Why There Are No Bad Art Purchases

A Conversation with Collector Dirk Lehr

Dirk Lehr has been collecting art for more than three decades. He bought his first artwork while still in high school. Today, his collection includes several hundred works – prints, works on paper, paintings, and photographs. Nora Vogel, co-founder of FRIDAY BIRD, spoke with him about first purchases, overcoming self-doubt, and whether you really need to be wealthy to become an art collector.

Do you remember the first artwork you ever bought – and where it is today?

Yes, very clearly. It was 1988, and I was still in high school. It was a lithograph by Salvador Dalí. At the time, Dalí was still alive, and that mattered to me. I felt closer to the artist because of it. I was fascinated by Dalí then, and Surrealism continues to interest me to this day.

The work is no longer with me, though. I eventually sold it to a friend who had started buying art because of me. For her, it mattered that someone she knew had already owned the piece. That became her own entry point into collecting.

What made you buy that particular work? Was it a rational decision or more of a gut feeling?

It was very emotional. I remember being excited. Then I held the print up to the light and could actually see how the ink 'sat' on the paper – the texture of the printed surface. It was something entirely different from the posters people my age usually had on their walls. That was an experience like no other.

Did you have any doubts before making that first purchase?

No, I was absolutely certain.

That certainty came from an inner need. Art had already gotten under my skin when I was in school. I visited museums and galleries and organized trips to exhibitions. I realized that art fascinated me so deeply that I became almost immune to other people's doubts.

That didn't mean the people around me shared my enthusiasm. Quite the opposite. People definitely looked at me with a certain amount of skepticism. The fact that an eighteen-year-old would spend his savings and pocket money on art puzzled many of them. Buying art was unusual back then and was often seen as something elitist.

I never questioned the decision myself.

 

                       

                                       Collector Dirk Lehr during a talk with artist Attila Wittmer

 

What is it that drives you? Why do you collect art?

That's not a question I've ever really asked myself, because I simply felt driven.

That first purchase felt almost like a moment of liberation. I immediately realized what it gave me. The money didn't simply disappear. Instead, it transformed into something that was there every single day. The print hung in my childhood bedroom. I saw it every day. And almost immediately I knew: I need another one.

I've lived with art ever since. Art serves a purpose that I think is often underestimated. You interact with it. Every day, it gives you the opportunity to pause, to lose yourself in an image for a moment. Whether you realize it or not, it shapes the environment you live in.

"The money didn't simply disappear. Instead, it transformed into something that was there every single day."

Was there a moment when you first thought of yourself as a collector, or did that happen gradually?

When I started buying art, I never thought about whether I was a collector. It was always about the artwork, not about building a collection. It wasn't about whether it matched my furniture or whether I even had room for it. It was always about the artist and the work itself. Looking back, I would say I acted like a collector from the very beginning because that's how I was thinking from the start.

Would you do anything differently if you were starting all over again today?

No. Of course, I might evaluate some of those early purchases differently today. But those experiences were essential. They helped me understand what quality means, what continues to interest me over the long term, and what kind of art I want to live with.

That's also why I don't like talking about "bad purchases.“ To me, there are no bad purchases. There are only learning purchases.

"To me, there are no bad purchases. There are only learning purchases."

Is that perhaps the biggest obstacle that keeps people from buying art – the fear of making the wrong choice?

Absolutely. Many people never start collecting because they're afraid of making the wrong decision. They want to be certain that they can justify the purchase, to themselves as much as to other people.

But making a decision that turns out differently than you expected is part of the process. You develop your eye by looking, comparing, and discovering – and sometimes by making choices that teach you something.

Many people believe collecting art is only for the wealthy. What would you say to them?

That's simply not true. Art collecting has nothing to do with being wealthy. It has everything to do with being interested.

Great art doesn't have to be expensive. Many collectors begin with prints or works on paper, just as I did. And I still buy prints today because they're a medium in their own right, with qualities of their own.

For me, collecting has always been a matter of priorities, not finances. Everyone decides what matters enough to spend money on. Some people choose travel, cars, electronics, or fashion. Others choose to live with art.

Art fairs are an excellent opportunity to discover art and train the eye. 

 

How has collecting changed the way you look at art? Do you see artworks differently today than you did in the beginning?

My way of seeing has become more efficient.

After decades of looking and comparing, you develop an eye for which works have lasting relevance and which don't.

For me, this isn't about distinguishing between good and bad art. The more interesting question is whether a work is relevant. Does it contribute something of its own? Does it arise from an inner artistic necessity? Does it have the potential to resonate ten or twenty years from now?

"For me, this isn't about distinguishing between good and bad art. The more interesting question is whether a work is relevant."

Those are questions I can answer much more quickly today than I could in the beginning.

At the same time, curiosity remains essential. I deliberately visit exhibitions that I suspect won't interest me. Sometimes I leave thinking, I'm glad I came. Other times I feel my initial impression was confirmed. Both are valuable. As a collector, you can't allow yourself to become complacent.

What role do galleries play for you, and what distinguishes a good gallery from a bad one?

To me, a gallery is first and foremost a filter.

But not everything shown in a gallery is automatically relevant. There are simply too many galleries and too many artists for that. One gallery is not the same as another.

Good galleries help people navigate an increasingly complex art world. They provide orientation. They help collectors discover artists whose work possesses originality, seriousness, and relevance.

"To me, a gallery is first and foremost a filter."

What I value most are galleries that work with artists who create out of an inner necessity—not simply because something happens to be fashionable at the moment.

What advice would you give someone who is about to buy their very first artwork?

Three things. First: overcome the initial hesitation. That first purchase is the decisive one. Not because it has to be the perfect choice, but because once you've done it, you realize that buying art doesn't „hurt". Quite the opposite. The real joy comes afterward – and it stays with you. Much more intensely than you expect.

Second: walk into galleries without feeling intimidated.

They're not assessment centers where you're expected to prove how much you know. Galleries aren't there to quiz visitors. They’re there to talk about art, to share it, and to make it accessible. That's part of their purpose.

And third: look at as much art as you can. Visit museums, exhibitions, and art fairs regularly. Compare what you see. Over time, you'll discover what truly speaks to you. That's enough. The chemistry between you and an artwork develops naturally. You don't have to be an expert. You don't have to impress anyone. What matters is finding the kind of art that genuinely moves you.

If you could keep only one artwork from your collection, which would it be?

That's a difficult question.

One would certainly be a work from Robert Rauschenberg's Cardbirds series. Using discarded cardboard packaging, he transformed something ordinary into something entirely new.

And if I were allowed a second choice, it would be Andy Warhol's Electric Chair.What fascinates me about that work is that Warhol treated images of death and catastrophe in exactly the same way he treated images of Marilyn Monroe or Elvis Presley. In his visual language, there was no distinction between celebrity and tragedy.

Warhol once commented on the Electric Chair series by saying: "You'd be surprised how many people want to hang a picture of an electric chair in their living room – especially if the color matches the curtains."

To me, that observation captures so much of what art is capable of.

More about Dirk Lehr and his collection on Instagram: @dirklehrcollection