The Most Expensive Mistake I’ve Made as a Collector

When people talk about collecting art, they usually focus on the successes—the discoveries, the great acquisitions, the moments when intuition works perfectly. But if I’m being honest, collecting is just as much about mistakes. And some of them are expensive.

Not necessarily in terms of money.

The most expensive mistakes are the ones that teach you something about yourself.

In the beginning, I thought collecting was about having a good eye. About recognizing quality, spotting potential, making the right call at the right time. And to some extent, that’s true. But what I underestimated was how much ego plays a role in those decisions.

One of my biggest mistakes wasn’t buying the wrong artwork. It was buying for the wrong reasons.

There were moments when I convinced myself that a piece made sense—conceptually, strategically, even “within the collection.” Everything could be rationalized. It fit. It worked. On paper, it was the right decision.

But something was missing.

Over time, I learned that if I have to convince myself too much, it’s probably not the right piece. The best works never need that kind of justification. They are immediate. They stay with you. They create a kind of tension that doesn’t go away.

Ignoring that instinct has cost me more than any bad investment ever could.

Another type of mistake is hesitation.

There are works I didn’t buy when I had the chance. Not because I didn’t like them, but because I overthought the decision. I wanted to be certain. I wanted confirmation. And in that moment, the opportunity passed.

Those are the pieces you remember.

Not because of their market value, but because you know you had a real connection to them—and you let it slip. That kind of loss stays with you much longer than any financial one.

Then there’s a third kind of mistake, and that one is more subtle. It has to do with people.

Collecting contemporary art means working with living artists. You’re not just acquiring objects—you’re entering relationships. And like any relationship, it requires sensitivity, trust, and sometimes restraint.

Early on, I didn’t always understand where the boundaries were. When to step in, and when to step back. When support becomes pressure. When interest becomes influence.

Learning that took time. And a few uncomfortable situations.

Today, I’m much more aware that collecting is not a neutral act. It has consequences. Not just for the collection, but for the people behind it.

If I had to summarize what I’ve learned, it would be this: the real mistakes are rarely visible from the outside.

They’re not the works that didn’t gain value, or the artists who didn’t “make it.” Those things are part of the game. The real mistakes happen in the moment of decision—when you go against your instinct, when you let ego take over, or when you fail to understand the responsibility you carry.

The good thing is that mistakes are unavoidable. And necessary.

Without them, collecting would be a purely technical exercise. Predictable, safe—and ultimately empty.

What gives it meaning is exactly the opposite: uncertainty, doubt, and the constant need to recalibrate.

So yes, I’ve made expensive mistakes.

And I would make them again.

Because in the end, they’re the reason I understand what I’m doing today.