The first glance: When art chooses you before the galleries

This scene, which might seem trivial, illustrates a profound truth about the contemporary art market: the most beautiful stories often begin in the shadows of studios, long before galleries take notice. Buying from young art school graduates is more than a financial investment. It’s an aesthetic adventure, an encounter with the unexpected, a way to participate in writing art history in real time. But how do you spot these talents before they become inaccessible? How do you distinguish a promising work from a fleeting trend? And above all, how do you navigate this without getting lost in the labyrinth of egos, fashions, and soaring prices?

01The school as a laboratory: where art reinvents itself in silence

Art schools are fascinating ecosystems where the urgency of youth meets the rigor of learning. Contrary to popular belief, they don’t produce clones but individuals who often challenge conventions before even graduating. Take Kudzanai-Violet Hwami, born in Zimbabwe and trained at Goldsmiths. Her early works, created during her bachelor’s degree, already blended digital collage and oil painting, exploring themes of diaspora and identity with rare maturity. In 2017, when she first exhibited at Bloomberg New Contemporaries—a key showcase for young British talent—her canvases sold for between £5,000 and £12,000. Today, represented by Victoria Miro, her works reach £200,000. What stands out in her journey is the consistency of her visual language: from the start, she played with layered patterns, fragmented faces, and saturated colors. A signature that owed nothing to chance but everything to deep reflection on memory and exile.

The most prestigious schools—the Royal College of Art in London, the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris, the Städelschule in Frankfurt, or Yale in the United States—function as incubators. They offer students a space of freedom where failure is allowed, even encouraged. It’s in these studios that movements are born, movements that will later make history. In the 1990s, Goldsmiths gave rise to the Young British Artists (YBA), with Damien Hirst and his sharks in formaldehyde, Tracey Emin and her unmade bed. More recently, the school has seen artists like Lynette Yiadom-Boakye emerge, whose fictional portraits, painted in dark and melancholic tones, have conquered the art world. What unites these artists, beyond their diversity, is a kind of boldness: the courage to take technical and conceptual risks, without worrying about market expectations.

But beware: not all schools are equal, and not all graduation works are future masterpieces. Some institutions, like Cooper Union in New York or the Kunstakademie Düsseldorf, favor a more experimental approach, where performance and installation take precedence over traditional painting. Others, like the École nationale supérieure des beaux-arts de Lyon, train artists more rooted in figuration. The secret? Look not at the school’s prestige but at the coherence of the artist’s work. A promising work is recognizable by its ability to surprise while remaining true to a personal vision. As the gallerist Leo Castelli, who launched Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg in the 1950s, once said: "A great artist doesn’t just follow trends. They create them."

02The degree show: the moment when everything changes

Imagine a white room bathed in artificial light, where dozens of works are hung in tight rows. Canvases, sculptures, videos, sound installations—a carefully arranged chaos, each piece bearing the mark of a young creator seeking recognition. This is the "degree show," the graduation exhibition, and this is where everything happens. For savvy collectors, it’s a hunting ground as exciting as it is risky.

Take Julie Curtiss, for example. In 2015, while finishing her studies at the Beaux-Arts de Paris, she presented a series of strange and poetic paintings where women with oversized hair transformed into everyday objects—a comb, a cup, a pair of scissors. These works, sold for between €1,500 and €3,000 at the time, now fetch over $50,000. What captivated the first buyers was her ability to blend humor and melancholy, surrealism and the mundane. Curtiss had found her language: acidulous colors, organic forms, an aesthetic that oscillated between manga and rococo. A style so personal it was impossible to confuse her with anyone else.

But how do you spot these gems in the crowd? First, you need to know where to look. The degree shows of major schools attract a throng of gallerists, critics, and collectors, but the real discoveries often happen on the margins. In London, the Royal College of Art and the Slade School of Fine Art are must-sees, as are the exhibitions at the Royal Academy. In Paris, the Beaux-Arts and the École nationale supérieure des arts décoratifs (ENSAD) always hold surprises. In the United States, Yale and the California Institute of the Arts (CalArts) are talent hotbeds. And don’t overlook less-publicized schools, like the Villa Arson in Nice or the Haute École d’art et de design (HEAD) in Geneva, where more radical artists sometimes emerge.

Next, you need to learn to trust your instinct. A work that speaks to you, that unsettles you, that makes you smile or think, is often a work that has something to say. The collectors who’ve made the most remarkable acquisitions—like the Rubells, who bought Yoshitomo Nara’s first canvases for a few hundred dollars—all tell the same story: "The work chooses you, not the other way around." Of course, you should also check certain objective criteria: technical mastery, coherence of the message, originality of style. But at its core, buying art, especially from a young artist, is about emotion. As the art dealer Arne Glimcher put it: "If you feel nothing in front of a work, move on. Art must touch you, or it’s just decoration."

03The studio: the lair where masterpieces are born

If degree shows are shop windows, studios are sanctuaries. It’s there, among half-empty paint pots, abandoned sketches, and scattered tools, that you truly understand an artist’s creative process. Visiting a studio is like stepping into a writer’s intimacy: you discover their doubts, their second thoughts, their flashes of inspiration. And it’s often there that the most beautiful acquisitions are made.

In 2017, a New York collector visited the studio of Genesis Belanger, then working in a shared space in Brooklyn. The young woman, a Yale graduate, was working on a series of ceramic sculptures depicting everyday objects—a telephone, a cup, a slice of watermelon—but distorted, as if seen through a funhouse mirror. These pieces, sold for between $3,000 and $8,000 at the time, are now centerpieces in collections at Perrotin and the Fondation Louis Vuitton. What struck visitors to her studio was the atmosphere, both playful and unsettling, as if the most banal objects hid unspeakable secrets. Belanger played with the codes of still life, injecting a dose of surrealism and feminism. Her sculptures, both soft and threatening, spoke of domesticity, consumption, the absurdity of daily life.

Visiting a studio is also an opportunity to talk with the artist, to understand their influences, their obsessions. Some collectors, like Mera and Don Rubell, built their reputation by forging trusting relationships with creators. They don’t just buy a work; they buy a story, a worldview. And sometimes, these encounters lead to unexpected collaborations. In 2019, the French artist Laure Prouvost, then in residency in Marseille, invited a couple of collectors to her studio. Seduced by her poetic and offbeat video installations, they commissioned a custom piece for their home in Saint-Tropez. Today, this work, Deep See Blue Surrounding You, has become a centerpiece of their collection.

But beware: not all studios are equal. Some artists, aware of the seductive power of their workspace, turn it into a carefully staged set. Others let their creative chaos show through. What you should look for is authenticity. A studio that smells of fresh paint, where works in progress sit alongside failed sketches, where the artist passionately discusses their next project, is often a sign of sincere work. As David Hockney once said: "A good studio is like a good kitchen. It should smell of creation, not disinfectant."

04The market of possibilities: how to buy without making a mistake

Buying a work from a young artist is a bit like betting on an unknown horse: there’s risk, of course, but also the promise of a beautiful surprise. The emerging art market has its codes, its pitfalls, its opportunities. The first rule, and the most important, is never to buy solely for speculation. As the collector Charles Saatchi said: "If you buy a work thinking about reselling it, you’ve already lost. Buy what you love, and the rest will follow."

That said, there are strategies to maximize your chances of making a good acquisition. First, stay informed. Fairs dedicated to young talent, like New Contemporaries in London, The Armory Show in New York, or Drawing Now in Paris, are excellent starting points. Online platforms like online art platforms or Artspace also offer selections of emerging artists at accessible prices. And don’t forget social media: Instagram has become a prime hunting ground for collectors. Artists like Amalia Ulman or Ian Cheng built their reputations there before being represented by galleries.

Next, learn to negotiate. Unlike galleries, where prices are often fixed, young artists are generally open to discussion. A work listed at €5,000 might be acquired for €4,000, especially if you buy several pieces or propose installment payments. Some artists even accept exchanges: a canvas for a trip, a service, or even another work. In 2018, the artist Kudzanai-Violet Hwami traded one of her paintings for a tattoo by a collector. An anecdote that reminds us that in the world of emerging art, anything is possible.

Finally, think about preservation. Works by young artists are often made with inexpensive materials—unprimed canvases, cheap acrylic paints, fragile supports. It’s essential to have them professionally framed, protect them from direct sunlight, and insure them. A work bought for €2,000 might be worth €20,000 five years later: it’s better to take care of it from the start.

05The art of patience: when time does its work

Art history is full of examples of artists discovered late or whose value skyrocketed after years of indifference. Take Carmen Herrera, a Cuban artist who didn’t sell her first canvas until she was 89, after decades of solitary work. Or Hilma af Klint, whose abstract works, created in the early 20th century, weren’t recognized until a century later. These journeys remind us of an essential truth: art has no age, and a work can take years to reveal its value.

For collectors, this means sometimes knowing how to wait. Buying a work from a young artist is like planting a tree: it takes time to grow, but one day, it will provide shade. In 2010, a Parisian collector bought a canvas by Julie Mehretu, then little known in Europe, for €15,000. Today, her works sell for millions. What made the difference was patience. The collector didn’t try to resell immediately. They let the work mature, followed the artist’s career, waited for the market to recognize her.

This approach, which could be called "the art of slowness," is increasingly rare in a world where everything moves fast. Yet it’s often this approach that leads to the most beautiful acquisitions. As the gallerist Larry Gagosian said: "The true collector doesn’t buy to resell. They buy to live with art, to understand it, to be part of it." And sometimes, it’s this intimate relationship with a work that, years later, reveals its full value.

06The last word: what if you were the next discoverer?

Imagine for a moment that you’re in a Parisian studio on a winter afternoon. The gray light filters through the windows, illuminating a canvas on an easel. It’s a strange painting, both naive and sophisticated, where geometric shapes float on an electric blue background. The artist, a 25-year-old woman, explains that she draws inspiration from old maps and lucid dreams. You hesitate. The price—€2,500—seems reasonable, but you don’t know if this work has a future. Then you remember Flora Yukhnovich, Julie Curtiss, all those artists whose early canvases are now worth fortunes. You sign the check.

Five years later, that canvas hangs in your living room. It’s gained value, of course, but that’s not the most important thing. What matters is the intact emotion you feel every time you look at it. The sense of having been there, at the right time, in the right place. Of having contributed, in your own small way, to art history.

Because ultimately, buying a work from a young artist is so much more than a transaction. It’s an encounter, an adventure, a way to participate in something bigger than yourself. And who knows? Maybe in twenty years, people will talk about you as the one who discovered the next Basquiat, the next Yayoi Kusama. So, ready to take the plunge?