You’d think that the terrible economy would have a negative impact on the local art market — and that may be true. But I don’t think so.
For one thing, when you’re in the arts, it’s always a recession. Artists and arts organizations are so used to struggling to survive financially that they may hardly notice the difference when the rest of the world finds it’s struggling, too.
I don’t mean to diminish the importance of fundraising for arts organizations, and I know they are in serious trouble these days. But, apart from jobs lost at arts councils and museums, and maybe an exhibition opportunity down the drain, that wouldn’t much affect the local artist on the street.
Even less so, there are the major New York auction houses, with their $20 million paintings, that I understand have taken a bit of a hit this fall. OK, reality check: That’s about as relevant to a cat with a portfolio and an adjunct gig as the $700 billion bailout.
Then there’s the fact that the folks who do support art are usually quite well off. Even if they’re finding the dividend payments a bit smaller these days, it’s not like they’re suddenly broke or one mortgage payment away from homelessness. If they want to go to the symphony or support a scholarship, they still can.
But are they buying pictures?
In a recent posting, I commented that I’d seen “red dots flying” at several galleries during Albany’s 1st Friday this month. It’s true — people were buying art.
And I think there’s a reason for that. Though it goes against conventional wisdom, I’m getting the impression that the recession could be good for the local art market.
Here’s why: When times get tough, people recognize value. That’s why the new-car market is in the toilet — after all, everybody already has a car and, in most cases, it works just fine. New car — bad value. But local art is a very good value.
Now that we’re financially worried, there are interesting choices to be made.
European vacation? Maybe next year, if the euro keeps getting trashed — or never.
Upgrade the house? Fuhgeddaboutit.
A weekend spent skiing in Vermont at a cost of several hundred dollars may seem pretty frivolous when you’re fretting about paying for college or retirement, but a Tommy Watkins painting for the same price? That’s a good value.
Hmmm — should I spend 100 bucks on my half of a dinner date at 677 Prime, or would I be better off with a Richard Callner drawing for the same price?
These are no-brainers. Because, one day later, the steak will be in the same place as the new-car market — but a well-chosen work of art will continue to give pleasure for decades. Heck, it might even go up in value (unlike that Beemer or Saab).
The thing is, people who are worried about money, but not actually on that precipice of disaster, will still spend money for things they like — for pleasures. But they will do it a little more carefully than they did when an annual bonus and a 5 percent raise were routinely expected.
I remember another recession, in the late ’80s and early ’90s, that cut into retail sales pretty badly. At the time, I was in the greeting card business and I noticed a trend, which was new then but has never let up since, of fancy, creative, high-priced greeting cards hitting the market.
It seems the success of products like that came at the expense of equally frivolous but more expensive items (clothing or jewelry perhaps) that shoppers would buy for the esthetic pleasure and self-esteem they would bring, however temporarily. You know, you treat yourself to a little something nice, something unnecessary, and it makes you feel special. Very much like a $4 latte at Starbucks, a business that also took off in that period.
So I think today, with very serious financial worries on most people’s minds, but the human desire for pleasure and fulfillment no less than it ever was, it’s quite possible that people will discover that buying local art is an extremely smart investment. It supports the good stuff that makes a community livable; it gives a home esthetic comfort when a trip to Paris is out of reach; and it doesn’t disappear into the 17th floor of the Lipstick Building, where Bernie Madoff did his dirty work.
