I come from a world of start-ups and big tech – a place where it’s all about how quickly you can grow and how much you can scale. If the numbers don’t grow exponentially in the shortest amount of time possible, an investor won’t give you a second glance. I have literally heard people say to those people who fail to meet the bar, “You haven’t got a business in this.”
So what does that mean for art because, well, art doesn’t scale? There’s one of me and that’s it. And so if this is a direct and immovable constraint, rather than focussing on what I can’t have or haven’t got, I focus on what it gives me.
Art and scarcity
The opposite of scale is scarcity, and, as it turns out, scarcity sells. Everyone has experienced this, in fact, most businesses that have reached scale attempt to invent scarcity to squeeze even more value out of their customers. Not everyone can fly business class on a Qatar Airlines flight. Not everyone can eat at a triple Michelin-hat restaurant that seats only 12 people per night. Not everyone can have the ‘limited edition’ colour of the latest Apple computer. If you are one of these people, then it’s not just the experience or product you’re buying, it’s the story and affiliation that comes with it – you can call yourself one of *those* people. The lucky few. It all comes back to selling status.
Art and status
At the time of writing, the latest sale of a painting by Van Gogh sold for 15.4m dollars (it was the scene de rue a Montmarte, by the way). But are people really buying the Van Gogh? Probably not. They’re buying the right to say that they are one of the few people in the world to own a Van Gogh – they’re one of those people. They’re in that club.
And so, what does that mean for the regular ol’ artist who is:
1. Still alive,
2. Still undiscovered?
Well, it depends on what we think we’re selling.
The thing that scarcity allows for is community – a group of people who are ‘in’ and a group of people who are ‘out’. If we begin to think about it like this, the thing an artist sells isn’t necessarily just the canvas, or the recording, or the drawing, what we’re selling is a ticket – a ticket to get in.
Now, if we follow this line of thinking about scarcity to it’s endpoint, the ultimate scarcity is a single piece, just one drawing – absolute scarcity. But the reason that doesn’t work is that there is no community in absolute scarcity, in fact, one of anything means the buyer is probably othering themselves in a negative way, not a positive one.
In 10 years, Van Gogh painted 900 paintings. 899 more than 1. That is an incredible rate of production for a single person – almost 2 paintings per week for 10 years. And yet, they sell for $15.4m a piece now. Why? Because being one of 900 people in a world of 7 billion people and counting is still being part of a community – I’m one of those 900 people that have a Van Gogh and that’s worth more than being the only one.
Art and community
The reality is that there’s no getting around the need to make work – make it often, persistently, and for as long as you’re physically able. That may mean 900 paintings. It may mean thousands. But perhaps in a world of scarcity, the art object itself is somewhat of a loss leader to something bigger. Maybe the art object is a way for artists to build something more important – a group of loyal fans and followers who enjoy telling others the story of their relationship and inclusion in your community. “I discovered them early”, “I was there before anyone cared”, “I’ve known about their work for years.” These are the stories one hears when people talk about their favourite artists, even before they wax lyrical about the art object they may own that got them in the club in the first place.
Maybe, through understanding the mechanics of scarcity, scale, and community, artists are able to do what artists do best – make work that matters – and the selling, status, scarcity, and scale will take care of itself.