise, it would remain only a self-portrait.

WW: You’ve stood before tens of thousands at the Hollywood Bowl. Now you present quiet, introspective works during Frieze week in Los Angeles. Does returning to this city through art rather than performance alter how you experience the audience?

GG: One of the things I liked the most about the last two exhibitions I did in Dubai and in New York is that I didn’t have the big DJ booth to shield me, and I had to be completely present the entire time. Whoever wanted an explanation, wanted to ask questions, or wanted to share their perception of the photos—I was happily walking with them around the works. And being so present has been a blessing.

WW: Your music has been described as romantic and hypnotic. Is your visual language driven by the same emotional frequency, or does it access a different register entirely?

GG: Everything that I do in life, I try to be romantic. Not everyone sees it that way, but in my mind I try to portray gentle lines of the female figure.

“Everything that I do in life, I try to be romantic.”

—Guy Gerber

WW: Frieze week LA amplifies visibility and market attention. How do you ensure the architecture around the work—the fair, the market, the moment—serves the art rather than overshadows it?

GG: That’s a question I’ve been asking myself a lot. In a way, the real artwork for me is my journey into the art world. I’m still at the very beginning, and there is something very beautiful in not having experience, because it allows space for mistakes, for discovery, for staying honest. I try to remain as authentic as possible and not to let the market or the moment dictate the work. The only thing I could truly choose was the location. We are doing it in a beautiful building at 1144 N Las Palmas Ave, not far from Living Room, which is my favorite place in Los Angeles. For me the architecture is not there to impress but to hold the work quietly, to create the right atmosphere so the images can breathe. Frieze week is very loud, very fast, very visible. My intention is the opposite—to create a space where time slows down, where people can stand in front of a photograph and have an intimate moment with it. If that happens, then the context is serving the art.

WW: Which artists, photographers, or filmmakers have most shaped the way you see? And in a city so intertwined with cinema, does that lineage feel especially present here?

GG: David Lynch and Wim Wenders are probably the two names that stay with me the most. Paris, Texas has been a reference point for years, and Mulholland Drive showed me how something can be fragmented and dreamlike and still hit you in a very precise emotional way. I’m also very drawn to film noir and detective stories—that atmosphere, the shadows, the feeling that every frame carries a past. Writers like Raymond Carver, or something like The Big Sleep, where what’s unsaid is as important as what you see. But the truth is that I always struggle with this question, because it’s never just a list. It’s more like a collection of moments that stayed with me: a certain night, an empty road, a joke that has been forgotten, a reflection in a wine glass, all the friends I meet around the world. All those things accumulate over time and quietly become part of how I see and how I frame things.

WWW: You’ve described your art as a survey of yourself. If that’s the case, what remains unresolved in the reflection?

GG: I sometimes feel the real question is not what’s unresolved, but what I’ve actually managed to resolve, because I’m still in the middle of that process. It’s a long and winding road to your door. The work is less about giving answers and more about staying inside the search. If there’s a line that stays with me, it’s that where your wound is, that’s where the light enters. So the reflection is not a finished image. It’s cracked, it’s shifting, and through those fractures something honest comes through. That’s the part I trust.

EXHIBITION DETAILS“Separate Ways” by Guy Gerber
On View: February 26 – March 4, 2026
1144 N Las Palmas Ave, Los Angeles, CA
Opening Night (Invite Only): Wednesday, February 25, 2026
7:00 PM – Midnight Featuring a DJ set by Guy Gerber