One of the world’s best collections of art resides in a Beverly Hills home around the corner from the historic Greystone Mansion and just a block north of Sunset Boulevard, a few minutes from the Strip.
The collection is that of Eugenio Lopez, the Mexican fruit juice heir to Grupo Jumex and a man who has been known to throw a good party or two.
On a particularly warm spring evening this year he did just that. Art aficionados parked their luxury cars at the private valet, sauntered past a gate and a small, manicured path and entered the meticulously maintained mid-century modern estate where cocktails and hors d’oeuvres awaited. The guests were an interesting lot: Academy Award-winning actresses, film producers, hotel owners, public relations types, entrepreneurs, high-powered attorneys and a few fashion models; you get it—Hollywood glitterati.
It was a charitable event to support Project Angel Food, a nonprofit that feeds and nourishes the sick as they battle critical illnesses. Project Angel Food is a well-respected organization that operates an admirable service. And the artwork did its job; it caught people’s attention, got them in the door. A Jasper Johns here. A Damien Hirst there. A massive Murakami. A small Warhol. Figurines, statues, Brillo Boxes and Alexander Calder mobiles had the crowd swirling. Outside, a giant Jeff Koons statue sat on the lawn near the pool and cabana, the glow of Hollywood in the distance.
“City of stars. Are you shining just for me? City of stars. There’s so much that I can’t see,” goes the theme song to the film La La Land. And boy, when it comes to art, is there a lot that one cannot see.
A high-net-worth technology entrepreneur stared at a large format Andreas Gursky photograph. “What am I looking at?” he asked. Enter art advisor Kimberly Light. She explained the print’s history, the photographer’s background, the significance of the work and its context. There, outside the frame, is where an art advisor’s value is fostered. An art advisor can make or break an artist. An art advisor can make or break a collector. An art advisor can even make or break an entire art market. They are the trusted and powerful proxies of the world’s richest people and wealthiest institutions.
To build a collection, a proper art collection that will stand the test of time, an art consultant or advisor is de rigueur in the world of the high and mighty.
“Who are these people?” Adam Lindemann asks in his fine book, Collecting Contemporary. “And why would you want to pay their fees?” Art consultants get a fee in addition to the price of any work bought or sold on which they advise. That fee can range from 10% of a work’s price to an annual retainer, in which case the consultant acts as a personal curator for a buyer.
Lindemann answers his own questions: “The truth is that some of them are very good and you may benefit from them more than you realize. There are a zillion galleries all over the place and if you have a day job, you will want to be in touch with someone who is shopping full time for good work. Another reason is access: They’ve been doing business with these galleries for years, and they can help get you the work you want, or advise you to wait until something better comes along. Last but not least, remember, artworks are also being traded privately; they can be sold by one collector to another without passing through a dealer or auction house, and you want access to this ‘grey market.’”
A good consultant or advisor is one, then, who is uber-networked—a person who deals with the one percent of the one percent of the one percent. A small crowd if there ever was one. Gaining entry to such a vaunted society is no easy feat, as one would imagine, never mind gaining the trust of people who are constantly being solicited.
The Lopez event was an obvious place for an art advisor to be. For me, not so much. Which is why I took the opportunity to get some insight into the world I could merely peek at from the outside.
A few days after the Lopez event I e-mailed Light to see if she might open the door to that private world and lend some advice about what it takes to build a respectable art collection these days. She agreed and we met this time on my turf: a cafe in the Hancock Park section of Los Angeles where writers sit for hours staring at their laptops, occasionally utilizing their keyboards and drinking cup after cup of coffee. The only connection to the art world might be the bulletin board at the back near the restrooms where scrap roommate notices and advertisements for guitar, language and piano lessons are thumbtacked in a disorderly fashion reminiscent of Robert Rauschenberg.
Light, who cuts an elegant figure, somehow blended perfectly into the schlub cafe scene.
The first thing I learned is that she is no ordinary art advisor. She is an art historian who bases her advice more on notions of artistic significance than market value. This sets her apart from consultants who operate solely on the commercial appeal of an artist. In the art world, there are collectors known as “flippers” who trade art like a commodity. They have their own network of advisors—who sometimes obviously overlap with buy-and-hold collectors—scouring for deals. They trade fast. Light won’t deal with them. “I’m not a stock broker. I’m an art historian,” she comments.
Perhaps just as a reputable financial advisor won’t churn a client’s account in order to reap more fees, neither will a reputable art advisor recommend such high turnover. Instead, Light seeks to build a legacy for a client. And that takes time. For a potential buyer looking to build a collection, it means getting to know the person, the family, their quirks, their tastes, as well as their long-term goals.
After a sip of ice tea for her and a gulp of coffee for me, Light explains the initial, get-to-know process between client and advisor: “The two things that I recommend the most is walking their space; measuring it; taking pictures; sitting; and spending time with them, talking and going through art magazines. Everybody has an idea of what they like. Especially today. ‘Oh, I really love those Damien Hirsts. I really hate those Damien Hirsts. I really love the Barbara Krugers. I really hate the Barbara Krugers.’ Because there are really two venues of art. There’s social. There’s theoretical. You figure out which they like. Do they want political, socialized art?
Commentary? Or do they like theoretical? If they do, are they minimalist? Abstract? Figurative? Break it down. I get a feeling if they like colorful stuff, or if they like monochromatic stuff. But the second thing is, the best thing is, to walk through an art fair. That is my ideal environment with them. A good one, one of the top tier ones. Because then you are going to see top tier work and then I can get a real sense of what they want.”
Being a crude plebe in this arena, I bring up the topic of price, which I am quickly taught that in more refined circles is referred to as “comfort zones.”
My crash takeaway is that generally any piece of art under $15,000 isn’t worth buying, and that truly collectable, serious pieces start at about $50,000.
“We always talk about those comfort zones in the beginning. I try to talk about it right away, but there’s a funny thing about money and talking about money,” Light says. She overcomes it by putting together a budget.
What’s for sure is that with art it is best to take Ben Franklin’s advice and opt to get a return of your money rather than on your money. Which means steering clear of emerging artists.
“What if the artist all of a sudden decides they don’t want to be an artist anymore? And that has also happened. And meanwhile you’ve been backing and supporting an artist and they’re like ‘Eh, I don’t want to do this anymore.’ That’s happened more than a few times,” she says. “That’s like playing roulette.”
But a collection of work by bona fide artists will appreciate over time. More important, it will be appreciated over time.
“A really important aspect of art collecting is the fun and the enjoyment and the pride,” Light says. “And then the other thing that is important is that you are leaving a legacy behind. So let’s say, you know, God forbid, Joe Smith has been collecting for 10 years. He’s got over 2,400 pieces of artwork. He has children. And something horrible happens and he’s gone. Well, there are all these pieces of artwork that aren’t. Every single piece speaks a little bit to who was purchasing it. There’s something about it that can be an autobiographical element. You can put together a story about your parents or your sibling or a family member or a lover or whoever through that art collection.”
Hence, an art advisor’s role can be about much more than amassing a valuable assembly of objects. He or she can serve as the editor of a collector’s worldview. That comes with serious responsibility.
But responsibility goes both ways.
Being in the know, art advisors can often gain access to works not on the market, sort of like a good realtor who knows which homeowner might sell before any listing is made public.
“But the problem with that secondary stuff is I just had a situation where someone wanted something very specific and I went and got it out of a very reputable collection. They gave it to me to sell and the person didn’t buy it. So I have to trust my client.”
Some advisors have contracts that outline the buying responsibility.
Light explains, “Being an art advisor, you’re not always going to be telling [clients] what they want to hear. There will be some interchange that might be a little bit uncomfortable because you’re like, ‘Look, this is a lot of money. I don’t recommend that you buy this.’ Or I know an art advisor who has her clients sign an agreement that you’re allowed three purchases without my approval. After that, you’re fired. Because she knows in the end it reflects on her.”
To be sure, in the end, the clients always win. But if they end up with a subpar collection, who’s to blame?
“I’ve stood next to an art advisor and we’ve been looking at maybe four or five pieces by regional artists. It’s so clear to me which is the best one. So clear. Yet the other art advisor couldn’t tell. They didn’t care. They just wanted to sell the piece to their client,” says Light. “They sold the B minus piece to their client and they made more money than I did. OK. But I can’t do it because I don’t ever want any of my work to be ‘Oh, everything the boss liked was B level, B minus level. Kim’s advice for that was B minus.’ And I’ve heard that said about some of the biggest collections. Then it weighs on their advisor or whoever was advising them then. I would never want anybody to say that about me. I want somebody to say, ‘Wow, that was really smart.’”
While indeed smart and super serious in her approach to buying art (Light has a degree in art history from UC Santa Barbara, as well as a master’s degree in contemporary art history and theory from the Sotheby’s Institute; she has owned two galleries and sits on museum boards), she says one thing that shouldn’t be lost in the art business is fun. Light splits her time between Los Angeles and New York.
We circle back to the event at the Lopez estate. “That was fun wasn’t it?” she asks. I admitted that it was. Free drinks. Beautiful people. World class art. The picture perfect Los Angeles night. Like something out of a Tom Ford movie.
“You know, I tell my kids, while we’re here in life we tend to take ourselves so seriously all the time,” she says. “There always has to be a fun factor, too. Because you have to enjoy what you’re doing. If it becomes a problem and it feels bad, don’t do it.” She likens collecting to cliff jumping: “It took you forever to actually jump. Should I stand over here, or should I stand over there? You know, like is that one deeper? And you’re just so scared. But then after you do it, you’re like, ‘I gotta do it again.’ And you keep running up there, and you keep running up there, and you keep running up there.”
Of course, before you go cliff diving someone has to teach you how to swim.
It should be apparent that an art advisor such as Light should be brought on at the outset of building a serious collection. Otherwise, it’s safe to say that dangers await.
Listen before you leap.
