The art of treasure hunting: When biennials become playgrounds for collectors

Among them, a man in a light linen suit stops before a monumental canvas. The colors explode like fireworks: blood reds, electric blues, bursts of yellow that seem to radiate. The artist, a young woman with short hair and steel-rimmed glasses, watches the scene with an enigmatic smile. Her name is Ewa Juszkiewicz, and this work—a surreal reinterpretation of a Renaissance portrait—will become one of the Biennale’s sensations. The collector hesitates, then takes out his phone. He sends a message to his advisor: "I want this piece. What’s the price?" The answer comes quickly: "350,000 euros. But be careful, three other buyers are interested. You’ll have to act fast."

This moment, where artistic emotion meets acquisition strategy, lies at the heart of the biennial experience. But how do you turn this alchemy into a coherent collection without getting swept up in the euphoria of the moment? How do you distinguish, among the hundreds of works on display, those that will stand the test of time—and those that will be nothing more than fleeting memories?

01When history steps into the exhibition halls

To understand the power of biennials, you have to go back to their origins, far more modest than today. In 1895, when the first Venice Biennale opened its doors, no one suspected it would one day become the Holy Grail of the art market. At the time, it was simply an international exhibition organized by the municipality to celebrate the silver jubilee of King Umberto I. The national pavilions didn’t yet exist, and artists were selected by a rather conservative jury. Yet from the very first editions, something unique happened: Venice became a place where artistic trends intersected, where influences circulated, where careers were launched.

Take Gustav Klimt, for example. In 1910, his work Judith I caused a scandal in Venice. Critics were divided, but collectors were fascinated. Among them, a young Austrian industrialist, Fritz Waerndorfer, bought the painting for his personal collection. This seemingly insignificant gesture marked the beginning of a new era: one in which biennials became places of consecration, not only artistic but also financial.

Over the decades, the Venetian model spread like wildfire. São Paulo in 1951, Kassel with Documenta in 1955, then Istanbul, Gwangju, Sharjah… Each city brought its own touch, its context, its stakes. But one constant remained: biennials are mirrors of their time. They reflect political tensions, social movements, aesthetic revolutions. And above all, they become laboratories where the artists of tomorrow are tested.

02The collectors’ ballet: between strategy and intuition

Back in Venice, 2024. The Biennale, directed by Adriano Pedrosa, has the theme "Foreigners Everywhere"—an invitation to explore questions of migration, identity, and uprooting. In the pavilions, the works respond to one another like notes in a complex score. Some immediately draw crowds: the Brazilian pavilion, with its immersive installations; the American pavilion, where Jeffrey Gibson blends Indigenous art and pop culture. Others, more discreet, bide their time.

That’s the case in a small room of the African pavilion. There, a series of black-and-white photographs catches the eye of a woman in a pantsuit. The images, taken by an Ethiopian artist little known in Europe, capture scenes of daily life in Addis Ababa: children playing in the streets, women carrying baskets on their heads, men chatting over coffee. The collector approaches, intrigued. She takes out her notebook and writes down the artist’s name: Aïda Muluneh. "I need to look into her," she murmurs.

This seemingly casual gesture is actually the result of a carefully considered strategy. Because buying during a biennial is a bit like playing chess: you have to anticipate your opponent’s moves, know when to advance your pieces, and above all, not get distracted by the surrounding noise.

Experienced collectors know this well: the best time to buy isn’t always what you’d expect. Some prefer pre-openings, those days when galleries sell discreetly before the crowds invade. Others wait until the end of the biennial, when prices drop and negotiations become possible. And then there are those who bet on the long term, buying works that won’t find their audience for years.

Take Julie Mehretu, for example. In 2004, she exhibited at the Whitney Biennial. Her abstract canvases, where geometric lines and explosions of color intertwine, divided critics. Yet a New York collector, captivated by their energy, decided to acquire one. He paid $50,000. Today, that same canvas would be worth over $5 million.

03Behind the scenes of the market: when galleries pull the strings

But behind this apparent spontaneity lies a well-oiled machine. Because biennials aren’t just exhibitions—they’re also markets, where galleries play a key role. And if you think the listed prices are set in stone, think again.

Take the case of a New York gallery, Hauser & Wirth, which has been exhibiting in Venice for years. In 2019, it presented a series of paintings by Mark Bradford. The monumental works immediately drew attention. But what visitors didn’t know was that the gallery had already sold two pieces before the Biennale even opened. The buyers? A European museum and a private collector, who preferred to keep things discreet.

This strategy, called "pre-selling," has become commonplace. The savviest galleries know that biennials are showcases, but also commercial opportunities. And to maximize sales, they don’t hesitate to play multiple angles: attractive prices for serious collectors, discreet negotiations for institutions, and sometimes bold gambles.

In 2017, for example, the David Zwirner gallery decided to present a work by Yayoi Kusama in Venice. The piece, a giant pumpkin-shaped sculpture, was sold before the Biennale even opened. The price? $2 million. But what no one knew was that the gallery actually had two other pumpkins in reserve, ready to be sold if demand exploded—which it did.

04The trap of overbidding: when emotion trumps reason

Yet buying during a biennial also comes with risks. And the greatest of them is getting carried away by the euphoria of the moment. Because in the excitement of openings, between cocktails and encounters, it’s easy to lose sight of what matters: the real value of a work.

In 2015, a French collector bought a painting by a young Chinese artist at the Venice Biennale. The price? 150,000 euros. At the time, the artist was hailed as the new prodigy of the Asian scene. Critics were ecstatic, galleries were clamoring for him. Yet three years later, the market collapsed. The artist, unable to live up to the hype, faded into obscurity. And the canvas, once so coveted, was now worth only 20,000 euros.

This example illustrates a cruel truth: not all works exhibited at biennials are destined to stand the test of time. Some are mere flashes in the pan, shooting stars that shine for a moment before disappearing. And for collectors, the challenge is knowing how to tell the difference.

So how do you avoid the pitfalls? How do you spot, among the hundreds of artists on display, those who will endure?

The answer lies in three words: patience, research, and intuition.

05The art of patience: when time becomes an ally

Because buying during a biennial isn’t just about timing. It’s also about vision. And sometimes, the best strategy is not to buy at all.

Take Kerry James Marshall, for example. In 2007, he exhibited at Documenta. His canvases, which celebrate African American culture with rare power, caught the attention of critics. Yet at the time, the market didn’t follow. Collectors hesitated, galleries remained cautious. It would take ten years for the artist to become a star, with canvases selling for millions.

Those who believed in him from the start, who bought his works before prices skyrocketed, are the happiest today. But to do that, you had to have patience, conviction, and above all, trust in your own judgment.

Because that, perhaps, is the ultimate secret of great collectors: knowing how to listen to your intuition, even when the whole world seems to doubt.

06The biennials of tomorrow: toward a more transparent market?

Yet biennials aren’t immune to criticism. Some accuse them of becoming too commercialized, of losing their soul to market logic. Others denounce their elitism, their inaccessibility, their sometimes overly "VIP" nature.

What if the future of biennials lay in greater transparency? In more inclusive models, where emerging collectors would have their place? In digital platforms where works would be accessible to all, not just a handful of privileged individuals?

In 2020, the pandemic accelerated this reflection. With biennials closed or postponed, galleries had to innovate. Some created "online viewing rooms," virtual spaces where collectors could discover and buy works remotely. Others organized guided tours online, virtual conferences, digital auctions.

These initiatives, which seemed temporary, may well be shaping the future of biennials. A future where the physical and the virtual coexist, where the boundaries between exhibition and market blur, and where art finally becomes accessible to all.

07The last word: when a work chooses you

But in the end, buying during a biennial isn’t just about strategy, timing, or budget. It’s also, and above all, about emotion.

Because sometimes, a work chooses you as much as you choose it.

That’s what happened to a Belgian collector in 2019. While visiting the French pavilion in Venice, his gaze was drawn to a strange, almost hypnotic canvas. A work by Julie Curtiss, where surrealism and pop culture intertwined. He stood before it for long minutes, as if spellbound. Then, without hesitation, he took out his notebook and wrote down the artist’s name.

A few weeks later, he bought the canvas. And even today, he says it was one of the best decisions of his life.

Because in the end, that’s the real power of biennials: they remind us that art isn’t just about money or speculation. It’s also, and above all, about emotion, connection, magic.

And sometimes, all it takes is a glance, a shiver, an intuition to know you’ve found something rare. Something that might just change your life forever.