The Weight of the Inbetweens: Matt Galle on Loss, Legacy, and New Balance

The Weight of the Inbetweens: Matt Galle on Loss, Legacy, and New Balance

There is a specific kind of magic found in Southern Europe when food is treated as art. It’s no surprise that Spain -a culture grounded in the visceral pleasures of life- is becoming the final destination for so many restless creatives.

Araia is one of those places that has become a sanctuary. More than just a restaurant, it's a journey through the senses with a philosophy of warmth. It’s a space that feels like a home you’ve known forever, anchored by a nomadic culinary spirit and a "slow-living" approach that whispers to you to stay just a little longer.

One of the minds behind the magic of Araia is Matt Galle. A man who traded the rigid lines of corporate spreadsheets for the fluid, creative freedom of service. He sat down with us to discuss the rhythms of life, the gravity of loss, and the beauty of finding "The Inbetweens."


1. Who are you, and what’s brought you to this point?

My name is Matt Galle. I grew up just outside D.C., and my early life was defined by the rhythm of sports: basketball, baseball, the constant motion of the game. Naturally, when sports are your world, sneakers become a huge part of your uniform.

I had a very happy childhood because I had incredible parents. My father was deep into sports and had this massive memorabilia collection. Among the signed helmets and jerseys were the shoes. We tend to take after our parents; we inherit their passions like heirlooms. Collecting became my way of connecting with him, especially as I moved into the digital side of the community.

I followed the expected path: Finance and Economics at James Madison, five years in corporate finance in the City. Then, life changed forever. My father got sick, and after a long battle, he passed away. He was my best friend.

His passing was a spiritual awakening. It threw me completely off balance. I realized my finance job no longer felt fulfilling; it couldn’t hold the weight of what I was feeling. I needed a drastic change of scenery -a place to heal- and I landed in Madrid.

The transition to the restaurant world felt seamless because it was yet another thing I had shared with him. We spent so much time together in restaurants; he was the one who taught me to appreciate the pleasure of a meal and the community that forms around a table. When a restaurant is done well, it brings a crowd together.

While exploring Madrid and thinking of opening my own spot, I met Pedro and fell in love with the dining experience he created at Araia. We hit it off instantly. Becoming a partner a year ago wasn't just a business move; it was a pursuit of creative freedom and a way to keep that sense of community alive.

2. If you had to divide your life into chapters, how would you do it?

I have a favorite music artist named Mike who has been a big inspiration for me on the growth and spiritual side and I would say that chapters of my life so far have followed the titles of his albums: The Highs, The Lows, and the upcoming Inbetweens.

The Highs were the post-college rush. The first real paycheck, the secure job, the city lights with friends. Everything felt like a movie, almost too bright to be real.

The Lows were the shadow that followed. COVID hitting, the world at a standstill, my father’s passing, and the crushing uncertainty. There were moments where the grief was so heavy I wouldn't leave the house for weeks. But out of that silence came growth. I had to learn how to enjoy life again. I had to find Madrid.

Now, I’m in The Inbetweens. I’ve learned that living in the extremes—too much of a High or too much of a Low—feels hollow. I’m focusing on the balance now. I’m learning to stay in the middle, where life actually happens.

3. Do you think you’ve "made it"?

I’m on a journey to find balance and happiness. Right now, for the first time in a long time, I feel fulfilled. There’s a quiet peace in that.

4. How do sneakers fit into your life now?

It’s an appreciation for artistry. Whether it’s putting together a fit for a night out or just admiring the construction of a shoe, I see the narrative in it. I remember watching a friend draw and design sneakers—that sparked an interest in the "why" behind the design.

Beyond that, it's about the community. Growing up in the East Coast corridor and visiting those iconic stores... it’s always been about the people the shoes bring together.

5. And why New Balance specifically?

New Balance is the brand I grew up watching my dad wear. It’s a full-circle moment. Seeing them transform from a "dad shoe" to a cultural powerhouse with real credibility has been incredible.

They mastered comfort before it was a trend. Models like the 2000s series with the pods challenge the classic approach: they modernize the silhouette without losing the soul. It’s a brand that feels honest.

6. What does the future look like for you?

I’m trying to go with the flow. I’ve found this newfound freedom in creativity, and I want to protect that. Whether it’s through skate, streetwear, or the restaurant, the plan is to keep creating and building community.

Araia is just the base. It’s the home I’ve built from the lessons my father left behind.

--

In a world that demands we move faster, Matt Galle and the team at Araia remind us to find the "Inbetween." Whether it’s the engineered comfort of a New Balance 2000 or the shared vulnerability of a meal in a warm Madrid dining room, the best things in life are the ones that help us find our footing again.

Be sure to check out Araia on your next visit.

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5 reacties

I couldn’t be happier for you Matthew. May you continue to live a life of choice and fulfillment.
Your loving Aunt, Carol

Carol Fox Prescott

Your dad is my first cousin & just know how very proud Tom would be of you. Your accomplishments are outstanding & I’m so glad your Aunt Anne sent me the link to see you. Just wish we knew each other more than this, but will continue to follow you. last saw you at my Uncle Ned’s funeral, your grandfather. I shall share this link with my other family members & will cheer you on! Take very good care & keep shining! Best wishes now, Tina🥰

Tina Galle Martin

It’s a beautiful thing to have the courage to embrace the new and unknown. Well done you. Well done your parents. Maybe one day I’ll dine at your restaurant. I’d love to see Spain.

Laurie Graham

Such a great and heartfelt story about You, Matt, and what has brought you to Araia, among other aspects of life! Really interesting story, wonderful photography- I do hope to make it there. Loving to share in my Cousin Matt’s journey. Much love and respect!

Janet Trager

Great interview. Love the shoes

Irwin

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Westside Gunn x Saucony Grid Jazz 9

There are a few artists who slowly build an entire universe around themselves and go beyond music. This is the case of Westside Gunn.  Over the last decade, he has transformed Griselda from an underground label in Buffalo into one of the most respected names in contemporary hip-hop, but reducing him to "rapper" has never really done him justice. Listen to one of his records, spend five minutes on his Instagram or walk through one of the exhibitions he's put together during Art Basel and it quickly becomes obvious that music is only one part of the equation. The references never stop. Professional wrestling, Basquiat, Japanese fashion, Luxury tailoring, records, Virgil Abloh,  Maison Margiela and of course... Buffalo. They all exist in the same conversation, and somehow it never feels forced. One of the things we've always admired about Westside Gunn is his ability to make people look (or listen, sometimes both) twice. His albums are full of references that don't necessarily reveal themselves on the first listen. The artwork surrounding every release is treated with the same care as the music itself, and over the years he has become just as known for commissioning painters, photographers and designers as he has for the records that accompany them. That's probably why this project with Saucony feels so natural. It doesn't feel like somebody was handed a silhouette and told to "make it artistic." It feels like another piece of Westside Gunn's world. The Grid Jazz 9 has always been one of Saucony's strongest archive silhouettes. Originally designed as a high-mileage running shoe, it has gradually found a second life outside performance, becoming one of those early-2000s models that feels just as relevant today as it did twenty years ago. Instead of stripping it back, Gunn does exactly the opposite: the entire upper becomes a canvas: pink, cream, brown and black all somehow manage to coexist without ever feeling chaotic. Like much of his work, the more time you spend looking at it, the more details begin to emerge. The packaging deserves just as much attention. Rather than another oversized collaborative box covered in logos, Saucony and Westside Gunn present the shoe inside what looks more like an object frame than a shoebox. Before you've even opened it, the message is already there. This isn't something that was designed to disappear into a stack of boxes in the wardrobe...It's something you're expected to keep. That attention to presentation says a lot about how Gunn approaches everything he creates. Whether it's an album, a vinyl pressing, an exhibition catalogue or now a sneaker, the object itself matters just as much as what's inside. There is a tendency today to separate culture into neat categories. Music over here. Fashion over there. Art somewhere else... Westside Gunn has spent years ignoring those boundaries. He's brought painters into rap, rappers into galleries, wrestling into luxury fashion and Buffalo into conversations usually dominated by New York, Paris or Milan. Somehow, it all makes sense because none of it feels calculated. They're simply the things that have shaped him. The Saucony collaboration reflects exactly that. Not because it's covered in artwork, but because it carries the same point of view that has defined everything else he's touched. The Grid Jazz 9 doesn't pretend to be minimal. It doesn't chase trends or rely on nostalgia alone. Instead, it feels like walking into someone's studio and seeing half-finished canvases leaning against the walls, books piled on tables and records playing quietly in the background. The shoe is simply another object in that room. And perhaps that's why it works so well.

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What If Miró Designed the Jumpman?

What If Miró Designed the Jumpman?

Originally released in 2008, the shoe has always felt slightly different from the rest of the Jordan archive. It doesn't simply reference basketball. It connects basketball, the Olympics, Barcelona and modern art through the work of one of Spain's most important artists, Joan Miró. Now, almost two decades later, the “Miró” is returning. And for us, it felt like the perfect opportunity to ask a simple question: What would the Jumpman look like if Miró were interpreting it today? To understand the “Miró,” you have to go back to 1992. Michael Jordan arrived in Barcelona as part of the United States Olympic “Dream Team,” arguably the most important basketball team ever assembled. The Air Jordan 7 had been introduced that same year, designed by Tinker Hatfield, and its identity became inseparable from that moment. Jordan wore the model during the Barcelona Games, helping establish the AJ7 as a symbol of basketball's arrival on a truly global stage. Barcelona itself became part of the mythology. And it wasn't just because of basketball. The city was undergoing a cultural transformation, and at its centre was an artistic language that had been developing for decades. Joan Miró had spent much of his life connected to Barcelona, developing a visual vocabulary built around primary colours, organic forms, lines, symbols and an almost childlike sense of freedom. One of his most recognisable public works, Dona i Ocell — Woman and Bird — became an especially important reference point for the Jordan 7 “Miró.” Its red, yellow, blue, black and white palette is translated across the shoe in an intentionally irregular way, with colours appearing almost as if they have been painted onto the architecture of the sneaker. And then there are the Olympic references: the number 9 on the heel, representing Jordan's Team USA jersey number in Barcelona rather than his familiar 23, alongside details in the outsole referencing the Games. We've become accustomed to seeing sneakers treated as canvases. Collaborations between artists, designers, musicians, fashion houses and sports brands have become commonplace. But the “Miró” arrived at a very different moment. In 2008, the current obsession with constant collaborations and endless storytelling around sneakers hadn't yet reached the scale it has today. The original pair was produced in very limited quantities — reported at around 1,000 pairs worldwide — which only added to its status as one of the more unusual and elusive Jordan retros. Because Miró's work wasn't really about putting a few colours together. It was about reducing things to their most expressive forms. A line could become a person. A dot could become an entire universe. A shape didn't necessarily have to represent something recognizable to communicate something. Rather than simply photographing the returning sneaker, we wanted to take the idea behind it and move it forward. The original shoe asks: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Air Jordan 7? We wanted to ask: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Jumpman itself? The Jumpman is one of the most recognizable symbols in sports. It is already a piece of visual shorthand. You don't need to see the word Jordan to understand what it represents. So we imagined taking that familiar silhouette and giving it back to Miró. Iimagining how the symbol itself might have evolved if Miró had been the person asked to draw it. The result is deliberately imperfect. The proportions become more organic. The body becomes less anatomical and more symbolic. Limbs turn into lines. Movement becomes a gesture. The figure becomes something that could exist somewhere between a human, a drawing and a constellation of shapes. The colours come directly from the visual vocabulary associated with Miró: red, blue, yellow and black against an almost empty canvas. And importantly, we wanted it to feel painted, rather than digitally constructed. Canvas. Brush. Texture. Imperfection. Because if we're asking what Miró might have done with the Jumpman, it doesn't make sense for the answer to look too polished. This is ultimately what makes the “Miró” such an interesting Jordan. It's a reminder that sneakers can be more than objects. They can be cultural documents. The Air Jordan 7 represents a particular moment when basketball, sport, music, fashion and global culture were colliding. The 2008 “Miró” looked back at that history through Barcelona and one of its most important artists. And now, in 2026, the shoe gives us another opportunity to look backwards while imagining forwards.

Lees verder

What If Miró Designed the Jumpman?

Originally released in 2008, the shoe has always felt slightly different from the rest of the Jordan archive. It doesn't simply reference basketball. It connects basketball, the Olympics, Barcelona and modern art through the work of one of Spain's most important artists, Joan Miró. Now, almost two decades later, the “Miró” is returning. And for us, it felt like the perfect opportunity to ask a simple question: What would the Jumpman look like if Miró were interpreting it today? To understand the “Miró,” you have to go back to 1992. Michael Jordan arrived in Barcelona as part of the United States Olympic “Dream Team,” arguably the most important basketball team ever assembled. The Air Jordan 7 had been introduced that same year, designed by Tinker Hatfield, and its identity became inseparable from that moment. Jordan wore the model during the Barcelona Games, helping establish the AJ7 as a symbol of basketball's arrival on a truly global stage. Barcelona itself became part of the mythology. And it wasn't just because of basketball. The city was undergoing a cultural transformation, and at its centre was an artistic language that had been developing for decades. Joan Miró had spent much of his life connected to Barcelona, developing a visual vocabulary built around primary colours, organic forms, lines, symbols and an almost childlike sense of freedom. One of his most recognisable public works, Dona i Ocell — Woman and Bird — became an especially important reference point for the Jordan 7 “Miró.” Its red, yellow, blue, black and white palette is translated across the shoe in an intentionally irregular way, with colours appearing almost as if they have been painted onto the architecture of the sneaker. And then there are the Olympic references: the number 9 on the heel, representing Jordan's Team USA jersey number in Barcelona rather than his familiar 23, alongside details in the outsole referencing the Games. We've become accustomed to seeing sneakers treated as canvases. Collaborations between artists, designers, musicians, fashion houses and sports brands have become commonplace. But the “Miró” arrived at a very different moment. In 2008, the current obsession with constant collaborations and endless storytelling around sneakers hadn't yet reached the scale it has today. The original pair was produced in very limited quantities — reported at around 1,000 pairs worldwide — which only added to its status as one of the more unusual and elusive Jordan retros. Because Miró's work wasn't really about putting a few colours together. It was about reducing things to their most expressive forms. A line could become a person. A dot could become an entire universe. A shape didn't necessarily have to represent something recognizable to communicate something. Rather than simply photographing the returning sneaker, we wanted to take the idea behind it and move it forward. The original shoe asks: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Air Jordan 7? We wanted to ask: What happens when Miró's visual language meets the Jumpman itself? The Jumpman is one of the most recognizable symbols in sports. It is already a piece of visual shorthand. You don't need to see the word Jordan to understand what it represents. So we imagined taking that familiar silhouette and giving it back to Miró. Iimagining how the symbol itself might have evolved if Miró had been the person asked to draw it. The result is deliberately imperfect. The proportions become more organic. The body becomes less anatomical and more symbolic. Limbs turn into lines. Movement becomes a gesture. The figure becomes something that could exist somewhere between a human, a drawing and a constellation of shapes. The colours come directly from the visual vocabulary associated with Miró: red, blue, yellow and black against an almost empty canvas. And importantly, we wanted it to feel painted, rather than digitally constructed. Canvas. Brush. Texture. Imperfection. Because if we're asking what Miró might have done with the Jumpman, it doesn't make sense for the answer to look too polished. This is ultimately what makes the “Miró” such an interesting Jordan. It's a reminder that sneakers can be more than objects. They can be cultural documents. The Air Jordan 7 represents a particular moment when basketball, sport, music, fashion and global culture were colliding. The 2008 “Miró” looked back at that history through Barcelona and one of its most important artists. And now, in 2026, the shoe gives us another opportunity to look backwards while imagining forwards.

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