How to Buy Art Directly From an Artist—and Learn to Trust Your Own Taste

By DrainedEye, an independent artist based in Philadelphia.

Buying art directly from an artist gives collectors a front-row seat to the artist’s world, worldview, and practice in the artist’s own unfiltered voice.

But I think there’s an even more important reason to do it.

You get to develop your own taste as a collector.

There’s no gallery, critic, institution, or other gatekeeper required to validate what you respond to first. You encounter the work. Something happens inside of you. You decide whether that response matters.

And when you start trusting that instinct, you stop waiting for someone else to tell you what deserves your attention.

You become the tastemaker.

You don’t need permission to collect art

People can be intimidated by artists.

I understand why.

When someone is considering buying a painting, they aren’t always trying to determine whether they like the work. Sometimes they already know they do.

They’re also trying to get a sense of the person who made it.

I think most people would rather collect from artists they like in addition to liking their work. When you buy directly, there’s a human relationship sitting right next to the transaction, and it can be difficult to feel like you know somebody from one conversation.

You don’t have to.

You also don’t need the vocabulary of an art historian. You don’t need to know whether your interpretation is correct. You don’t need someone with more credentials than you to confirm that what you’re feeling is worth paying attention to.

If you listen to yourself, you will always have a satisfying reason for collecting.

Maybe a painting reminds you of something.

Maybe it gives you a feeling you can’t immediately explain.

Maybe you keep returning to it.

Maybe it changes the feeling of a room.

Maybe it activates something you didn’t know was there.

That response is enough to begin.

Your interpretation may matter more than mine

One of the most satisfying things that can happen to me as an artist is hearing a collector articulate what a piece makes them feel.

It doesn’t have to be what I intended.

Actually, once someone chooses to live with one of my paintings, I think their interpretation becomes more important than mine in a very real way.

I know what I put into the painting.

They’re the one who is going to wake up with it.

Walk past it.

Show it to people.

See it differently five years from now.

Sometimes the most interesting connection happens with a piece that wasn’t even one of my personal favorites.

Someone else sees it and connects to it intensely for their own reason.

And suddenly I understand another reason that I made it.

That’s a gift.

A painting can leave my studio carrying an intention and arrive in someone else’s life carrying another one entirely.

That doesn’t diminish the work.

It completes something.

Buying directly doesn’t mean galleries are the enemy

None of this is an argument against galleries.

Galleries can be extraordinary for both artists and collectors. The ecosystems they create have centuries of proven value. They discover artists, contextualize work, build careers, introduce collectors to things they may never have encountered on their own, and create communities around art.

I believe in all of that.

I also believe there is more than one path.

Collecting directly from artists offers a different experience.

It gives you the freedom to make your own way.

You can discover someone before an institution tells you they’re important. You can follow an artist’s development in real time. You can ask questions directly. You can encounter work in the environment where it was actually made.

And you can decide for yourself what belongs in your life.

Those two paths don’t have to compete.

They’re simply different ways of encountering art.

What buying a painting directly from me actually looks like

The process doesn’t need to be mysterious.

If somebody is serious about one of my paintings, the first step is a nonrefundable deposit to hold the work.

If they later decide another available painting is a better fit, that deposit can be transferred to another work. The same applies if the original purchase isn’t completed within the payment window we’ve agreed on.

Once a painting has been paid for, I prepare its Certificate of Authenticity and arrange to get the work to its new home.

Sometimes that means shipping it.

When geography allows, I much prefer delivering it myself.

And if I’m delivering a painting, one of my favorite parts of the process is helping hang it.

There’s something meaningful about seeing a painting leave the environment where I made it and become part of somebody else’s environment.

I usually take a couple photographs afterward.

For the history books.

What happens after someone collects a piece?

The relationship after a purchase can take a lot of different forms.

Some collectors become friends. Some stay loosely connected. Some send me a photograph of the work in their home or tell me something new they’ve started seeing in it. Some come back through the studio. Some reach out months or years later because another piece has caught their attention.

I genuinely like the relationships that can grow around art.

There’s something special about knowing that an object I spent so much time with has gone into another person’s life and continues having an experience there that I’m no longer in control of.

I want to hear about that.

I want to know what they see in it.

I want to know if the meaning changes.

I just don’t think that kind of relationship can be predetermined by a purchase.

The connections I value most are the ones that develop naturally—when there’s curiosity on both sides and the relationship becomes whatever it’s actually supposed to become.

Sometimes another work eventually speaks to that collector and they collect again. That’s incredibly meaningful to me.

But the relationship isn’t measured by how many paintings someone buys.

The artwork may be what introduces us.

What happens after that is human.

Your first piece is only the beginning

If you’re buying your first original artwork, it can feel like an unusually important decision.

And it is.

But maybe not for the reason you think.

You aren’t declaring your permanent taste.

You’re beginning to discover it.

Taste isn’t something you have to finish developing before you’re allowed to collect.

Collecting is one of the ways you develop it.

Every choice gives you information about yourself.

You begin noticing patterns.

Colors you’re repeatedly drawn toward.

Ideas you keep returning to.

Artists whose work evolves in ways that keep your attention.

Things you thought you would love but eventually outgrow.

Things you didn’t completely understand at first that become increasingly important to you.

Your collection becomes a record of that evolution.

That’s why I think the first piece is only the beginning.

Start with what activates something in you

If you encounter a piece of art and can’t stop thinking about it, my advice is very simple:

Talk to the artist.

Tell them what you see.

Ask what you want to know.

And pay attention to your own response.

You are allowed to build a collection without waiting for somebody else to tell you what deserves to be collected.

You are allowed to discover artists yourself.

You are allowed to be early.

You are allowed to change.

You are allowed to become the tastemaker.

If one of my paintings activates something in you, [visit the Gallery] and spend some time with the work.

If you’d rather see the paintings in person, [reach out to schedule a private studio viewing in Philadelphia]. If you’re not nearby, I’m also happy to meet by video and walk you through the work that way.

And if you’re interested in going deeper into why we form these connections with objects in the first place, you might want to read [The Energy of Art].

More than anything, I’d love to know what you see.