By Theresa Rézeau

A recent conversation began with a simple question: Has the art world forgotten how to create collectors?

The responses were surprisingly varied. Some pointed to economic uncertainty. Others argued that education was the missing ingredient. A few believed that people simply no longer care about art. Yet beneath these different explanations lies a deeper concern, one that extends far beyond auction results and gallery sales reports.

What happens to a cultural ecosystem when fewer people buy art?

The question feels increasingly urgent. Across the art world, galleries are downsizing, restructuring, or closing altogether. In London alone, the recent closures of Stephen Friedman Gallery and Tiwani Contemporary have prompted wider discussions about sustainability, audience engagement, and the future of the gallery model. Even large international players have faced pressure, with some reducing staff, artists, or physical footprints in response to changing market conditions.

Economic uncertainty is undoubtedly part of the story. Rising living costs, housing pressures, inflation, and broader concerns about financial security have affected spending across many sectors. Art is not immune. For many potential buyers, collecting can feel difficult to justify when everyday expenses continue to rise.

Recent reporting by the Financial Times offers another indication of these pressures. According to the newspaper, Sotheby's has offered some sellers interest payments in exchange for delaying settlement of sale proceeds, a striking development for one of the world's most established auction houses. Whether viewed as prudent financial management or a response to challenging market conditions, the episode serves as a reminder that the current environment is affecting institutions across the art market, not only smaller galleries.

At the same time, it would be misleading to suggest that the art market is collapsing. Recent years have revealed a more complex picture. While auction sales have softened and many mid-sized galleries face significant challenges, new collectors continue to enter the market, often at lower price points. The sector appears less in decline than in transition, adapting to changing economic realities and shifting patterns of engagement.

Yet economics alone does not explain what is happening.

After all, there is more access to art today than at any point in history. Social media provides immediate access to artists across continents. Online viewing rooms bring exhibitions into people's homes. Museums continue attracting millions of visitors every year. Art fairs have become global events. Information about artists, movements, and collecting is available within seconds.

If access has increased, why has confidence in collecting appeared to decline? Part of the answer may lie in how art has increasingly been presented to the public.

Over the past two decades, headlines have frequently focused on auction records, market performance, and investment potential. Conversations about art often became conversations about value, returns, and future appreciation. The collector who once bought because a work moved them was increasingly encouraged to think about resale value, market trajectories, and financial strategy.

There is nothing inherently wrong with recognising art's economic value. Artists deserve sustainable careers. Galleries must remain financially viable. Collectors have every right to consider the financial implications of major purchases.

The problem emerges when financial value becomes the primary lens through which art is understood.

At that point, collecting begins to feel less like a relationship and more like a calculation.

This raises an important distinction. Investors and collectors are not necessarily the same. An investor may purchase a work primarily for its potential financial return. A collector may also consider value, but is ultimately motivated by a deeper connection to the artwork itself. Most buyers exist somewhere between these two positions. The challenge arises when the language of investment becomes so dominant that it overshadows the personal, intellectual, and emotional reasons people collect art in the first place.

Perhaps the simplest test is this: if the market value fell to zero tomorrow, would you still want to live with the artwork?

This brings to mind Edward Hopper's Nighthawks (1942). The painting depicts four figures gathered inside a brightly illuminated diner late at night. They occupy the same space, yet appear profoundly disconnected from one another. There is no obvious conflict, no visible crisis. Yet a quiet sense of isolation permeates the scene.

Looking at parts of today's art world, it is difficult not to see a similar tension. The lights remain on. Art fairs continue. Galleries open exhibitions. Museums attract visitors. The infrastructure is still visible. Yet beneath the activity, there is a growing sense of distance between art and the wider public. People encounter art constantly, but fewer seem willing or able to cross the threshold from observer to collector.

The issue is not education in the traditional sense. There has never been more information available about art than there is today. The issue may be confidence.

This hesitation may also help explain why many new collectors gravitate toward deceased artists rather than living ones. A deceased artist's body of work is complete. Their place in history often feels more established, and there is usually more market data available. Living artists, by contrast, invite collectors into an unfolding story rather than a finished one. Supporting them requires a different kind of confidence - one rooted less in certainty and more in curiosity, conviction, and connection.

Many people assume collecting is reserved for the wealthy. Others feel intimidated by galleries. Some worry about making the wrong decision or exposing their lack of expertise. The result is a curious paradox: people who love art often do not see themselves as collectors.

Historically, galleries helped bridge this gap.

A good gallery did more than sell objects. It introduced artists, nurtured curiosity, built trust, and encouraged relationships. Through studio visits, intimate viewings, conversations with artists, and years of personal guidance, galleries helped transform interest into confidence and confidence into collecting. Gallerists often acted as educators, advisors, and cultural guides. They remembered what moved a visitor years earlier and connected them with work that resonated with those interests. They transformed casual appreciation into meaningful engagement.

This role cannot be fully replaced by algorithms or online marketplaces.

Technology can expand access, but access alone does not create connection.

To be fair, technology has also created opportunities. Social media, online platforms, and digital marketplaces have introduced countless people to artists they might never have encountered otherwise. Younger collectors are increasingly entering the market through digital channels rather than traditional gallery structures. These developments have expanded access in meaningful ways. Yet access and connection are not identical. Discovering an artist is one thing; developing the confidence to collect, support, and build a long-term relationship with their work is another.

The collector was never simply buying an object. The collector was buying a relationship with an artist's vision, experience, and imagination. They were bringing a fragment of another person's interior world into their own.

When galleries flourish, these relationships flourish. When galleries disappear, something larger than a business is lost.

Artists also bear the consequences. When galleries close, many artists lose more than a sales platform. They lose advocates, mentors, and representatives who have often spent years building their careers. Emerging artists may find it harder to secure meaningful representation, while mid-career artists can suddenly find themselves navigating the market alone. In an increasingly crowded digital landscape, visibility without support is rarely enough. The erosion of gallery culture therefore affects not only collectors and audiences, but also the very artists whose work sustains the cultural ecosystem.

This is why the erosion of gallery culture matters. The concern is not merely commercial. It is cultural.

Cities such as London have built global reputations not only through their museums and auction houses, but through the density and diversity of their gallery ecosystems. Areas such as Mayfair became destinations because they offered spaces for discovery, dialogue, risk-taking, and encounter. They connected artists with audiences and transformed collecting into a lived cultural practice.

If fewer collectors emerge and more galleries struggle to survive, those ecosystems begin to weaken. The consequences extend beyond individual businesses. Fewer galleries mean fewer opportunities for artists to exhibit, fewer relationships between collectors and creators, and fewer spaces dedicated to discovering new voices. What is lost is not simply commercial activity, but an infrastructure that supports artistic careers and cultural life.

The consequences may unfold gradually rather than dramatically. A closure here. A downsizing there. A gallery choosing not to renew a lease. A younger collector deciding not to make their first purchase. Individually, these decisions appear insignificant. Collectively, they reshape cultural landscapes.

The future of gallery culture will not depend solely on economics, education, or technology. It will depend on whether the art world can once again make collecting feel accessible, meaningful, and human.

People still seek beauty. They still seek meaning. They still seek connection.

The challenge is helping them recognise that collecting art was never only about ownership. It was about participation. And when participation declines, gallery culture begins to erode.

The question facing the art world is therefore not simply how to sell more art. It is how to rebuild the relationships that once inspired people to collect in the first place.

Because when galleries disappear, we lose more than places to buy art. We lose places where culture is encountered, shared, and sustained.

And once those spaces are gone, they are far harder to rebuild than to preserve.