This episode came from a question I kept asking myself: who are art advisors, really, and what do they actually do? So I decided to sit down with a collector and their advisor together, in Régis’ Paris apartment, surrounded by his collection.

Régis Decour is an entrepreneur who started collecting at 19 with a print he bid on at a local auction in Strasbourg. He has never sold a single piece. Yana Kotina is his advisor — art historian, former gallerist, now independent — who works across contemporary and modern art with collectors at every level. They were friends for six years before they went professional, which makes a big difference to their professional relationship today.

The Journey, Briefly

Régis collects entirely on instinct and personal connection. He buys young artists, visits studios, builds relationships. His collection started with photography, has gradually moved toward painting, and runs almost exclusively dark (greys, blacks, dark blues…), though he’s actively trying to change that. He doesn’t think about investment, doesn’t think about legacy yet, and has never sold anything. Yana came in not to change any of that, but to open doors he couldn’t open alone: new markets, new geographies, new mediums. Six months into their professional collaboration, the relationship looks exactly like what it was before — a conversation between two people who care deeply about the same things.

What They Taught Me

An advisor’s first job is to understand you, not the market. Yana’s entry point with every client is the person, not the collection. What do they respond to emotionally? What questions does art raise for them? What are they drawn to that they haven’t articulated yet? The market knowledge comes second. The relationship is the product, which is why Yana says most of her clients eventually become friends, and why with Régis, it was the other way around.

A good advisor opens doors, not opinions. What changed for Régis when Yana came on board was access. Poush, the artist studio complex outside Paris with 290 artists, is not findable unless you know someone. Yana brought him there. The Kazakh art scene she curated an exhibition from is another thing he wouldn’t have encountered it otherwise. The advisor is not there to revealuate or change their client’s taste, their real value lies in reach.

The language around art is part of the work. Régis said that with contemporary art, if you don’t understand the context behind a piece, you miss 90% of what the artist is doing, and that’s a point I can definitely get behind. Yana’s role when they’re in a studio or at a fair together iis really to articulate what’s behind the work. And then the decision to buy or not is entirely his. Context amplifies instinct but it doesn’t replace it.

Dealer, advisor, gallery — these are not interchangeable. An art dealer buys and sells, usually for profit, from their own stock. A gallery is a dealer. An independent advisor should hold no stock and, ideally, take commission from only one side of a transaction — transparently, agreed upfront. In the US, there’s an association that enforces exactly this. In Europe, no equivalent exists yet, which is part of why the role remains opaque and why Gmail advisors can operate unchecked. Knowing the difference before you work with anyone matters.

Pure emotional collecting is rarer than you’d think and worth protecting. Yana was clear that Régis’s approach to buy from passion, build relationships with artists and never sell, is genuinely unusual. Most of her other clients have budgets, strategies, financial targets. That’s legitimate too. But there’s something she described as “very pure” about collecting without an exit strategy, and she’s careful not to corrupt it in him. The genuine connection to a work — why do I want to live with this, what does it ask of me — is easy to lose once investment or financial performance enters the equation.

Two Things I’m Taking With Me

The question Yana asks Régis when he locks onto something — why this work, why this artist — is one I want to start asking myself more deliberately. Not to talk myself out of anything, but because the answer usually either deepens the connection or reveals that I was responding to something other than the work itself. That’s useful information either way.

The other thing is Régis’s point about not selling. He frames it as you collect because these things become part of your life, markers of moments and people so selling is simply beside the point. That reframe doesn’t require a large collection. It just requires being honest about why you’re buying in the first place.

Full episode on Spotify and Apple Podcasts.

Something here land? Reply and let me know or forward this to someone who’s been wondering whether an advisor is worth it.

Georgia Powell and Liza Shapiro met at the Redfern Gallery in London in 2013. Within a week of meeting, they’d come up with the idea for CURA Art. It took a few more years to launch it, but since 2019, from London and Los Angeles, they’ve been helping private and corporate collectors care for, manage and think more intentionally about their collections.

I loved this conversation for a couple of reasons. First, it gave me a glimpse of what happens after the purchase and how important that part actually is if one is serious about collecting. Second, while I love individual journeys, I found the the more meta view that Liza and Georgia bring through their work with hundreds of collectors fascinating.

CURA Art’s Journey, Briefly

CURA Art was born from a simple observation: galleries and auction houses don't have the time or the remit to support collectors once the sale is done. Questions about framing, conservation, display, provenance were falling through the gap. Georgia came from art history, Liza from conservation and restoration, and together they filled it. They deliberately chose not to also act as advisors, keeping potential conflicts of interest out of the relationship entirely. Their clients range from people just starting out to seasoned collectors with hundreds of works, museum loans and institutional partnerships.

What Liza and Georgia taught me

You are already a collector. Georgia’s take on this is clear and I find it genuinely refreshing: collecting is defined by intent, not volume. Three works acquired thoughtfully is collecting. You don’t need a storage facility or a six-figure budget. The gravitas and pressure people put on the title is largely self-imposed, and it gets in the way.

The biggest threat to your collection is not fire or theft. It’s gradual deterioration i.e. works slowly degrading over time because no one thought about where they were placed or how they were stored. An oil painting above a radiator. A photography in direct sunlight. These are common, fixable, and rarely discussed. Georgia and Liza’s minimum ask: photograph your collection once a year and notice how things look over time. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.

Keep a copy of your invoice. This was their single piece of advice for collectors. More often than not, CURA is called in twenty or thirty years into a collection and has to piece together provenance from scratch. Where was it acquired, when, from whom — that information is irreplaceable and takes minutes to preserve.

Collecting with purpose is not just a phrase. What Georgia and Liza mean by it is alignment: understanding what you care about and letting that shape what you buy but crucially, how you engage with the ecosystem. One of their clients googled “collecting with purpose” and found them. Through working together, they identified recurring themes in her collection, helped her initiate a studio sponsorship scheme, and connected her business coaching work to direct artist support. The collection became an extension of how she moves through the world. That’s the version of collecting worth aspiring to.

London and LA collect differently. LA is contemporary, community-driven, less pretentious. Openings have dogs and children. The city feels like something is always about to happen, and the collections reflect that. London is rooted in longer tradition, more art-historically conscious, and more likely to have started from something inherited. Neither is better but if you’re buying across both markets, the cultural context shapes what you’re looking at.

My two key takeaways

The idea that collecting is defined by intent rather than scale landed hard. I’ve caught myself doing exactly what Georgia and Liza describe : feeling like the title carries responsibilities I haven’t yet earned. But if the intent is there, if the emotional response is genuine and I’m acting on it thoughtfully, that’s what matters most. I found that reframe genuinely useful.

The other thing is that a collection is a living thing, not a finished object or a series of acquisitions that accumulate on walls. Georgia and Liza's whole practice pushes back on that. Once you buy something, the relationship with it has just started. It needs ongoing attention — condition checks, documentation, thinking about where it lives and how that changes over time. The mindset shift from "I bought it" to "I'm looking after it" is small but it changes everything about how you engage with what you own, and lets you take that first step towards stewardship.

Full episode on Spotify and Apple Podcasts.

Something here resonate? Reply and tell me or share this with someone who’s been putting off calling themselves a collector.

Daniela Bianco has spent nearly two decades on both sides of the art world : 15 years in commercial galleries, a stint at Artsy running private sales and auctions, and now Chief Sales Officer at art tech platform Artscapy. She's also been collecting personally for 18 years. Our conversation happened on the lovely terrace at Tate Modern.

Daniela’s Journey, Briefly

Daniela started collecting almost by accident. A friend working for Tibetan artist, Gonkar Gyatso offered her an opportunity, and she bought a small print she still has today. Her collection grew naturally from her professional life: studio visits, gallery openings, art fairs. It’s almost entirely figurative, heavily female, and she never planned it that way. She describes it in one word: unapologetic.

What Daniela Taught Me

Reject the hierarchy of mediums. Paintings are not inherently more valuable than photography, prints or works on paper, and collectors who dismiss those categories are missing serious opportunities. Prints in particular are an underused entry point: for artists whose originals are out of reach, a well-chosen print by someone like Frankenthaler or Miro can anchor a strong collection. The key is learning which artists treated printmaking as a real discipline, not just a commercial exercise.

Conservation is part of the purchase price so budget for it. Especially for prints, works on paper and photography, what you spend after buying matters as much as what you paid. UV-filtering glass, museum-quality framing, proper mounting — these aren’t optional extras. Daniela’s rule: if you found a good work, protect it properly from day one. An IKEA frame on a thousand-pound print is a false economy.

More data doesn’t automatically make you a better collector. Platforms, apps and auction databases have made the art market more transparent than ever but information without context is just noise. What still matters is knowledge you gather from being in the room: knowing six months ahead that an artist is about to show at a major institution, having relationships with galleries, curators and fellow collectors who share that kind of intelligence.

Two red flags worth knowing. First: an artist overexposed too early (too many fairs, too many shows in quick succession) often signals a practice that hasn’t had time to deepen. Daniela looks for artists whose work shifts and deepens over time; when everything looks the same year after year, that’s a yellow flag. Second: the buy-one-donate-one gallery model, where access to a sought-after artist is conditional on donating a second work to an institution. The institution often doesn’t want it, it goes into storage, and the collector carries the cost. Worth knowing before you agree to it.

On art advisors: transparency is the only metric that matters. A good advisor works for one side of a transaction, not both. They show how they think and work (comparable sales, market research, clear fee structure) to justify the price. If they can’t or won’t, walk away. And check they’re a registered company, not just a Gmail account!

My two key takeways

Daniela’s checklist for buying prints and works on paper (relevance to the artist’s practice, condition, provenance, then seeing it in person before committing), made me realise how much I’ve been winging the due diligence side of things. Not every purchase needs a spreadsheet, but having a mental framework before walking into a fair seems like a genuinely useful discipline to develop.

The other thing is her point about emotional response versus market knowledge, and how she holds both at once. The first filter is always psychological and emotional, and only after does the rational brain engage. That sequencing feels right to me as someone relatively in tune with her emotional responses, yet working in a very rational industry. Leading with market logic and retrofitting an emotional reason to buy seems like a recipe for a collection that ticks all the boxes on paper but means very little on the wall.

Full episode on Spotify and Apple Podcasts.

Something here land for you? Reply and let me know — or forward this to someone just starting out.

Sonia Borrell has been collecting since 2006. Barcelona-born, London-shaped, she came to art the long way around, starting in law school and inspired by many life-changing trips, the most memorable one to Paris with her great-grandmother. She has never sold a single piece.

Sonia’s Journey, Briefly

Sonia bought her first work during one of the hardest periods of her life, when her son was seriously ill. Art was the only thing that offered her relief and comfort. She only became what she calls a “serious collector” in 2018 — more intentional in her approach, and more deeply embedded in artist communities. Today she collects with the 22nd century in mind: for her grandchildren, by family consensus, with no exit strategy.

What Sonia Taught Me

Your collection reflects your inner life, even when you’re not paying attention. Sonia didn’t consciously decide to collect only black and grey works during her son’s illness. She only saw the pattern in hindsight as colour started creeping back in as he recovered. Her collection had been tracking her emotional state the whole time. The argument for buying what genuinely moves you, not what you’re told to buy, doesn’t get more vivid than that.

The purchase is the icing, not the cake. The real relationship (with the work, with the artist) is built before you buy. Go to openings. Visit studios. Ask questions. Most living artists are happy to talk. The acquisition is the culmination of something that started long before.

Custodianship is the job. The COVID art bubble had real victims with artists who inflated prices they couldn’t sustain, as well as collectors who overpaid and sometimes still can’t sell. Sonia’s solution is simple: buy because you love it, hold it, and actively support the artist through introductions, gallery connections, showing up.

You don’t need serious money, you need to be an insider. She invokes the Vogels, the New York couple who dedicated one full salary to art and built one of the great 20th-century collections on a postal worker’s wage. What got them to their iconic collector status was curiosity, presence, and talking to everyone in the room - not wealth.

My two key takeaways

Sonia’s family collects together, every acquisition requires consensus (or four ‘yeses’ at a minimum). It’s made me think about what it would mean to build a collection that’s genuinely shared in a home, not just displayed. Art as a living family conversation, and eventually, a legacy. It’s an idea that really resonates with me personally.

The other thing is how she talks about what artists are now expected to carry. Making the work is only the beginning of a long process — they’re also running a business, managing their market, building an audience, navigating galleries etc… Especially at the early stages, that’s an enormous amount. Sonia made me realise that this reframes what custodianship actually means in our time: buying (and holding) the work is the starting point, but recognising that your attention, your advocacy, your introductions are a big part of what makes an artist’s career viable is the differentiator. As collectors, even early-stage ones, we’re more implicated in that ecosystem than I’d fully reckoned with.

Full episode on Spotify and Apple Podcasts. Sonia’s book, Art in Real Time, is worth your time.

Something resonate? Reply and tell me, or forward this to someone who should be listening.

Subscribe now