I am a middle-aged wife, rollergirl, wannabe artist, bedroom musician and occasional writer. This is one of many virtual homes designed to house my random musings and findings about stuff I'm into.
The Biggest Scam in the Art World — a journal by Leonidafremov on DeviantArt. Published: 2026-06-05 · Likes: 18 · Views: 944 · Comments: 4
How the Internet Freed Artists — and How They're Losing That Freedom Again
Today I want to talk about something that has bothered me for years.
To be honest, I'm a fairly positive person. I love life, I love art, and I love building new projects. But there is one thing I cannot stand: injustice.
Especially when it affects artists.
Over the last thirty-six years, millions of paintings have passed through my hands. I've worked with hundreds of artists around the world. I've dealt with galleries, dealers, collectors, art consultants, online marketplaces, and just about everyone who makes money in the art business.
And the longer I stay in this industry, the more convinced I become of one simple fact:
Artists are often the most powerless people in the entire chain.
Which is strange when you think about it.
The artist creates the work.
The artist spends years learning the craft.
The artist buys the materials.
The artist takes the risks, experiments, fails, and starts over.
Yet when it's time to divide the money, everyone seems eager to profit from the artist's work except the artist.
Recently, an old friend of mine from Mexico contacted me. We've known each other for almost twenty years. He's a talented painter—not a celebrity, not a millionaire, just a skilled professional trying to support his family through art.
Several years ago, he was approached by a large online gallery. I won't mention the name for now. I'll only say that it's one of the biggest art websites you'll find when searching Google for paintings.
They offered him an exclusive contract.
The word "exclusive" always makes me nervous.
Because in most cases, it simply means that the artist agrees not to work with anyone else.
The obvious question is: what do they give in return?
A guaranteed income?
A marketing budget?
A minimum sales commitment?
Usually, none of the above.
Instead, artists receive promises and a contract.
My friend accepted.
The terms were simple: fifty percent for the gallery and fifty percent for the artist.
That alone would make me think twice.
After all, this isn't 1985.
There was a time when galleries were essential. If you were an artist, there was simply no practical way to show your work to buyers without going through a gallery.
But today we have websites, social media, Etsy, email marketing, online communities, and countless ways to connect directly with collectors.
So when a middleman takes half the value of a painting, I naturally wonder what exactly they are contributing.
Then things became even more interesting.
My friend recently sold a painting through that gallery for $1,000.
At least that's what he thought.
The buyer saw a price of $1,000.
Then the gallery offered a 30% discount.
Not from their share.
From the artist's share.
The buyer paid $700.
The gallery took its commission.
My friend ended up with roughly $200 before paying for packaging and shipping.
When we finished the math, it turned out he had spent weeks creating a painting for little more than the cost of a nice dinner.
I asked him:
"Why do you keep selling through them?"
His answer was simple:
"Because I need to feed my family."
That is what modern artistic servitude looks like.
It doesn't look like exploitation.
It looks like opportunity.
It looks like prestige.
It looks like partnership.
But the outcome is often the same.
The artist works harder and earns less.
What makes this especially frustrating is that the internet already solved this problem once.
I remember the late 1990s and early 2000s very well.
When artists first started selling online, it felt like a revolution.
For the first time, artists could reach buyers directly.
For the first time, they could receive feedback without intermediaries.
For the first time, they could understand what collectors actually wanted.
Most importantly, they controlled their own future.
Back then, I was involved in several large artist communities. People were excited. They experimented. They created new styles. They shared ideas. It genuinely felt like a new era of freedom.
Then the money arrived.
And whenever money arrives, large corporations eventually follow.
They saw what was happening and began building new walls around that freedom.
This is how modern art aggregators were born.
In many ways, they are simply traditional galleries transferred to the internet.
They gather thousands of artists on one platform, charge monthly fees, take large commissions, and convince creators that success is impossible without them.
Yet all the value on those platforms comes from the artists themselves.
Remove the artists and the platform becomes an empty website.
Remove the platform and the artists continue creating.
That's why I've always been surprised by the way many artists view these companies.
They are not giving artists a business.
Artists are giving them a business.
The reason these platforms continue to grow is simple.
Most artists are not entrepreneurs.
And that's not an insult.
It's reality.
Most artists want to paint.
They want to create.
They don't want to learn SEO, advertising, email marketing, website analytics, or customer acquisition.
For many creatives, marketing feels almost offensive.
Middlemen know this.
They promise artists:
"Just focus on your art. We'll handle everything else."
It sounds wonderful.
The problem is that they often handle very little.
Here's something that many people won't like hearing:
Most online galleries are not selling paintings.
They're selling hope to artists.
Selling a painting is difficult.
Selling hope is easy.
All you need is a beautiful website, a few marketing slogans, and promises about exposure, international audiences, and future success.
The artist pays monthly fees, gives away commissions, and waits.
Sometimes for years.
Meanwhile, many platforms earn more from artists than from collectors.
Think about it.
If ten thousand artists each pay $30 per month for membership, that's $300,000 every month before a single painting is sold.
Why work hard to sell art when the artists themselves are already funding the business?
This is why I always suggest asking one simple question:
"How many paintings does the average artist on your platform actually sell each year?"
You'll be surprised how uncomfortable that question makes people.
The truth is that artists don't need rescuing.
They need ownership.
Ownership of their audience.
Ownership of their reputation.
Ownership of their customer relationships.
The future belongs to artists who build their own communities, their own websites, and their own collector bases.
Not those who spend years waiting for a platform to make them successful.
If you're a collector reading this, I have one request.
When you discover an artist you love, try to find them directly.
Visit their website.
Contact them.
Follow them.
Very often you'll pay less, the artist will earn more, and everyone wins except the middleman.
I've spent more than three decades in this business.
I've never met a gallery owner who starved.
But I've met many talented artists who worked incredibly hard and still struggled to survive.
That's why I wrote this article.
Not because I hate galleries.
Not because I want a revolution.
But because I keep seeing the same story repeated.
Someone spends twenty years mastering their craft, creating something beautiful, only to be told that most of the value they create belongs to someone else.
In the twenty-first century, that feels increasingly difficult to justify.
Especially now, when for the first time in human history, artists have the tools to reach their audience directly.
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