He was an Art-World Decision Maker

I first met him years ago at the party of a well-known artist. The artist introduced us saying, “Michael is my London dealer.”

He looked too young to be an art dealer. His handshake was wilted and flaccid. His gaze moved over my shoulder to see if there might be someone more important in the room. I noted how his colorful socks matched the dapper handkerchief peeking out from his jacket pocket.

Quite frankly, he gave me the creeps.

We would later do business together several times when I sold art to him through his gallery. But each time we spoke, he acted like he didn’t remember who I was.

When another artist told me that he was thinking about working with Michael and asked my opinion, I answered, “You already have great representation. Why would you want to work with someone who has the manners and looks of a twelve-year-old?”

We both laughed at this pretentious little man and his reputation as a huge snob.

But a few years later found me in a different position.

I was living in London, and desperately needed a job. Michael had a gorgeous gallery, the biggest in the world, with a French chef on staff, a wine cellar, two limo drivers, and even a helicopter landing pad.

I was invited to join his team. I was thrilled to discover that Michael surrounded himself with the nicest, brightest people I’d ever met.

There was a party that weekend and I approached Michael to thank him for the opportunity. I had to remind him yet again of the dozen times we’d met before.

He looked at me as if I smelled bad and offered a limp hand. I wasn’t sure if I was meant to shake it or kiss it.

When Michael later got into a public dispute with one of his well-known artists by selling work he didn’t own, I found myself in the middle. That artist was a close friend of mine. Worse, the legal costs crippled the gallery.

Michael lost the court case. Though he owed me and others thousands, he filed for bankruptcy. And just like that, I watched people’s lives and businesses implode.

Including my own.

But as the gallery prepared to close its doors, I felt sorry for Michael. I’m funny that way.

I brought him a box of pretty cakes.

As we ate cake we chatted amicably, for the first time. We talked about the shame that he felt, “a public failure,” he called it. We talked about the legal situation, “not my fault!” he cried.

We talked about religions and cakes and mothers and art. Michael promised me, swore even, that he kept a secret list of people who were being hurt by this bankruptcy. He vowed to pay them back one day.

“You are on this list, Crista.” he said, as he took another cake.

But there was no list, and I saw good people turn bitter and sad because he broke his promises. Many of us, including myself, were forced into bankruptcy ourselves because of Michael’s greed and recklessness.

Today, Michael still has his London mansion. He has a villa in France. He keeps fabulous apartments around the world. He’s in the society pages showing off the rich life he’s leading.

The bankruptcy had served to protect him and his assets but devastated so many others.

I ran into Michael at a museum recently. He pretended not to know me. I wonder why I was surprised.

In the art world, we often give our power away to those with greater wealth. We make people who are smaller than us into giants, simply because they have more money in their bank account.

We ignore our instincts and give in to our fears.

We bring them cake when they don’t even deserve our crumbs.

Let me ask you, do you ever place art-world decision makers on a pedestal?

Do you make yourself small when standing next to someone with a bigger bank account?

Are you afraid to ask for the show or the sale because this human being seems more powerful than you?

I want to share a lesson that I learned from working with the high and mighty: Every human being is only as powerful as the power you give them.

Your job as an artist is to create. Create work and create opportunities for that work to go out into the world.

I often advise artists to think of their artworks as their children, and to take the role of parent. That means you nurture your artwork with pride, protect it fiercely, and see it as your unique gift to the world.

Remember, your power as an artist doesn’t come from external validation or someone else’s bank account. It comes from within – from your creativity, your vision, and your unwavering belief in your work.

Don’t let the Michaels of the art world dim your light. They may have mansions and society page spreads, but you have something far more valuable: the ability to create beauty and meaning from nothing but your imagination and skill.

So the next time you face a gallerist, collector, or anyone else who seems to hold the keys to your success, stand tall.

Remember that your art is your voice, your legacy. It deserves to be seen and heard, not because someone deigns to give it space, but because it has inherent worth.

You’re not just an artist – you’re a force of nature, capable of moving hearts and minds. Own that power.

Embrace it. And never, ever let anyone make you feel small for daring to share your vision with the world.

After all, isn’t that what being an artist is truly about?

Yours truly,
Crista x