Building a collection and investing in contemporary art
- Delphine & Romain Class
- 3 days ago
- 7 min read
Collecting art means entering into a dialogue between sensitivity and value, between intuition and strategy. In a world where everything is becoming dematerialized and images circulate without anchorage, the work of art retains a form of rarity that is almost subversive. It occupies space, resists time, and establishes a long-term relationship. Building a collection today is no longer reserved for a discreet elite. The Internet, international art fairs, and the rise of connected artists have opened the doors to a universe that was once opaque. But collecting cannot be improvised: it is a learning process, a sensory and emotional discipline as much as a heritage adventure.
Collecting is, above all, learning to see. Far from the mere purchase of a decorative object, it is both an intellectual and emotional act. The collector asserts themselves through a taste, a vision, sometimes even an obsession. Daniel Arsham, for instance, has embodied this alliance between conceptual rigor and aesthetic appeal. His “eroded” sculptures, in which contemporary objects are crystallized like fossils of the future, speak to a generation attuned to the memory of the present. Antoine Dufilho, on the other hand, translates his background in engineering and architecture into minimalist sculptures that deconstruct the automobile form into a succession of rhythmic volumes — an art of movement and structure that fascinates both art lovers and mechanical enthusiasts. These artists embody a contemporary trend: that of an accessible, technical, and cross-disciplinary art, where beauty emerges from the dialogue between fields.
Others, like Invader, KAWS, or Futura 2000, have built their legitimacy outside traditional circuits. The first transformed video games into an urban language, scattering thousands of pixel mosaics around the world as symbols of a shared imagination. The second, KAWS, blended the worlds of toys, fashion, and graffiti, turning his Companion figure into a universal emblem of pop nostalgia. The third, Futura 2000 — a pioneer of abstract New York graffiti — paved the way for an entire generation of artists who see the wall as a canvas and the spray can as a brush. As for Hom Nguyen, he embodies another sensibility: that of expressive portraiture, embodied gesture, and vibrant humanity. Each of them, in their own way, offers collectors an entry point into the world of contemporary art — somewhere between popular culture, urban aesthetics, and pictorial emotion.
One of the first recommended steps is to deepen one’s knowledge of the artist. This effort goes beyond the simple appreciation of talent and extends to a broader understanding of the artist’s life and journey, their artistic history, and their creative “periods.” Every artist produces mediocre, good, and exceptional works — and one must learn to tell them apart. Moreover, knowing the artist can influence one’s investment in their art in terms of long-term profitability. If the artist already has an established reputation and continues to produce works, there is a strong likelihood that their value will increase over time. In addition, understanding the artist and their vision allows us to appreciate their work more deeply — beyond its potential as a financial investment.
But before buying, before talking about budget or investment, one must feel — one must look. A lot. The future collector learns by visiting museums, fairs, and galleries; by reading, discussing, and comparing. Nothing replaces the direct experience of the emotion felt when standing before a work of art. Art is evaluated through presence, through materiality, through the physical relationship with the piece. This is why great collectors often speak of a “click,” a shock, or an overwhelming crush — an emotion that cannot be calculated, a felt need to live with a work every day.
The first step in building a collection is to define a direction. It can be thematic (movement, memory, the body) or generational (emerging artists, pop art, street art, etc.). This coherence is not a constraint but a meaningful structure. It allows the collector to avoid dispersion and to construct a visual narrative. One might imagine a collection centered on the notion of movement — combining the levitating photographs of Mathieu Forget, a true “dancer of the image,” with Dufilho’s fragmented sculptures and KAWS’s floating characters. Or perhaps a collection based on signs and language, linking Invader’s cryptic mosaics to Robert Indiana’s universal typographies and Futura 2000’s calligraphic abstractions.
Art is not a listed asset: it offers neither dividends nor immediate liquidity. Yet it provides a unique advantage — unlike almost any other investment — the pleasure of living daily with the works one acquires. In the long run, it proves to be a solid investment. According to the annual report by Art Market Research, contemporary artworks record an average return of 6 to 8% per year over a decade, provided that choices are made wisely and the artist’s market is well monitored. Major successes such as KAWS, Invader, or Arsham have seen their valuations soar in recent years, driven by collaborations with brands and museums, as well as by their ability to create an entire universe — or even a global community, in Invader’s case. The message is clear: collecting requires a slow pace, a long-term vision, and patience.
The value of a work of art rests on several pillars: its provenance (where does it come from?), its authenticity (is it certified?), its history (has it been exhibited, published, or collected?), its condition, and its rarity. A unique piece, exhibited in a gallery or part of an iconic series, will always have more potential than a peripheral work. In the case of artists like Futura 2000, works created during the original New York graffiti scene of the 1980s are far more sought-after than his recent productions, as they belong to the living history of graffiti. For Invader or KAWS, for example, fakes are widespread, making provenance essential.
Of course, it is important to set a budget, but vast fortunes are not necessary. KAWS art toy figurines, usually produced in editions of 500, are priced between €1,000 and €2,000. They offer an entry point into the artist’s universe and appreciate by 5 to 10% per year. Another example is the unique works of street artist Nathan Bowen, priced between €500 and €1,000, which are also very good investments, as the artist’s notoriety and popularity continue to grow. And, of course, there are the photographs by Mathieu Forget, with an entry price of €500, while the fame of the “Flying Man” continues to rise. Class Art Biarritz was the first gallery to represent Nathan Bowen and Mathieu Forget.
One often-overlooked aspect of art investment is its taxation. In France, the framework is particularly advantageous. Artworks are not subject to the real estate wealth tax (IFI) and are excluded from the calculation of taxable assets. In other words, collectors can hold works without increasing their tax burden. Upon resale, two regimes are available: a flat tax of 6.5% on the sale price, or the real capital gains regime, which applies a 5% allowance per year of ownership beyond the second year, leading to full exemption after 22 years. This mechanism encourages long-term holding, reinforcing the collector’s patrimonial logic. Companies also benefit from an incentive scheme: they can deduct the cost of acquiring works by living artists from taxable profits, provided the works are displayed publicly. Buying a Hom Nguyen to adorn a company’s lobby, a Dufilho sculpture, or even an Invader mosaic or serigraph for corporate headquarters thus becomes an act that is simultaneously cultural, aesthetic, and fiscally virtuous.
The collector does not merely accumulate; they support, engage, and accompany. Many choose to collect emerging artists, who are often more accessible but also economically more vulnerable. In this context, a purchase becomes an act of trust, a vision of the artist’s future recognition. The example of Mathieu Forget is revealing: this performance artist blends dance, photography, and digital art, illustrating the new generation of hybrid artists that collectors follow from the start, betting as much on aesthetic promise as on vision.
Over time, a collection becomes a narrative. It can unfold in an apartment, an office, a warehouse, or even in public spaces. Increasingly, collectors lend their works to museums, organize exhibitions, or create their own foundations. This desire to share reinforces the collector’s legitimacy as a cultural actor. Through their collection, they express a way of inhabiting the world. It is no longer a selfish act but a participation in the aesthetic conversation of their time.
In a world saturated with digital flows, where images follow one another without duration, a work of art imposes a different temporality: that of contemplation, of permanence. Owning a work by Daniel Arsham, Invader, or Hom Nguyen is not just possessing an object; it is nurturing an intimate relationship with the idea of trace. It is affirming that beauty still has value, and that this value is measured not only in euros but in intensity. Invader’s mosaics, moreover, will still be affixed to the streets of major cities around the world centuries from now!
Contemporary art, long seen as a speculative arena reserved for a few insiders, thus becomes a path for both meaningful and sensitive expression and investment. Today’s collectors — young entrepreneurs, informed enthusiasts, lovers of urbanity or ecology — form a new generation of passionate individuals: more transparent, more connected, yet equally demanding. They are not only seeking prestige but experience. They do not merely want to invest; they want to understand.
Building a collection, therefore, is far more than an act of purchase. It is a practice of memory and perception, a commitment to living creation. Whether following the futuristic poetry of Daniel Arsham, the mechanical rigor of Antoine Dufilho, the urban vibration of Futura 2000, or the raw tenderness of Hom Nguyen, each work becomes a fragment of oneself. In an era where everything seems to vanish, collecting art is perhaps, at its core, investing in the permanence of emotion.
