Advice to an Aspiring Collector: Sigurjón Sighvatsson

Was there a specific experience or meeting that inspired you to start collecting art?

I grew up surrounded by art because my great-grandfather, who was one of the first bankers in Iceland, helped some of the earliest Icelandic artists attend school in Denmark at the beginning of the last century. As a result, we had some high-quality artworks in our home from two leading Icelandic painters: Thórarinn Thorláksson and Jóhannes Kjarval.

Although I was raised with art, it wasn't until I arrived in California that I began to develop a genuine interest in it—through a bit of a chance encounter, actually. My partner in my film company had been an amateur photographer and introduced me to photography. Consequently, I began collecting works by early American pioneers of photography, and until recently, my collection has primarily consisted of photographic works.

Can you tell me about the first artwork you purchased?

That was a photograph by a photographer called Matt Maher that showed a black family joking around with each other. He used to make a lot of music videos and his style later became widely copied. I think I bought it for $300. I still have it and it's great.

How has your way of collecting changed over the years?

Initially, I would almost exclusively buy works from emerging artists, as I didn't have the funds to be a large-scale collector. I remember someone once asked me, "Why are you buying this? How do you know this artist will become successful or valuable?" I replied that I didn't care, as long as I liked the work and it wasn't expensive. I never viewed it as an investment.

Today, I buy art in a variety of ways, particularly as I've started using the internet more. When the first online art auction sites appeared, the more sophisticated collectors hadn't yet realised that you could purchase very good artists' works inexpensively online. In the early days of the internet, I acquired some truly excellent pieces, mainly through online charity art auctions. Then, of course, like everything else, people caught on. Now, all art collectors have advisors and receive notifications whenever an artist they follow is available. It's much more competitive than it used to be.

How do you navigate the art market, and who influences your choices?

I think it has changed. When I started in the '90s, the art world was relatively small. There weren't many fairs, and certainly no online platforms. It was mostly a matter of me keeping track of what was happening, and of course, engaging in discussions with my circle of friends—I shouldn't discount that. I would hear whom they were talking about, whom they were working with, and why they found certain artists interesting. So, I would say that access has also played an important role.

Today, much of what you see is influenced by curators and gallerists, who either shape your tastes or at least expose you to works you might not have otherwise encountered.

I am familiar with the many Icelandic and female artists represented in your collection; has this been a purposeful approach?

I have always bought Icelandic art, but only the pieces I genuinely like. For a while, I was one of the few collectors here, but that has changed now.

I never really made a distinction between what’s female and what’s male art, but as I've been cataloguing my collection lately, I’ve realised that I own a significant amount of work by female artists. I believe this stems from my interest in photography, as many of the early well-known photographers were women. Nobody ever said, "This is a woman, this is a man." No, it was simply Diane Arbus. I also met many female artists through my work or personal connections. For example, Roni Horn spent a lot of time in Iceland, and I was quite influenced by her and became friends with her—so I have a substantial amount of her work.

One thing I discovered later is that works by female artists were usually cheaper. But this was also true for black artists. I remember one of the first photographs I bought was by Robert Frank, called 'A Church in Alabama', which depicted people coming out of a church. The photo was fairly inexpensive, so I asked the dealer why it didn’t cost more. And I don't really think this has been written about much.

How does your collection impact your everyday life?

I believe that art can leave a psychological imprint, often on a subconscious level.

I once bought a photograph by the renowned female artist Gabríela Friðriksdóttir (see above), which I used to display in my daughter's room in Iceland. She told me, "Dad, you need to take this down. It's too traumatic. I don’t want it on my wall." Another example is a large Jean-Michel Basquiat print that I used to display in my daughter's bedroom. When I decided to move it to the living room one day, she was very upset and said, "Why are you taking that print? It's my favourite artwork." This reminded me of my own childhood, when the two leading Icelandic painters were hanging on the walls of my grandparents' home and had made a strong impression on me.

Perhaps that’s what art should do: it should provoke or stir emotions.

What is one piece of advice you would give your younger self when you started collecting?

In a recent interview, Larry Gagosian mentioned that he never sells a painting and only buys what he truly likes. I believe that’s the only way to become a genuine collector. Whether you're a seasoned collector or an aspiring one, you should buy what resonates with you, because art is an emotional experience. You can't put a price on that.

Have you ever regretted not buying an artwork?

Yes. The only thing in my life I regret is not buying more works by Jean-Michel Basquiat while I was working on the movie 'Basquiat'.