Fact-based journalism that sparks the Canadian conversation
Once feted as a rising star, a Toronto curator is facing blowback
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IN 2021, Farnoosh Talaee co-launched her first commercial art gallery, Mayten’s, with her then husband, Iranian American art collector and businessman Hirbod Human. Talaee promotes herself as a champion of overlooked and underrepresented talent—her second gallery is described, on its website, as “a space” for “BIPOC artists and those who have been historically marginalized from the mainstream narrative.” A successful commercial gallery with this loudly intentional focus wasn’t the norm and was a welcome addition to Toronto’s art scene. Talaee has exhibited work by artists with shared Iranian heritage, multidisciplinary artists from the 2SLGBTQIA+ community, and IBPOC women.
Talaee framed her brand with glittery social media posts featuring designer wear, glamorous gala fundraisers, and VIP vernissages. She landed prestigious nonprofit board positions at Partners in Art, a funding body for Canadian art projects with $1,000 annual membership dues, and the artist-run centre Mercer Union. In 2022, Talaee guest-curated the public programs for a photography and film exhibit by art star Shirin Neshat at Toronto’s Museum of Contemporary Art. She was quickly gaining entry into the city’s most exclusive arts circles.
That year, Talaee and Human separated, and Mayten’s closed. Talaee went on to open the Next Contemporary. The gallery was housed in a property owned by Toronto real estate developer TAS, a business operated by the Mortazavi family. The Next Contemporary would legitimize its presence through a booth at Art Toronto, Canada’s largest art fair.
I was initially one of Talaee’s cheerleaders. In 2022, I interviewed her for a feature in Arts Help in which we talked about how she’d persuaded TAS to sponsor her gallery spaces and how this partnership could serve as a new model for art galleries struggling to survive high commercial rents in Toronto.
Like others, I had been charmed by her, even inviting her to a gathering in my home. In 2023, Toronto Life included Talaee, then thirty-four, in its annual list of twenty-five rising stars.
But over the years, Talaee’s reputation began to crumble, at least among the artists she claimed to support. In June 2025, Natia Lemay, an internationally renowned painter and sculptor, shared an Instagram post that threatened to expose Talaee as a fraud, calling her out for unpaid commissions for artwork sold between 2022 and 2023 at Mayten’s and the Next Contemporary. Her loss, Lemay wrote, totalled over $15,000.
Encouraged by Lemay’s post, a rising chorus of voices began alleging years-long patterns of verbal and psychological abuse, image exploitation, and invoices owed by Talaee’s galleries. I spoke with Lemay and others about their experiences with Talaee—how they chased overdue payments and experienced gaslighting and legal threats. I’ve heard from gallery directors, independent curators, and artists who didn’t want to be named for fear of reprisal. Talaee’s galleries have unsettled debts with two other galleries while also owing money to a public relations company and a former employee.
I’ve traced Talaee’s rise and examined how she managed to dodge accountability. (As I was working on this story, I received a cease-and-desist letter from a lawyer representing Talaee, as did The Walrus.) The picture that’s emerged isn’t just one of missed payments or even outright theft. It’s about how power imbalances can silence artists—and cow others into complicity.