On judging the value of artworks
What makes a work of art valuable? Is it the emotion it stirs, its historical pedigree, the story behind it, or the price someone’s willing to pay? These questions sit at the heart of Breakfast at Sotheby’s: An A–Z of the Art World by Philip Hook—a book that’s as entertaining as it is revealing. Drawing on decades inside the auction world, unpacking both the aesthetic and economic forces that shape how artworks are valued. Counterpointing Hook’s market-savvy lens is a more philosophical and introspective voice—that of Chinese art critic Xu Wei—offering a philosophical take on what makes art meaningful beyond money. Together, their perspectives open up a deeper conversation about how we see, value, and connect with art.
Hook offers a witty, candid, and at times disarmingly honest insight into the valuation of artworks—both aesthetically and economically. These two dimensions are closely entangled but not always aligned. Some visually appealing works fail to sell; others, visually dull but rich in backstory, fetch staggering sums. What unites them, Hook suggests, is not inherent merit but narrative—depending on who is selling, who is buying, and what story is told about the work. Value, in this world, is not found; it’s constructed.
On the aesthetic side, Hook identifies a few recurring forces: Subject matter, style, wall power, and emotional resonance. Impressionism, for instance, remains commercially robust because its visual softness and familiarity make it easy to live with. Conceptual art, by contrast, may impress critics but rarely excites the market, as it lacks the visual or emotional immediacy that drives desire.
“Wall power,” a term Hook coins, describes a painting’s ability to command space—to hold the eye through colour, scale, or presence. Emotional tone matters too: works that evoke memory, longing, or human drama tend to resonate more deeply. The ideal is art that’s enigmatic but not opaque—emotionally rich without being inaccessible.
One of Hook’s most intriguing distinctions is between “good” and “bad” anger in art.
Good anger—fierce, focused, and deeply felt—can elevate a work. It’s the existential howl of a Bacon or the soul-baring of Munch: unsettling but sincere. Hook writes, “Conflict and frustration become the feeling of choice, the imprimatur of artistic sincerity.” When anger is harnessed with purpose and formal intelligence, it becomes a powerful aesthetic force—adding tension, depth, and urgency.
Bad anger, by contrast, is aimless aggression—petty, bitter, and alienating. It lacks transformation. Instead of inviting empathy or thought, it pushes viewers away. Hook is careful not to single out artists, but the implication is clear: even the most intellectually ambitious work loses market traction if it repels rather than engages.
Economically, Hook maps out the mechanics of value:Provenance, biography, market trends, branding, authenticity, and ego. A compelling backstory or celebrity association can elevate a work. A painting’s worth might spike if it once hung in a Rothschild home or belonged to a rock star. Market bubbles, hype, and collector ego often distort rational pricing. Meanwhile, restoration, over-cleaning, or dubious authorship can tank a work’s value. Auctions themselves are theatre—emotion, rivalry, and the thrill of competition often override logic.
Counterbalancing Hook’s market-savvy realism is the voice of Xu Wei, a Chinese art critic who approaches value from a more poetic and philosophical angle. In her video essay, she suggests that true worth lies in something more meaningful and less transactional:
Selfhood—shaped by cultural identity, family upbringing, memory, generational context, and one’s unique situated experience—cannot be replicated. It seeps into and shapes the work.
Unique monumentality—only through visible or material form can invisible spiritual intent be preserved, offering ongoing intellectual inspiration, reflection, and solace to the beholder.
The authentic trajectory —the process of exploration, struggle, and perseverance—transcends aesthetic surface. When we capture traces of an artist’s bravery in pushing their boundaries, we begin to see echoes between life and art.
Sensitivity to reality—in an increasingly disconnected age, to abandon reality is to abandon truth—and ultimately, to abandon willpower. Art that loses its connection to reality is false. This reality is not merely about representing appearances, but about responding truthfully—both to the world and to one’s interiority. Through observing and reflecting on reality, we glimpse the artist’s authenticity—even their conscience.
“This,” she writes, “is the value that art is meant to carry.”
“Because of truth, art channels one’s view of life.
Because of truth, it records the burn marks of experience.
Because of truth, each stage of creation unfolds with inevitability.
And because of truth, art becomes not only a mirror of reality—but a force capable of questioning it.”
Together, Hook and Xu Wei expose the double life of art: as commodity and as vessel. One system prizes scarcity, spectacle, and story; the other calls for sensitivity, selfhood, and moral clarity. But beyond this binary lies a more complex and generative understanding of value—one rooted in what feminist theorist Donna Haraway terms situated knowledge.
Haraway challenges the illusion of detached, objective truth, arguing instead that all understanding is shaped by context, embodiment, and positionality. Knowledge—like art—is never neutral; it is produced through lived perspective, entangled with power, memory, and identity. Xu Wei’s reflections resonate deeply with this framework: for her, the value of art arises not from universal ideals or market consensus, but from the artist’s particular embeddedness in their world. Cultural identity, generational history, and emotional interiority are not peripheral—they are the ground from which meaning grows.
To view art through a situated lens is to acknowledge that truth is not monolithic but partial, contingent, and accountable. It is to see each artwork as a site of perspective—carrying the imprint of the body that made it, the time that shaped it, and the conditions that constrained or enabled its expression.
In this light, the value of art cannot be fully captured by price, prestige, or institutional validation. It must also be measured by its capacity to bear witness: to carry the burn marks of life, to reflect and resist, to make visible what dominant systems erase. Value, then, is not just what art is worth, but what it does—how it reveals, unsettles, or connects.
In holding Hook’s market acumen alongside Xu Wei’s philosophical depth, we are invited not to choose between them, but to see the space between as vital terrain—where meaning is not bought or sold, but lived.
Anna, July 9, 2025
