In our next installment of courses with Domestika, we’ve got all your bases covered. Our Classic Colossal Bundle includes four classes hand-picked by our editors with more than 10 hours of instructional information to round out your creative skills. Taught by artists from our very own Colossal archive, you’re sure to be in good hands.

So what are you waiting for? Crack open that sketchbook and learn to find your very own style with Mattias Adolfsson, explore the possibilities of watercolor and gouache on unique surfaces with Ruby Silvious, draw fantastical beings with Vorja Sánchez, and learn the ins and outs of needle felting while creating your very own stop motion animation with Andrea Love.

Head over to Domestika now, and be sure to check out our ceramics, paper, and fiber art syllabi as well.

From Andrea Love’s Stop Motion Animation with Needle Felting

From Vorja Sánchez’s Whimsical Sketchbook: Draw Imaginary Creatures from Nature

From Vorja Sánchez’s Whimsical Sketchbook: Draw Imaginary Creatures from Nature

From Ruby Silvious’ The Art of Tea Bag Painting

From Andrea Love’s Stop Motion Animation with Needle Felting

Do stories and artists like this matter to you? Become a Colossal Member today and support independent arts publishing for as little as $5 per month. The article Colossal + Domestika: Learn to Draw, Animate, and Paint with Four Classic Courses appeared first on Colossal.

This article is part of the Artnet Intelligence Report Year Ahead 2024. Through in-depth analysis of last year’s market performance, the new edition paints a data-driven picture of the art world today, from the latest auction results to the artists and artworks leading the conversation.

On the seventh floor of Sotheby’s New York headquarters during a blisteringly cold night January, a glamorous crowd clinked champagne flutes and traded air kisses. They weren’t there for a high-stakes auction. Instead, they had gathered to celebrate a new Broadway musical about the life of the 20^th-century artist Tamara de Lempicka. After the performance, actors pretended to be Sotheby’s staffers taking phone bids. Auctions have often been compared to theater for their drama and staging. That night, Broadway found itself inside an auction house, and Sotheby’s became a stage.

It was an apt metaphor for the current state of play in the auction business. Four years after the pandemic transformed insular evening sales into extravaganzas streamed live online, the industry has never been more theatrical. Tens of thousands of viewers tuned in to watch the marquee November sales, conducted by specialists in professional hair and makeup and recorded by roving video cameras worthy of a major broadcasting company.

The cast of the new Broadway musical “Lempicka” attended a launch event at Sotheby’s auction house in January. Courtesy of Kevin Doan.

That’s far from the only element of the production that is carefully stage-managed. “The auction room is more than ever before a public room for private transactions,” said the lawyer Thomas Danziger, who advises clients on high-value art deals. “It’s more like a Broadway performance than a traditional auction.”

A variety of factors, including a softening market and changing legal requirements, have united to make it increasingly difficult to discern what’s going on not only behind the curtain but also in front of it.

Prologue

Auctions’ lack of transparency is the stuff of urban legends and everyday reality. Every decade, it seems, brings a major scandal. In the 1980s, the corporation Cristallina S.A. sued Christie’s for setting the reserve—the secret minimum price sellers will accept—for several Impressionist paintings above their high estimates and then lying in the press when the works failed to sell. In the 1990s, an investigation into collusion between Christie’s and Sotheby’s toppled their chief executives and sent Sotheby’s then-owner, A. Alfred Taubman, to jail.

For decades, New York legislators sought to impose restrictions on auctioneers—specifically, on their use of the phantom bids, known as “chandelier bids,” claiming they could harm consumers. But auction houses persevered. After all, they’d been using the bids since at least the 19th century to build momentum in the room and protect the consignor.

The past decade has been a mixed bag for transparency. Know Your Client standards and anti-money- laundering regulations in the United States, European Union, and United Kingdom mean that sellers can no longer hide behind advisors, trusts, or limited liability companies because auction houses must identify the ultimate owner of an artwork. In 2016, New York City—home of the biggest art market in the world—told companies to disclose fees paid to third-party guarantors when reporting final prices.

Sotheby’s marquee evening sales have become streaming productions worthy of a major broadcasting company. Courtesy of Sotheby’s.

Two years later, a window into the health of the market closed when Sotheby’s was acquired by telecom magnate Patrick Drahi’s BidFair USA. Since then, the world’s three largest auction houses—Sotheby’s, Christie’s, and Phillips—have been privately owned and not required to publicly report extensive financial results on a regular basis.

One of the biggest changes came in 2022, when New York City repealed a number of longstanding regulations on the auction industry, including the 2016 net price disclosure requirement. The changes, which went into effect over the past two years, removed restrictions on “chandelier” bidding past the reserve amount as well as requirements for marking guaranteed lots in the catalogues and setting estimates above the reserve. Auction houses also no longer required a license to operate. The move was framed as a citywide effort to boost small businesses after the pandemic; auction houses have claimed they did not lobby for the changes.

When the New York regulations were repealed, a chorus of voices raised concerns that auctions would become a Wild West. The Big Three houses say that they have, by and large, not changed their behavior. So far, auctioneers “seem to be acting as if guardrails are still in place,” Danziger said. “The big auction houses are steered like ocean liners, not speedboats, so any changes are slow to happen and are incremental in nature.”

The potential impact of these changes, and exactly what they involve, remain murky. But even fine-print adjustments can have profound consequences for the trade, for money made and lost. So we took a closer look at the sleight of hands occurring at different phases of the auction process. Here’s what has happened in the past and what could change in the future.

Act One: The Withdrawals

Onstage: The sell-through rate of a sale appears strong.

Backstage: Works are withdrawn if they look like they won’t sell—even in the middle of the auction.

The image of Sotheby’s global chairman Brooke Lampley delivering a pair of white gloves to an auctioneer at the end of a sale has become increasingly common in recent seasons. In November alone, Lampley awarded this symbol of auction perfection (when every lot finds a buyer) twice. But auction houses have many strategies to create the appearance of success, including withdrawing lots instead of letting them go unsold.

Auction houses are increasing their reliance on withdrawals to boost their sell-through rates (the ratio of sold to unsold works). Sotheby’s in particular has been using this strategy, and its unexpected announcement of withdrawn lots in the middle of a sale has sparked gasps and murmurs. “We realized there wasn’t a big stigma,” one auction house executive said. “If you know 99.9 percent that something isn’t going to sell, why keep it in?”

In May, the house withdrew the cover lot of the Now sale, Yoshitomo Nara’s Haze Days (1998), estimated at $12 million to $18 million, midway through the auction. The work accounted for more than a third of the sale’s original low estimate of $42 million.

Six months later, Sotheby’s withdrew eight lots, jointly estimated at $19.8 million, from its Modern art evening sale. As a result, the house was able to report a solid sell through rate of 94 percent (as opposed to 74 percent if those lots had failed to sell, according to Artnet News calculations). Christie’s said its withdrawal rate has been about 4 percent in the past few seasons, compared with 2 percent in 2018. Sotheby’s said it does not track its withdrawals.

For the players in the deal, there’s almost no downside. Consignors usually pay a fee to pull an item, but they are more likely to be able to resell the work later without the black mark of auction failure. And auction houses can erase the work from internet price databases, the auction house executive noted.

The danger is that this practice can create deceptively bullish auction statistics. The houses “are crafting a narrative that makes the art market look better than it is and their performance better than it is,” said the art advisor Wendy Cromwell.

Brooke Lampley, Sotheby’s global chairman, delivered white gloves to auctioneer Oliver Barker after a successful auction in Las Vegas in 2021. Photo by Denise Truscello/Getty Images for Sotheby’s.

Act Two: The Bidding

Onstage: A work attracts a flurry of bids.

Backstage: There may be less demand than you think.

Auctions are about ritual, gentility, and decorum. Auctioneer Jussi Pylkkänen always wore a purple Savile Row tie while presiding over an evening sale; Christopher Burge would down one shot of Scotch whiskey before taking the stage. Auctioneers have their lines, formally addressing prominent colleagues bidding in the room as “sir” and “madam.” (When a well-known buyer doesn’t have a paddle, the auctioneer will assure them, “Not to worry, we know who you are.”) And the players have their places: the Nahmad family of collector-traders is in the front row; the Acquavella clan is usually up in the skybox.

The repeal of the New York regulations meant that auction houses had more flexibility to stage-manage not only the evening’s script but also the bidding process. Previously, auctioneers were allowed to “chandelier bid” up to the reserve in an effort to stir up energy. You’ve seen it: an auctioneer opens the bidding below the low estimate and proceeds with a concatenation of bids, staring intensely into the distance. Those bids are not real. (Until 2022, the outcome of the Cristallina case in 1980 also assured that the reserve was set at or below the low estimate.) Insiders don’t get confused by it, but it can be misleading to newcomers. “You are replacing straightforward commerce with theater,” Danziger said.

Since New York City did away with restrictions on chandelier bidding in 2022, there’s nothing legally stopping auction houses from getting more creative. Technically, more than one specialist could execute a third-party guarantee, legal experts said. That means that instead of pulling the bids off the chandelier or from phantoms in the back of the room, auction-house employees can playact as a chorus of bidders, even though they are representing only one. The result—a fake bidding war—would make demand look deeper than it is.

Untitled (Bacchus 1st Version II) (2004), on November 7, 2023. Christie’s Images Ltd. 2024.” width=”1024″ height=”856″ srcset=”https://www.mecreates.com/story/news/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/Artnet-IR-YA24-Cover-Feature-Image-4-1024×856.jpg 1024w, https://news.artnet.com/app/news-upload/2024/02/Artnet-IR-YA24-Cover-Feature-Image-4-300×251.jpg 300w, https://news.artnet.com/app/news-upload/2024/02/Artnet-IR-YA24-Cover-Feature-Image-4-50×42.jpg 50w, https://news.artnet.com/app/news-upload/2024/02/Artnet-IR-YA24-Cover-Feature-Image-4.jpg 1274w” sizes=”(max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px”>

Auctioneer Georgina Hilton sold the top lot of Christie’s 21st Century Evening Sale, Cy Twombly’s Untitled (Bacchus 1st Version II) (2004), on November 7, 2023. Christie’s Images Ltd. 2024.

Christie’s, Sotheby’s, and Phillips explicitly denied engaging in this practice. But a group of insiders who frequently place bids at auction said that they are proceeding on the assumption that it is happening and are accordingly skeptical of the depth of demand for certain—especially high-priced—works. Another person, who was involved in the consignment of a record-setting painting in November that ended up selling to the guarantor, recalled watching the flurry of bids and wondering to himself, “Are these real?”

Act Three: The Disclosures

Onstage: Financial arrangements are revealed in an orderly, timely manner.

Backstage: It’s a lot more chaotic.

Whether glamorous or modest, auctions typically start with housekeeping rules recited by an auctioneer. Those rules would normally be found in fine print and indicated by mysterious symbols in the back of the catalogues. Under the now-repealed regulations, the announcements were rote, mandated by the authorities, who saw them as key to leveling the playing field for buyers and sellers. If you listened carefully, you’d hear the rules on chandelier bidding, reserves, and, in the past decade, an ever-growing list of last-minute third-party guarantees and withdrawals.

Where once there was consistency in how Christie’s, Sotheby’s, and Phillips disclosed key information to market participants, now there’s cacophony. In November, for example, every house sang its own tune.

At Phillips, the auctioneer listed the withdrawals ahead of the sale but not the latest third-party guarantees (those were mentioned just before the lot came up on the block). Meanwhile, Sotheby’s instructed its audience to consult the online auction catalogue for the latest changes, which is not exactly user-friendly for those focused on the proceedings.

Christie’s continued its longtime practice of announcing last-minute third-party guarantees from the rostrum before the evening auctions began. But the house failed to update its online catalogue with 14 such conversions made before its 20th-century and 21st-century evening sales.

Most of those lots sold on a single bid (presumably purchased by the backers) and fell below the low estimate, a sign of little interest and reduced reserve levels by the sellers. Information like this is key to market participants, yet the presence of third-party guarantors would be unknown to anyone checking Christie’s website during the sale or afterward. A spokesperson said the house’s disclosure practices had not changed as a result of the New York reforms. She noted that while salesroom announcements offer the most up-to-date information on third-party guarantees, “it generally has not been our practice to retroactively update our website with these late guarantee adjustments after a sale concludes.”

Act Four: The Final Prices

Onstage: The winning bid is assumed to be the price.

Backstage: Auction houses no longer have to reveal the final price paid for a work of art.

Ever since third-party guarantees began popping up at auction, the art trade has been complaining that such transactions are pure theater—private sales executed in front of a live audience. Third-party guarantors, many argued, had the unfair advantage of knowing the reserve price. Why? Because in these cases, the irrevocable bid effectively becomes the lowest figure at which an artwork can sell, or the reserve. Guarantors also often get a financing fee for offsetting the risk of either the consignor or the auction house, if it provided an in-house guarantee. That fee amounts to a discount—sometimes in the millions of dollars—if the backer ends up buying the work.

Self-Portrait as a Heel (Part Two) (1982) sold to its third-party backer at Sotheby’s in November for $42 million. Photo by Angela Weiss/AFP via Getty Image.” width=”1024″ height=”764″ srcset=”https://www.mecreates.com/story/news/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/Artnet-IR-YA24-Cover-Feature-Image-5-1024×764.jpg 1024w, https://news.artnet.com/app/news-upload/2024/02/Artnet-IR-YA24-Cover-Feature-Image-5-300×224.jpg 300w, https://news.artnet.com/app/news-upload/2024/02/Artnet-IR-YA24-Cover-Feature-Image-5-50×37.jpg 50w, https://news.artnet.com/app/news-upload/2024/02/Artnet-IR-YA24-Cover-Feature-Image-5.jpg 1274w” sizes=”(max-width: 1024px) 100vw, 1024px”>

Jean-Michel Basquiat’s Self-Portrait as a Heel (Part Two) (1982) sold to its third-party backer at Sotheby’s in November for $42 million. Photo by Angela Weiss/AFP via Getty Image.

In 2016, New York City mandated that auction houses record prices net of fixed fees on guaranteed lots sold to third-party guarantors. The final prices reflected the hammer price plus buyer’s premium minus the financing fee. It was a transparent, if cumbersome, process.

With no legal restrictions on that front anymore, Christie’s and Phillips decided to go back to reporting gross figures—the hammer price plus the buyer’s premium. Sotheby’s, meanwhile, still reports prices net of fees paid to third-party guarantors. This allows us to figure out, for example, that the backer of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s $42 million Self-Portrait as a Heel (Part Two) at Sotheby’s received a $3.1 million fee in November.

While Sotheby’s approach is the most transparent, the divergence among the three biggest houses has the potential to create confusion, yielding different results depending on where you shop. The fees tied to guarantees may also distort the real value of the objects in a market where auction prices serve as vital tools for assessing appraisals for and loans against comparable works, experts noted. In February, Sotheby’s announced plans to overhaul its fee structure, adding to the inconsistency across houses. “You can no longer compare apples to apples by looking at auction results,” Danziger said.

Epilogue

The houses have claimed to be committed to transparency—while doing their best to make the auction process as smooth and seamless as possible to achieve the best results for their clients. “No one is to gain from greater opacity,” said Bonnie Brennan, Christie’s president of Americas. “We all benefit from transparency in our business.”

And yet changes are being made, quietly, in small print—and in real time. Some of the moves, like the new language on reserves, are hard to spot. Others, like Sotheby’s new fee structure, are broadcast with a megaphone.

The stakes are especially high now. Worldwide fine art auction sales dropped by almost 13 percent last year, with the largest contraction at the top end, where complex financing deals often take place. Sales of art worth more than $10 million dropped by almost 40 percent in 2023. This season, many investors are sitting on the sidelines, waiting to see how the contraction plays out. Auction houses can’t afford to let negative optics alienate them further.

New clients, especially Mainland Chinese buyers, millennials, and Gen Zers, are attracted to auctions because of their perceived transparency and fairness, said Michael Plummer, who advises investors. “They also want the comfort that the price they pay is fair market because there was someone bidding against them,” he said. “If we start to undermine this faith in the system, it can go pear-shaped.”

It’s too early to know which new auction strategies and rituals will stick, what new ones are still to emerge, and which will be challenged by buyers and sellers. One thing is clear, however: the show will go on.

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About a year after my essay collection, Some of My Best Friends, was published, I got an email from my editor. Subject line: “Thinking caps, please: a new subtitle.” I’d known that this was coming. When we started kicking around ideas for the paperback, my team saw an opportunity to jazz things up. A new cover, a new subtitle. The hardback versions were beloved—by more than just me, I was reassured!—but it turns out that the original subtitle, Essays on Lip Service, had begun to strike people as a little too subtle.

“We want something that isn’t so vague,” my editor wrote, “and that very clearly tells you what you’re going to get in this collection: smart, incisive opinions; a perspective that may shift your own; some humor!” I love challenges like this; when you have to find the perfect way to sell a story to make it land with an audience. I also believe any exercise that asks you to compress your book into some sort of elevator pitch is never a wasted one. So, I was game, I was keen, I was dauntless. Even if a tiny part of me was miffed to discover I hadn’t gotten it right the first time.

Subtitles have become a mini sales pitch that obscures a book’s genre the way you might sneak a dog’s pills into a spoon of peanut butter.

The book is about the easy, lazy proliferation of social-justice language—how it’s funny when institutions slap it on like lipstick, how I’ve encountered that tendency in various industries I’ve worked in, and what that pattern tells us about what it means to be alive right now. With subject matter like that, I knew there was a high risk of being misread, or read uncharitably. If there was even the smallest chance the previous subtitle heightened that risk, then of course we should replace it.

I fired off some suggestions, knowing none were quite right but hoping, as a juicy brainstorm can, they would spark something even better from someone else and we’d keep one-upping until we struck gold: On the Limits of Good Intentions. Talk Is Cheap When the World Is on Fire. Sure, they were clunky, but maybe there was something there?

As the email chain went on, accumulating dozens of suggestions and incorporating the feedback of a widening gyre of stakeholders, the tone began to change. Every time I thought we might be getting close, a new problem sprung up, a steady whack-a-mole of fears that we might do something—or, worse, had already done something—to turn off a reader. There were more doubts brewing about the original subtitle than I’d realized. Lip service wasn’t just “vague,” it was also “academic.” In fact, so was essays. It was “hand-wringy.” It gave people “bad vibes.” It wasn’t punchy. It wasn’t funny, or it wasn’t funny enough. Actually, what if we just changed the title altogether?

As someone for whom the word essays is a huge incentive to pick up a book at all, this was very discouraging. I envied the titans of nonfiction, the Didions and the Sontags, who could slap the e-word on their book and be read as an enigmatic genius rather than a difficult scold. On one level, I knew this was just 20/20 hindsight colliding with the brutal logic of marketing. But this was a bit like finding out I’d been walking around in public with something smeared on my face and nobody told me until a year later.

Worse, I’d been walking around with the thing smeared on my face and thinking that it made me look cool. With Essays on Lip Service, I thought I was invoking an established tradition of nonfiction subtitles that signaled rigor and style. A way to assure the reader they were in for a good, smart time. It’s Slouching Toward Bethlehem: Essays. Not Slouching Toward Bethlehem: And Other Clever Thoughts I’ve Had While Being a Caustic White Lady.

Were Didion to publish her debut collection today, maybe that’s what it would have been called; the intellectual open-endedness implied by Essays or even A Memoir doesn’t really seem to fly anymore. Not to the same extent. Over the past few years, nonfiction subtitles have started trending more toward explicit description. They have become an informal barometer of market pressure; a microcosm for questions of commerce. It’s a truism that essay collections and memoirs by the non-famous are hard to break out. In response to this challenge, subtitles have become a mini-sales pitch that obscures a book’s genre the way you might sneak a dog’s pills into a spoon of peanut butter.

Of course, plenty of contemporary writers still get to subtitle their books essays or a memoir or even a memoir in essays. But an informal taxonomy suggests that numerous other patterns have sprung up in at least implied response to this market toughness. Because this is a very informal and vibes-based theory—this is an essay about the publishing industry, after all—it’s impossible to mark a fixed turning point.

But I’d guess that something changed in 2016, when Melissa Broder published So Sad Today. Subtitled Personal Essays, the modifier made clear that this was something different; an effort to clarify or distinguish the book’s contents in an essay market that was glutted even then. I always appreciate the modifier subtitle and the way it allows the writer to retain a little mystery. Heavy: An American Memoir. Notes from No-Man’s Land: American Essays. Thin Places: Essays from in-Between. “What does that mean?” I always wonder, and not in a way that gives me bad vibes or makes me wring my hands, but in a mood of genuine curiosity that propels me toward picking up a book.

The reason I agonized so much over the new subtitle was because I felt pulled between those two imperatives: the vision versus the sell.

Another popular strategy—one that I was hungry to recreate but was never able to find the right noun or verb to help me pull off—is to imbue the subtitle with a word that somehow gestures to the book’s theme or argument. Think Trick Mirror: Reflections on Self-Delusion. On Immunity: An Inoculation. Dirtbag, Massachusetts: A Confessional. This is chef’s kiss–level elegance. You get a taste of the case the book is going to make and the tone in which the writer’s going to make it. I reflect; I inoculate; I confess. It’s like an actor annotating a script and asking what does this character want and having that guiding intention accompany you through the text. But, for the life of me, I couldn’t find anything made of a comparable material that didn’t make me break out in hives.

What was I going do: Some of My Best Friends: A Microaggression? Some of My Best Friends: A Virtue Signal? (Okay, I admit, this is actually very close to one that somebody suggested.) I had tried to write a smart book about a subject that attracts a lot of dumb discourse. And, as the weeks wore on and we got no closer to finding a subtitle that seemed workable, I was really feeling that chasm.

All these choices offer different ways of addressing a very specific challenge: that of trying to capture a reader’s attention and stand out among the competition. The subtitle in particular feels like it embodies a critical choice that an artist has to make: How much are you willing to compromise in the name of the market? When it comes to what you’re willing to do to cut through the noise, the calculus—between your vision for the project and what you’re comfortable doing to sell it—is different for every person. It’s not like a website, where an editor can slap a click-baity headline on an essay and you don’t find out until you start getting harassed for it. Here, you get to sign off.

The reason I agonized so much over the new subtitle was because I felt pulled between those two imperatives: the vision versus the sell. The message I was getting about the original subtitle was that we had weighted things too far in the first direction. Now, we had to sell it more. I thought I’d figured out where my own personal lines of compromise lay. This was a request to redraw them.

I was struggling to do so, having drinks at my friend Matt Ortile’s house, when he threw me a lifeline: “What about And Other White Lies?” Matt had gone in a similar direction for his own collection, The Groom Will Keep His Name: And Other Vows I’ve Made About Race, Resistance, and Romance. “White lies” made me sit up and put my wineglass down. It was smart and sharp and it made me just uneasy enough that I knew marketing would love it.

The final subtitle, as it appears on the paperback, is And Other White Lies I’ve Been Told. This formulation, too, participates in an established trope—And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman (Nora Ephron); And Other Things I Still Have to Explain (Phoebe Robinson); And Other Thoughts I’ve Had While Being a Caustic White Lady (Joan Didion). There’s a certain anthropological prurience to these subtitles; the promise of a first-person voice to guide the reader through the experience of inhabiting a given subject position. It’s a note about which I still feel some lingering ambivalence. But it felt too fitting to pass up. Putting it on the book nudged at the limits of my comfort, but it didn’t feel like I was ceding ground on the integrity of the project. Ultimately, that was the most important thing.

__________________________________

Some of My Best Friends: And Other White Lies I’ve Been Told by Tajja Isen is now available in paperback from Atria/One Signal Publishers, an imprint of Simon & Schuster.

Featured image by Marco Verch is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

The Artfi Genesis Offering Pass (GOP) promises a seismic shift in the global art industry, aiming to dismantle longstanding barriers that have kept the majority of art enthusiasts and potential investors at bay. This groundbreaking initiative harnesses the power of blockchain technology and fractional ownership to democratize art investment, making it possible for anyone to own a piece of blue-chip artwork with as little as $10. With the introduction of GOP, Artfi is set to transform how art is bought, sold, and perceived.

Dismantling Barriers: A New Era for Art Enthusiasts

Historically, acquiring significant artworks has been an exclusive affair, reserved for the ultra-wealthy due to the high financial cost, the prevalence of forgeries, and the inaccessibility of information regarding emerging artists and investment opportunities. Artfi’s GOP directly addresses these challenges by offering exclusive access to a curated marketplace of renowned artworks, alongside an educational platform for both seasoned collectors and newcomers. This initiative is not just about making art accessible; it’s about informing and empowering a new generation of art lovers and investors.

Blockchain Meets Art: A Match Made in Heaven

The use of blockchain technology is a game-changer for the art market. It offers a transparent, secure, and efficient method of documenting ownership and provenance, significantly reducing the risk of forgeries. Furthermore, fractional ownership means that investing in art is no longer a distant dream for many. Tokenized artwork and the ability to own a part of a masterpiece with a modest investment democratize the art market, making it accessible to a broader audience. The GOP’s strategic airdrop of up to $10 million worth of $ARTFI tokens to holders further incentivizes participation and investment in the art world.

A Diverse and Valuable Collection

Artfi’s commitment to diversity and value is evident in its collection, which features works from contemporary giants like Sacha Jafri, Ram Kumar, V.S Gaitonde, and Salman Khan. This not only amplifies the appeal of the GOP but also ensures that investors have access to a rich tapestry of art pieces. The overwhelming response, with over 68,000 participants already on board, underscores the significant interest and potential impact this initiative could have on the art market. By offering something for everyone, Artfi is poised to redefine the landscape of art collection and investment.

As Artfi’s Genesis Offering Pass paves the way for a more inclusive and equitable art market, its success signals a broader movement towards the democratization of investment opportunities across various sectors. This initiative not only promises to enrich the lives of art enthusiasts but also offers a new avenue for financial investment and education in the arts. The fusion of technology and art through blockchain and tokenization is proving to be a powerful force for change, heralding a new era where art is accessible to all, regardless of economic standing.

How can you tell if the art market is overheated?

One clue may be the way journalists behave during evening sales. Not so long ago, some reporters wouldn’t even look up from their phones until a work crossed the $30 million threshold.

That boom era, however, is over—at least for now. After the remarkable peaks witnessed during 2021 and 2022, the art market fell back down to earth in 2023. The contraction was driven by multiple factors: climbing interest rates, geopolitical uncertainty, the crypto crash, a supply squeeze— not to mention a significant number of collectors who gorged on art in recent years and chose to take a breather in 2023.

As times get tougher, it becomes all the more important to keep up appearances. The art market, more than almost any other industry, is shaped by sentiment. We know that marquee evening sales have transformed into the art-world equivalent of Broadway shows, with costumes, spotlights, and a big dose of razzle-dazzle. Less well understood are the ways in which the proceedings—and even final results—can be carefully stage-managed, especially following the repeal of a set of laws governing auction houses in New York City. In her must-read investigation, Artnet News senior reporter Katya Kazakina delves into the legal changes, and what they mean for buyers and sellers.

Elsewhere in this issue, Annie Armstrong talks to a consummate insider— mega-collector and art-fair founder Dean Valentine—about the future of the Los Angeles art scene. Artnet News and Morgan Stanley look beneath the topline auction numbers to explore how artists from various regions navigate the market differently, even in our age of hyper-globalization. And Artnet News contributor Julia Halperin, who edited this edition, delves into industry- wide auction results from 2023 to jettison the spin and deliver takeaways you can trust.

In today’s art market, there’s a whole lot going on behind the curtain. And we are keeping as close an eye on the $300,000 lots as we are the $30 million ones. Allow us to turn up the house lights and give you a better look.

– Naomi Rea, Acting Editor-in-Chief, Artnet News

— TABLE OF CONTENTS —

– Marketplace

• By the Numbers: Find out exactly how much the art market contracted last year.
• Zero to Hero: Meet the young artists defying the downturn.
• Artist Power Ranking: Compare the most-searched artists in 2005 vs. 2023.
• The Bestseller Lists: Discover the top 10 lots sold in every major category.

– The Greatest Show on Earth
by Katya Kazakina

The auction market has always been theatrical—but now, it’s more stage-managed than ever. Here’s what that means for buyers and sellers.

– 5 Questions for…
by Annie Armstrong, Vivienne Chow, and Katya Kazakina

• Dean Valentine on Los Angeles’s ascension.
• Amanda Hon on the future of the Hong Kong market. 
• Patricia Marshall on how Paris’s art scene can reach the next level.

– Data Dive
by Julia Halperin

• Which country’s art market was most resilient in 2023?
• How did online-only sales fare?
• Who are today’s most bankable artists? 

– Understanding Regional Differences in the Globalized Art Market
by Artnet News and Morgan Stanley

A closer look at the auction market for artists born in different regions shows how they take distinct paths to the hyperconnected art world.

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Melbourne Art Fair held pride of place at Melbourne Convention and Exhibition Centre in late February, as it returned for the first time since 2022. From the 22nd to the 25th, attendees could fall in love with the works presented by 60 leading galleries and Indigenous art centres.

Director of marketing and partnerships Erin Hodge described this edition of the long-running event, refreshed with flamboyant red-orange branding and expanded beyond the venue’s confines, as a “curatorially rigorous platform”.

“One that allows collectors and patrons to explore the region’s best contemporary art in one space, and gain a deep understanding of each artist’s practice,” she continued.

In a recent conversation with Marketing Mag, Hodge dove into the fair’s strategies for engaging its various stakeholders.

Marketing Mag: What makes the Melbourne Art Fair unique?

Erin Hodge: Melbourne Art Fair is owned and produced by the non-profit Melbourne Art Foundation. While the fair itself is a commercial event, with the primary objective to provide a platform for Australia’s leading galleries to exhibit and sell contemporary art, the foundation utilises profits to deliver an extensive commissioning and grants program, distinguishing it from conventional art fairs. 

This allows us to complement gallery presentations with a dynamic and multifaceted artistic program – including large-scale installations, a dedicated cinema space showcasing international video art, the fully funded participation of four Indigenous art centres to showcase work by artists living on Country, a series of conversations with international speakers, major commissions, plus satellite events across the city. Since its establishment in 2003, the foundation has distributed more than $1 million in artist and curator fees through the Melbourne Art Fair. It is an incredibly unique model; in fact, it is the only art fair like this in the world. 

MM: How do artists and galleries gain value from participating in such an event?

EH: Art fairs act as unique meeting points, in that they bring together a diverse, arts-interested audience under one roof. Over four days gallerists, artists, curators, institutions, collectors, journalists, and the art-loving public alike all gather to celebrate, learn about, promote, and support the arts. 

From a commercial perspective, art fairs play an important role for galleries and their represented artists to drive sales. However, the value gained goes far beyond financial outcomes. Galleries and their artists gain critical promotion and exposure to a broad, arts-interested audience. Particularly for new artists and young art dealers that are integrated side by side with iconic names, it helps to establish their presence in the market. The event also provides vital opportunities to form new networks that lead to further commercial and curatorial opportunities post-fair. 

Additionally, the context of a fair facilitates conversations between galleries and the next generation of collectors and arts industry professionals. There is a wonderful sense of comradery amongst the galleries and their artists, with the fair allowing them to connect and learn from each other.

MM: What work has been done to raise the fair’s profile in 2024? 

EH: Melbourne Art Fair has a rich history as Australia’s most established fair, started by a group of galleries in 1988. Today, however, the fair has been re-envisioned as we move to an annual model. With a focus on solo presentations and works of scale and significance, we have been able to differentiate from other fairs in producing a curatorially rigorous platform – one that allows collectors and patrons to explore the region’s best contemporary art in one space, and gain a deep understanding of each artist’s practice. 

Complementing gallery presentations, the 2024 curated program was the fair’s most ambitious to date, including a $100,000 bronze sculpture commissioned from artist Julie Rrap in partnership with Art Gallery of Western Australia, and a major performance commissioned from internationally renowned contemporary dance company, Lucy Guerin Inc.

Additionally, strategic collaborations with brands that align with the fair’s values have helped elevate its profile. Piper-Heidsieck Champagne, The Ritz-Carlton, Melbourne, VICE, Glenfiddich, Alpha60 and Broadsheet are some examples. These collaborations have allowed us to reach a diverse set of demographics, enhancing awareness and raising the fair’s overall profile. 

MM: What digital strategies, including social media campaigns, virtual tours and online previews, were deployed this year to further engagement?

EH: A range of digital strategies were implemented to connect with our audience on various platforms – including social media campaigns, email marketing, influencer collaborations, online viewing rooms and content collaborations with digital media outlets – with a focus on creating accessible and resonant digital content for a broad audience.

We produced a series of artist profile videos, offering behind-the-scenes glimpses at artists developing works in their studios and also worked with fair ambassadors, spanning various creative fields, to conduct interviews and produce content with digital media outlets like Ocula and Broadsheet, focused on what they were most excited to see at the fair.  

This approach played an important role in not only educating audiences on contemporary art, but also fostering engagement by allowing audiences to connect with an individual – making the art world feel more approachable. 

Melbourne Art Fair also produces online viewing rooms, MAF Virtual, which runs alongside and for two weeks post-event. The online iteration increases accessibility for those unable to physically attend and provides a digital platform to connect galleries with a global network of collectors and art enthusiasts. 

MM: How do you measure engagement, both online and in-person, and what strategies are in place to improve these metrics year on year?

EH: We look at a variety of metrics combined with anecdotal evidence to measure engagement both online and in-person. As a small non-profit organisation, social media is an important platform for us, where our audience regularly communicate. Beyond the views and likes, we pay particular attention to comments, shares and tags. Our audience often comments on posts of artworks they like, or tag friends to attend the event, which helps create a sense of community online. Email is another important platform for us. We utilise email marketing throughout the year, tailoring content and language tone for our VIPs and visitor audience, which allows us to maintain an average open rate of more than 45 percent.

In-person engagement is gauged through event attendance numbers and dwell time, offering a tangible understanding of the audience’s involvement. Additionally, attendee surveys and anecdotal evidence from galleries at the art fair and reporting on visitor interactions, adds a qualitative dimension.

MM: How will the fair build upon this year’s success in the run to 2025?

EH: Moving to an annual model allows Melbourne Art Fair to maintain momentum and a year-round presence in the market. We’re keen to work even closer with our galleries and corporate partners to activate mini events and co-produce content, engaging audiences throughout the year. This continuous engagement strategy aims to keep the event top of mind, ensuring sustained success leading up to 2025. 

Next, check out the winner of JCDecaux’s Programmatic Campaign of the Year award.

Images credited to Melbourne Art Fair. Photography by Griffin Sim.

We perceive color everywhere. Although it’s omnipresent, the concept is challenging to describe, in part because color itself is not an inherent property of matter. Our brains perceive hues through photoreceptor cells in our eyes, often called cones, that allow us to discern the visible light spectrum—think of a rainbow or a prism.

An object’s light absorption, reflective qualities, or other phenomena of physics influence how we recognize brightness, saturation, and contrasts. With no end to the variations and relationships between colors, it’s no surprise that something so universal can inspire so much investigation throughout history.

Artists, designers, scientists, religious disciples, and philosophers throughout the centuries have pondered the possibilities of pigments. The Book of Colour Concepts, forthcoming from TASCHEN, embarks on a journey through the theories, uses, taxonomical systems, and cultural and emotional affinities with humble hues.

Covering four centuries through more than 1,000 images and 800-plus pages, the two-volume set revels in a vast range of rare and illustrious documents, from early manuscripts to Isaac Newton’s 1704 Opticks treatise to the chromatic tableaus of 19th-century spiritualist painters Annie Besant and Charles Webster Leadbeater. Readers will also find studies from Color Problems, the early 20th-century handbook by Emily Noyes Vanderpoel, which described theories that would trend in subsequent decades in design and art, like Joseph Albers’s series Homage to the Square.

Pre-order your copy of The Book of Colour Concepts from TASCHEN or Bookshop. You might also enjoy this vibrant Enlightenment-era catalog of more than 500 types of marble or this survey of six centuries of color charts.

Do stories and artists like this matter to you? Become a Colossal Member today and support independent arts publishing for as little as $5 per month. The article At More Than 800 Pages, ‘The Book of Colour Concepts’ Revels in Four Centuries of Chromatic Wonders appeared first on Colossal.

While road-tripping on the Pamir Highway a few years back, Øystein Sture Aspelund scouted out a small geyser in the mountainous landscape. Near a lake at about 4,000 meters above sea level, the spring periodically burst, producing short-lived formations that evoke mushroom clouds and paint splatters. “I was really fascinated by these sculptures and how they appeared along with their remote backdrop scenery. I set my camera shutter speeds very fast, enabling me to ‘freeze’ and capture some of these sudden shapes,” Aspelund tells Colossal.

Set against the beige, craggy terrain, the photos document these fleeting eruptions, the individual water droplets suspended in voluptuous sculptures. Other than a few light corrections to the light and color contrasts, the images are relatively untouched, presenting the frigid jets and Tajikistan landscape with striking clarity.

Aspelund is based in Oslo, and you can find more of his portfolio on Behance and Instagram.

Do stories and artists like this matter to you? Become a Colossal Member today and support independent arts publishing for as little as $5 per month. The article Icy Mushroom Clouds Spring from a Tiny Geyser in Tajikistan’s Pamir Mountains appeared first on Colossal.

If you, like us, were envious of the kiddos attending this kaleidoscopic kindergarten a few years back, we have good news. The architecture firm behind the school has another project with a similarly bold outlook.

Keiichiro Sako, of the eponymous SAKO Architects, tucked a vibrant building in the middle of a bustling Tokyo street, this time designed for professionals. Titled “Vertical Rainbow Office Building,” the narrow construction was completed in 2019 and is cloaked with a vivid facade of tempered laminated glass.

Sako’s team developed a special paint that they applied in a gradient so that “the view of the city from the office through the terrace is like a landscape photograph with added layers of color,” he says. Horizontal frames hold the material in place and add a sleek, minimalist detail. When sunlight hits the building, bright rays illuminate the offices, while evening darkness transforms the building into a beacon of glowing prisms, or what the architect playfully refers to as a “night rainbow.”

Find more from the firm on Instagram.

Do stories and artists like this matter to you? Become a Colossal Member today and support independent arts publishing for as little as $5 per month. The article A Rainbow Office Building Brightens Up the Tokyo Streets with Prismatic Color appeared first on Colossal.