No news here.  We’re living through a period when we’re scrutinizing our investment choices more thoroughly.  Our buying decisions – anywhere from the daily cappuccino to the upgrade in residence – are being reconsidered, delayed or discontinued altogether.  Regardless of the degree to which we are affected, it’s a wake-up call for accountability of our daily decisions, their subtleties and consequences.

I have been involved in the business and/or creation of art for 35 years – the exact period of my marriage.  My husband is an artist and more recently we have owned and operated an art gallery.  For our current purpose, suffice to say that – after 35 years of collecting and helping others to collect art - I’ve discovered that purchases made in tougher economic times are often stronger investments because they tend to feed our spirit for a lifetime. Furthermore, the more “grounded” we are in our choice of art, the more resilient its value.   This is my thesis for what follows.

The term “grounded” can be applied in two poignant ways.  First, if you are a collector of original artwork, it is highly unlikely that the creation of that piece - or your acquisition of it - contributed to the global financial or environmental crisis. For, in all likelihood, it was crafted from mostly organic, renewable resources - think of clay, wood, pigment, paper – and by the nonpolluting human hand.   In his book, News From Nowhere, William Morris, a Victorian poet, painter, and political philosopher made his case for a balanced economic order – generated through the restoration of taste. EG. In Nowhere, people were schooled to value the quality not quantity of goods – thus aesthetics was the context of economic life.  Morris avowed that this “handicraft school of excellence” -  hand crafting goods rather than mass production - would be of ultimate benefit to the soul as well as the body.  I couldn’t agree more. 

It comes as no surprise, then, that our home is filled with art of all kinds. So in preparation for this piece, I decided to review our own collection.  What has endured?  What still warms my heart?  What do I keep but regularly overlook?  My Victorian forefather wouldn’t be surprised at what insights I unearthed.  From them, I offer the second dimension of a grounded art investment – the care and feeding of the soul.  So, chronologically I offer brief descriptions of a few of our most treasured arts & crafts – and why their value endures.

The Charcoal Sketches
As a wedding gift we received two perfectly lovely Colonial pewter candlesticks. They were the first to be exchanged.  In their place we chose three small, framed charcoal sketches by the artist, Vel Miller.  They depicted: the backside of a pony tailed female nude, the bust and face of a young bearded man, and the portrait of a wise old bearded man.  They looked exactly like us – present and future.  We still hang them prominently where ever we go.  In fact, I recently researched and contacted the artist for the first time.  To my delight – 35 years later - she responded!

The Urn
I admit – we have a thing for nudes.  Perhaps it goes with the territory of remaining childless.  Anyway, around 1980 we splurged on this perfectly exquisite earthenware urn from the Ann Arbor Art Festival.  At about 18 inches tall, its main feature is the intertwining of a naked man and woman – with prominent interlocking hands - wrapped sensually around the circumference of the piece.  Sadly, one of their feet was severed in our last move.  I glued it back and it remains one of our most prized possessions. I wouldn’t dream of discarding it.

Albert Handell Paintings
An exquisite artist – Albert Handell, mentored my husband, Kevin.  Around the mid 1980’s when Kevin was pursuing an eventual full-time career in art and receiving regular instruction from Albert, we acquired two of Albert’s pieces – an oil and a pastel.  While in economic terms, these may be our most valuable investments; their value goes far beyond.  Rather, we cherish them not only for their beauty, but also for the loving kindness and selfless instruction that Albert offered Kevin over the years.  This, as they say, was priceless.

Letting Go
Over our bed is a large framed giclee reproduction.  It’s a very simplified image of a bearded fisherman cradling a large fish in his arms.  No real background or foreground.  I was attracted to the image when I saw it in a gallery in New Smyrna Beach, Florida but wasn’t inclined to purchase – that is until I heard the title.  At the time of purchase, Kevin and I were transitioning from stable positions of fulltime employment to the less certain prospects of self-employment.  The title “Letting Go” summarized our subsequent feelings of excitement and insecurity.  It’s meaning has evolved for us over the years.  In its current location, it means letting go of the days events and getting a good night’s rest!

The Talking Stick
In 2001, Kevin and I took a two-month painting and writing sabbatical to New Zealand.  While there we immersed ourselves in the local culture and land.  Around the curve from one of our rentals was a Maori village – called a Mari in the aboriginal language.  We had the good fortune of becoming acquainted with a Maori wood carver, Jason.  It was a no-brainer to acquire one of his creations – a beautifully crafted talking stick – for Kevin’s 50th birthday, which fell midway through our residency.  We brought back a very real reminder of the New Zealand landscape we grew to love.

Kevin Beck Paintings
I’m married to an exquisite plein air painter.  As such, we’re frequently asked, “how can you let go of your art?”  And the answer is, sometimes we don’t.  Our collection falls generally into two categories: those that have received acclaim through competition or publication; and those who’s meaning is singular to us. Remarkably, those paintings – of our travels and places we’ve lived - likely would be the last to sell anyhow!  But we love them because they’re rooted in our personal sense of place. They make us feel grounded in who we are and how we’ve gotten here.

In reviewing this history, I’ve realized that the artwork we cherish most is often associated with susceptible periods in our marriage when we were feeling closer to our core.  The artwork I’ve failed to mention was acquired during periods of greater stability. Though these were often more expensive, I find now that we attached less meaning to them.  The common denominator is likely obvious by now.  When we purchased with heart, we invested more wisely.  When we purchased with just cash, we were less so.  So if you’re looking for a formula for investing in art, I can’t provide anything foolproof. But, from experience, I humbly offer these questions for your consideration.  Of the artwork you’re considering:

1. Does it complement my sense of self?
2. Do I relate to the message it conveys?
3. Am I proud of the artist who created it?
4. Am I paying appropriately for the status and reputation of the artist?
5. Can I see myself living with this piece for a long time?
6. Will it complement my sense of place?
7. Does it generate a positive feeling?
8. Does it make my heart sing?

If the response to many of these questions is positive, rest assured that your art investment is likely sound – at any time. 

Copyright, Judi Beck, 2009