OLD NEWS
BIG GALLERIES ARE RACING TO SIGN EMERGING ARTISTS
It used to go like this—or, at least, it was supposed to go like this. A young gallery, with its ear to the ground, spots an emerging artist with talent and works with them for several years. The artist shows in small institutions, gets a prize or perhaps two, makes a catalogue, and slowly builds a devoted collector base. Eventually, they gain slightly larger gallery representation. The possibility of working with a blue-chip gallery is still several years off. After being solidly mid-career for a while, that golden ticket to a legacy career arrives: representation by one of the mega-galleries—Gagosian, Hauser and Wirth, Pace, and White Cube among them.
Over the past several years, this trajectory has changed. With high-end sales softening and galleries shuttering, mega-galleries are looking downmarket, encroaching on price points once dominated by younger dealers. The result? A reshuffling of the traditional artist career arc, as big players chase younger talent and collectors prioritize long-term gallery relationships over buzzy names and six-figure price tags.
Amid a contracting market, aggregate dealer sales fell 6 percent between 2023 and 2024, according to the latest Art Basel and UBS Art Market Report. Yet galleries with an annual turnover of $250,000 or less actually grew sales by 17 percent in the same time period.
“It’s clear that the market has shifted toward a higher volume of sales at lower price points,” said Lisa Offerman of the gallery which has spaces in Cologne and Tbilisi.
There are also signs that buyer behavior is changing in this bracket. The speculation that fueled the markets for some young, rising artists in recent years has cooled significantly: total auction sales in the ultra-contemporary category fell by 37.9 percent between 2023 and 2024. “For a while there, prices for some young artists didn’t make any sense,” said dealer who is based between New York and Los Angeles. The artist-gallery relationship has a different value-exchange now, according to Gladstone; collectors are seeking artists with stable commitments from galleries.
The Race to Sign Talent
Tough competition has triggered a chain reaction, transforming how artists are discovered, priced, and represented—and it’s forcing smaller players to rethink their entire role in the ecosystem. This has contributed to a measurable rise in co-representation deals, where a small gallery will share an artist with a larger one, though these arrangements are notoriously uneven and can result in smaller galleries losing leverage. Several dealers and advisors I spoke with said that artists are being scooped up earlier and faster, sometimes before emerging dealers even have time to develop their programs.
“The new policy among heavyweight galleries is ‘first come, first served’ with emerging talent,” said T a Zurich-based advisor
Take some recent examples that are probably familiar:Just 30 years old and did not have much institutional recognition before joining Hauser and Wirth last spring. 27 years old and still fresh-eyed, with just two solo shows under her belt after graduating from school, when she began working with Pace in 2023. Born in 1998, joined David Zwirner Gallery in September 2024, with one notable museum debut under her belt that winter. In each of these cases, the artist bypassed several traditional career milestones—biennial appearances, a handful of regional museum shows—that once formed the backbone of a healthy early career.
Many people I spoke with questioned what sustainability looks like in these scenarios. “When a gallery signs a 27-year-old with two museum shows, there may be 50 more years of exhibitions to go. That’s a big commitment,” said one dealer. Often, blue-chip galleries will have more than two dozen artists on their roster, many of whom sell works at higher price points. So while the interest in a new young artist entering a big gallery may be strong at the onset, several people I spoke to noted skepticism about how maintainable that attention and focus is. “I am never wondering about that first show,. I am wondering about that fourth or fifth show.”
Pricing Challenges
“Emerging” can refer to a variety of factors, age being only one. Typically, it has implied price points around $10,000, but that boundary is creeping upwards to between $30,000 and $45,000. Yet, at that point, artists cross into the mid-tier range of pricing, regardless of how mid-career they may be or not. “The signals are scrambled,” “Now, $30,000 gets you a résumé-light emerging artist, $300,000 a mid-career work no one can flip.”
“The pricing discrepancy has become a red flag,” agreed co-founder and partner at the art advisory “It’s impossible to justify to a collector why young artist X costs as much as established artist Y whose in every biennial and museum.”
Nevertheless, the emerging bracket remains an appealing price point, especially in this current market. The advisor, has noticed increased buyer hesitation for works over $200,000. But beneath that threshold, things are moving fast.
The emerging market—modest in price, rich in conviction—is swelling with cautious optimism,” said collector . “Collectors are returning to the idea that art is not a hedge, but a companion.”
As such, big galleries are diversifying the price points they work with, not only because the speculation bubble has burst, but also to lure new collectors.
This new wave of price-point conservatism is accompanied by a new kind of prioritization for dealers. “Any galleries banking on the richest of the rich to singlehandedly elevate their program to a higher plane of profitability are probably already dead—their owners just haven’t admitted it yet,”
But in a tight market, it places pressure on the early stages of artists’ careers and the gallerists that work with them. “The pressure to quickly discover and secure the next ‘hot’ position has become much more intense than it used to be,”, the dealer, said.
The Hype Machine
The moment a blue-chip gallery picks up an artist, their prices may not increase immediately, but often will as soon as the first show opens at that mega gallery.
“It used to be that we would measure artists’ careers in decades,” said art advisor. “Now it’s in short five-year spurts—if that.” _artnet
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THE SLOW DEATH OF THE CONTEMPORARY ART GALLERY
The contemporary art gallery as we know it is dying. In cities like New York and Los Angeles, dedicated spaces that once buzzed with foot traffic and formal openings are now struggling with rising rents and changing expectations. The old model, where a gallery does everything for its artists, feels like it’s falling apart.
Big gallery chains, the ones built on endless art fairs, multiple cities and huge rosters of artists, are losing their grip. Last month, Tim Blum announced he would close his Blum & Poe galleries in L.A. and Tokyo and even stop plans for a new one in Tribeca. He was blunt about the reason: “This is not about the market. This is about the system,” he told ARTnews, pointing out that collectors have more power than ever to negotiate. His decision echoes a wider feeling across the industry with many giving up on the idea of building giant gallery empires.
You can see this shift happening at major events. The latest Art Basel confirmed that galleries are showing more mid-priced work, not just the massive, ultra-expensive pieces they once counted on. A recent report from Art Basel and UBS showed that while the overall art market shrank last year, the number of actual sales went up. It’s a clear signal that the business is no longer just about a small group of big spenders, it’s now about reaching a wider audience at lower price points.
A significant force behind this change is the shifting demand for different types of art. The once-dominant “blue-chip” artists, masters whose work commanded staggering prices, are no longer the only game in town. Collectors are increasingly turning their attention to “red-chip” artists, a new class of talents whose value is built on viral hype and cultural relevance rather than institutional endorsement. These artists are attractive for two main reasons: their work is often more accessible and affordable, and it brings fresh, diverse cultural perspectives that feel relevant and exciting to a global audience.
This hunger for new voices and unconventional methods is reshaping the market. A key example is Olaolu Slawn, a London-based artist who sold out his solo show, I present to you, Slawn, at the Saatchi Yates gallery in 2024 by creating and selling 1,000 individual, more accessible pieces, an approach that challenges the fine art world’s focus on scarcity and prestige.
A separate but related trend sees celebrities entering the art market with their own work, often commanding high prices based on their fame. Actor Adrien Brody is a notable example. His art, which he described is about celebrating the little nuances in life has sold for significant amounts, as per a convo with Interview Magazine. For instance, a painting he created of Marilyn Monroe was sold at a Cannes gala auction for $425,000 USD, illustrating how star power can directly translate into commercial value. However, his work has drawn sharp criticism from the industry, with critics often labeling it as kitschy and derivative. One critic described his work as having a “faux naïve aesthetic” and “mediocre production value,” while others have accused him of cheaply appropriating the styles of Jean-Michel Basquiat and Andy Warhol.
As the old guard shrinks, smaller galleries are finding new ways to thrive. In New York, Tiwa Gallery shows self-taught artists in a relaxed space, rejecting flashy marketing. Portland’s Landdd combines Latin American crafts with immersive events. In L.A., Marta gallery blends art and design right into everyday life. These new spaces care more about quiet, genuine connection than putting on a spectacle.
Retail is also becoming a new kind of gallery. Stores like South Korea’s Gentle Monster and London’s Dover Street Market are blurring the lines between art and commerce, transforming shopping into an immersive cultural experience. Gentle Monster’s stores are famous for their fantastical, ever-changing installations, from surreal kinetic sculptures to robotic figures that draw in visitors who are just as interested in the art as they are in the eyewear. Dover Street Market, founded by Comme des Garçons’s Rei Kawakubo, is a “beautiful chaos” where each brand and artist is given a dedicated space to create a unique installation, turning the store into a constantly evolving exhibition. By blending high-end retail with cutting-edge art and design these spaces offer a new kind of public access to creativity, making the gallery experience a part of a commercial transaction rather than a separate cultural outing.
It’s clear that going to a gallery is no longer the only way to see or buy art. Today, buyers can just scroll on their phones and purchase work directly from studios or social media. This instant access has replaced the slow dance of white-cube shows and champagne previews. Some galleries are trying to keep up, creating online art drops and hosting pop-ups in different retail spaces. But others are pushing back, as one veteran gallerist puts it: if your space is fueled by DJs and cocktails, maybe it isn’t really a gallery anymore.
Art isn’t disappearing. It’s just moving, becoming more accessible and less tied to one physical location. The old model was built on scarcity and prestige. The new one runs on access and attention. The question isn’t whether galleries will survive, but which ones can change fast enough to matter. _Keith Estiler_Hypebeast
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STORIED L.A. DEALER JEFF POE ON WHERE THE ART INDUSTRY WENT WRONG—AND HIS SECRET NEW VENTURE
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A few weeks ago, a Los Angeles stalwart, the Blum gallery, announced that it would close its doors for good. Two years earlier, the gallery had changed its name from Blum and Poe with the departure of Jeff Poe, who had founded the gallery with Tim Blum in 1994 in Santa Monica.
Poe’s exit was arguably as shocking as this summer’s closure, since he was something of a beloved statesman within the Los Angeles art scene. Though he is somewhat press-shy, Poe agreed to an interview this week on the condition that there would be no questions about the gallery’s closure or his exit. Our conversation was enlightening nevertheless. It follows below, lightly edited for clarity.
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I had been doing prep work at galleries for years, was good at it, and during that time Nic and I were asked to make Chris Burden’s All the Submarines of the United States. Fabrication was another level. I liked being around the artists and the work and I just kind of understood it. It was a language that was more natural to me than struggling my way through making music.
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Our house up in the hills above PCH in Malibu burned down. Even though it’s close to Santa Monica, it’s pretty remote, you don’t see anyone when you’re up there, just the mountains and a slice of ocean a mile away as the crow flies. I was there for 22 years. In 2007, a wildfire went over the house, but I made it out OK. So it wasn’t something that was a complete shock, like for a lot of people who lost their homes in normal neighborhoods. It’s a terrible thing to lose your house. It’s just gutting. I had to go back on the couch after nearly a decade.
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Well, with that said, I’m lucky. We basically moved to Santa Barbara a few years ago. But the house in Malibu had just gone through a yearlong renovation to be more gallery-like when it turned to ash. I was going to do a fucked-up project there called Dispatches. The house is on 37 acres with a stream, waterwall, a bunch of flat pads. It’s dropdead up there.
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I would have mostly curated group shows. Would have never blasted out a PDF, just a personal invite, and you had to come see me if you wanted to look at what was up. I was going to ask artists for wonderful work and give them 90/10, 95/5 splits, along with showing and contextualizing younger work. Same split for them too. Also, once a year, I would have tossed the keys to someone for a while to make something at the kitchen table or out by the pool and then do a small solo or be part of a group show. I would never have talked to the press about it. Just collectors, curators, other artists.
I know this might read as arrogant, but it’s the only kind of engagement I could have handled where I’d still be helping artists while keeping a toe in the water. In all those years I had up there, I rarely had people over. It would have been fun for me, and I think a lot of other people, but that bonkers pipe dream got smoked.
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The fire burned that and my relationship to the town I grew up in. Even though I’m gone now, it’s terrible to see what’s happened. And it will never be the same. There’s no returning to normal when 16,000 homes are lost. It’s a scar on the city that will never heal. In terms of the cultural community, I don’t know what’s up anymore. I’m gone now. I did my time, added a little to it. I am proud of what I contributed. Had 63 great years there. Now I’m just hanging out in Santa Barbara with Rosalie, the dogs, and my turtle.
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The art market was smaller then so there was less to climb out of when 9/11 happened or the markets collapsed at the end of September 2008. The scene was simpler and kind of contained in those years.
What’s different this time is that almost everyone fucked up. There was no external flashpoint. The problems most galleries are now facing were created by them. There were lessons coming out of Covid. I thought 2020 would be a wipeout, but it wasn’t. We all made money. Yes, there were fewer sales, but the overheads cratered. No art fairs. Nearly zero in exhibition and shipping costs. Almost all online.
Not to say that coming out of that societal freakout wasn’t a relief, but there was an opportunity for a new normal. If a gallery learned anything after Covid and were smart about it, they did fewer fairs, didn’t expand, didn’t take on artists, calmed it down, focused, did things a little different. Then they could do OK. Instead, everyone went back to normal. Some even ramped it up. So what we are seeing now that the tide has gone out is that there have been a few people out there swimming naked.
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If a larger gallery wants to show a smaller gallery’s artist, and they are respectful toward that relationship, then that’s great. Younger galleries can use it as a tool in the toolbox. And we did have those collaborations early on, and they were important to the growth of the gallery.
But beyond that, I think right now, smaller galleries need to forge their own path and create their own identities and authenticity. The people are bored. Embrace a little danger and stop following the old models. Like Chris Sharp’s Post-Fair during Frieze Los Angeles was wrong in all the right ways.
You know it’s bad when the whippersnappers are two AARP members, Karin Bravin and John Lee, who are currently putting together a mental three-day pop-up that’s free to all taking place in a parking lot in Harlem this October.
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I never took a business or accounting class, and I never graduated college. I just ran the gallery on being honest. All I know is that over the first six years of the gallery being open, we paid each other $1,500 a month. In my off hours, I was blacksmithing, growing weed in my backyard and selling it, driving to Tijuana and smuggling back cigars. I even wrote T.V. commercials for a few years, on top of reading theory, so I could at least be able to engage with artists and curators and sound halfway intelligent. You need to commit to supporting it for 25 hours a day.
Anyway, after that, the first rule is that you have to pay the artist. No brainer. That 50 percent is not your money, and if you use it you won’t last long.
If you have two artists that sell everything and that stay with you, you can most likely make it. It’s like baseball—if you are batting .300 you’re Hall of Fame. So if you have a gallery with 10 artists and 3 of them sell everything, you are crushing it. That would be the goal within the first few years. With that in mind, you need to schedule the program knowing you have slam dunks coming, or at least something reliable. Granted, this is tough now in this current environment. You’re going to have to take risks, so go with your gut.
Of course, if you can, buy your artists. It’s investing in yourself. And if you do get a true windfall or can be disciplined enough to squirrel it away, take what you can off the table. Diversify. Twenty-five years ago, it was possible to buy a house or some commercial real estate. I know that’s mostly a pipe dream these days. But beyond that, the bottom line is that you have to pay the artists, your staff and your vendors, believe in your eye, and most importantly, be able to spin a compelling narrative when you are explaining the work.
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Fire up the jet, right? That’s the idiot’s idea of success.
I have to define height because there were times when the gallery, the business, on its surface, looked incredible. A juggernaut. And it was. But the stress was mostly relentless, and honestly, mostly of my own making. It’s not the system, it’s the choices that are made, so one has to take responsibility for that.
At times it was too much exposure, too much travel, too much financial risk. A little over 20 years in, I learned success is actually that moment when there’s peace and quiet. It’s an achieved calm.
Anyway, to answer your question of what a day looked like at its height, I would have woken up rested because I slept through the night. That was because there was money in the bank for the next quarter, personal taxes were handled, and some artist’s exhibition coming up in the gallery next week would net a shitload. Oh, and there was a museum show of all new work we could sell opening up later that night and we had a locked and financially loaded program for the next year.
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Let’s start with forgetting. I just wanted to work with artists I thought needed a place where they could talk about their ideas, emotions, and histories, and that is the stew that becomes articulated as objects. Money was not the goal, the goal was to make something happen, like get a museum show, get people talking, thinking. Sadly, I think that’s mostly over. Now it’s tougher, actually nearly impossible, to come out of nowhere. The competition is absurd and the costs can strangle you. Too many galleries, too many artists, too many platforms, too much noise.
The network was once smaller, the curators seemed more engaged, actually, it was quaint in comparison to today. The market wasn’t as global, mostly American and European artists showing in Western countries. I think the gallery had something to do with changing that by showing Asian artists from the beginning. There were incredible histories that were mostly in the shadows. Now nearly everything is out there, which is wonderful and crucial.
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As for favorite moments, there’s been times that I couldn’t believe what we’d supported had become so big. Museum shows, crazy auction prices. But the favorite moments are more personal.
I was watching the Macy’s Day parade with my Ma on T.V. when Takashi Murakami’s balloons floated down Sixth Avenue. When I was a little kid, we’d watch the parade on T.V. together. And now, 40-plus years later, I was part of helping get Murakami’s work big enough that he would be asked to be in the parade. My Ma was so proud of me that day. And my mother loved Takashi. He was always so sweet to her. I think that was the biggest moment for me.
Another favorite moment was something I did often. On my way home to Malibu from a dinner or some event, it’s only a two-block detour from the freeway to the gallery on La Cienega, so I’d pull into the parking lot, open it up, turn on the lights, and walk through shows. Alone at midnight. Total silence. Just me and the artwork. Feeling like a badass but humbled too. Couldn’t believe I’d done it. Have a nightcap in the loggia. I miss that the most. _artnet