The one that got away

You only regret the art you don’t buy.

A couple of years ago, I stayed in Litchfield, Connecticut, for a period of time. My husband was doing a residency at a historical Marcel Breuer house, the only modernist house in a sea of colonial-style New England houses with shingles and candles in the windows.

On weekends, we explored the area, antiquing, visiting the art museums at Yale, and going to sculpture gardens. On one of these outings, I noticed a postcard of a painting pinned to a message board. Even through a postcard, I could tell that the painting was special. I took down the gallery information and emailed them right away.

They were kind enough to send a PDF of available works. The prices were reasonable for the quality of the paintings, but not low enough that it was a decision I could make without pause. Half were already sold. I don’t remember the exact numbers, but I believe they were between $1500 and $3000—the same price as a luxury handbag or rent.

I’ll cut to the chase—we didn’t end up collecting a painting. This decision haunts me to this day because, less than a year later, the paintings doubled in price, and the artist went from showing at a small, reputable gallery in Upstate New York to Art Basel.

Every serious collector I know has a similar story. It’s a lesson that can only be learned the hard way: you only regret the art you don’t buy.

There’s a certain buzz when the market confirms your taste. Even though I’d like to say that I engage with art outside of its market conditions, I love collecting an artist on the ground floor or “before they get big.” I imagine this is how music snobs get when they like a band before they were cool. A badge of honour with no reward but our own taste. The mark of a good collector is trusting your own judgement instead of simply following what’s in vogue.

I’m holding out hope that we can still collect a piece one day—we just need to make a lot more money. Maybe the lesson of collecting something when you feel strongly about it is good enough for the pain of not acquiring the painting.

Here are some photos from our time in Litchfield:

If you’d like to know who the artist is—send me an email, and I’ll tell you.