Buying art is not about taste - it is about trust
When most people think of buying art, they imagine it as a matter of taste. Do I like this? Does it fit with my palette, my brand, my design scheme? Yet the deeper truth is more human, more intimate. Choosing a piece of art that will live with you is not a question of taste, it is a question of trust. Trust in the artist to have seen something true. Trust in yourself to recognise it. Trust that the piece will hold its meaning long after the first glance has passed.
Taste can be fleeting. Trust is what endures.
.
The Quiet Weight of Choice
Every collector, whether private or corporate, knows the subtle weight of a decision. To bring a work of art into your space is to commit to its presence, to its dialogue with your life and the people in it. You cannot swap it as easily as a cushion or repaint a wall when the season changes. Art is not there to fill a gap, it is there to shape an atmosphere.
This is why the decision is never just about what pleases the eye. It is about what sustains the spirit. Does this piece bring me stillness, or restlessness? Does it deepen the atmosphere of my hotel, my retreat, my home, or does it simply decorate? To answer those questions requires trust in more than aesthetics.
.
Beyond the Myth of Good Taste
Luxury culture often revolves around the idea of taste, as though there exists a refined standard that the enlightened few possess. But taste, in this sense, is exclusionary. It becomes a currency of status, a way to prove belonging to a certain circle.
Yet when I work with collectors, designers, and curators, what I notice is something different. The pieces that truly endure are not chosen because they conform to an external notion of taste, but because they evoke an inner recognition. They belong, not because they are fashionable, but because they feel true.
Trust in art is the willingness to move past the myth of good taste and instead listen for resonance.
.
The Human Need for Resonance
Art, at its essence, is not an object. It is a relationship. It asks not only to be seen, but to be felt. When we stand before a work and feel something shift — a softening in the body, a clarity in the mind, an expansion in the chest — we are not responding to taste, we are responding to resonance.
This resonance is deeply human. It is what makes us feel that a space belongs to us, that it reflects who we are, that we are safe to be fully present. In a world full of images, this depth is rare. Which is why when we find it, it feels like trust.
.
Trust as the Foundation of Belonging
For the conscious legacy curator - the hotelier, the philanthropist, the wellness leader, the private collector - the question is not “Do I like this?” but “Do I trust this?” Do I trust that this piece will serve the space not only today, but in ten years? Do I trust that my guests will feel its quiet generosity? Do I trust myself to choose well?
When that trust is present, the experience of living with art becomes effortless. The piece does not demand attention, it offers presence. It does not shout, it steadies. This is the kind of belonging we long for in our homes and in our shared spaces.
.
The Risk of Distrust
When art is chosen without trust, its absence is felt. A corporate lobby filled with generic prints may look polished, but guests feel the emptiness. A luxury spa may surround clients with expensive materials, but without resonance the space fails to soothe. A collector may fill walls with fashionable works, yet still feel unsettled in their own home.
The risk is not simply aesthetic. It is emotional. Spaces without trust feel disconnected, no matter how refined.
.
The Gentle Courage of Choosing
To choose art is to practice a form of courage. The quiet courage of listening to oneself. To say: this is the piece that speaks to me, this is the piece I want to live with, this is the presence I want in my world.
It is a decision less about taste than about trust, and less about possession than about belonging. In this way, collecting art becomes an act of self-respect, an affirmation of what one values most deeply.
.
A Closing Reflection
If buying art were only about taste, it would be easy. We could follow trends, consult rankings, and compare styles. But art has never been about easy choices.
Perhaps the most important question, then, is not “Does this look good?” but “Do I feel at home with this?” Because when art belongs, it does not only live on your walls. It lives in you.
Warmly,
Petsy