What motivates people to collect art? And what paths lead them there?

In our Private View series, art collectors provide insights into the personal stories behind their collections: What sparked their interest in art? Which works have accompanied them over the years? And how do artists, social developments, and individual life paths shape their collections?

In this edition, we talk to Thomas Rusche, collector and art consultant. Thomas Rusche has been passionate about art since childhood and continues to expand the large private Rusche Art Collection Oelde/Berlin as its director. The works in the collection have been shown in over 100 exhibition institutions.

Mr. Rusche, in your latest book, "Kunst macht reich und glücklich" (Art Makes You Rich and Happy), you write that you stayed in the simplest hotels with your father in order to buy high-caliber art at auctions. How old were you when your father first took you to auctions and to what extent did this view “through his eyes” shape your own view of art?

I was not yet ten years old when my father took me to an auction for the first time. These experiences showed me early on that it is not about luxury or status symbols, but about the art itself. The fact that we stayed in simple hotels but were able to bid on important works at auctions was a clear indication of our priorities. My father taught me that it is okay to make sacrifices for truly valuable things and that true beauty is more important than superficial comfort. Seeing things through his eyes taught me not to view art as decoration, but as something worth saving up and making sacrifices for.

The Rusche Collection is one of the most renowned private collections in Germany. How would you describe your family's “signature style” and how does your own selection differ from that of your father or grandfather?

Our family's signature style is characterized by a keen sense of quality and a certain willingness to take risks. We have never followed the mainstream, but have often focused on artists who were not yet established. My grandfather and father had a strong focus on Old Masters, especially 17th-century Dutch painting. I myself have expanded the spectrum to include contemporary art. While earlier generations tended to focus on painterly quality, I am more open to conceptual and provocative positions. After unfortunately having to sell the collection due to a crisis in my company, which has enriched me with many experiences, I am now even more determined to say: I buy what moves me, not what is currently in vogue.

You mention that you like to buy or have bought “politically incorrect images.” What appeals to you about them: the contradiction, the provocation, the taboo?

Art must be allowed to irritate and disturb. What appeals to me is not provocation for its own sake, but art's ability to confront us with uncomfortable truths. Politically incorrect works often break with the consensus of the familiar and force us to take a closer look. They ask questions that we would rather avoid. That can be annoying, but that is precisely where their power lies. Art should not only please us—it must also challenge us. Of course, there are limits: I reject art that is inhumane or incites hatred. But we urgently need art that questions social conventions.

In your book, you describe the art market as a “closed book.” Why is it so secretive, and what mechanisms are responsible for this lack of transparency? Would you advocate for more openness, and what might that look like in concrete terms?

The lack of transparency is systematic. Some galleries do not publish their prices, auction results are more or less random, and nothing is known about private sales. This creates uncertainty and discourages people from getting involved. I definitely advocate for more openness. Specifically, I welcome the willingness of some gallery owners at art fairs to write the sales prices directly on the sign on the wall. The factors underlying pricing should be made just as transparent as the market mechanisms on the secondary market and at auctions. My book is a step in this direction. I want to give people the tools they need to make informed decisions. The art market should not remain a club for insiders, but should be open to everyone.

How do you view the role of collectors in the art market, particularly in terms of their power over galleries and artists' careers?

Collectors have enormous power, often more than they realize themselves. Those who buy art help decide which artists survive economically and which do not. Major collectors can make or break artists' careers. On the one hand, this is problematic because it leads to dependencies. On the other hand, committed collectors are often the most important promoters of young art. Collectors should see themselves not as power players, but as partners in the art system. When galleries, artists, and collectors work together as equals, a magical triangle can emerge. When I advise collectors, artists, and gallery owners today, that's exactly what I focus on: getting the network to vibrate, where everyone inspires each other, helps each other climb the ladder, and takes responsibility for one another.

You founded the Rusche Kunstsalon in Berlin. What kind of place do you want to create there, who meets there, and how do you curate these encounters?

My Berlin art salon has been a meeting place for decades, between artists, collectors, curators, but also people who are simply curious about art. I want to take away the fear of crossing the threshold. That's why we don't have a stiff vernissage atmosphere, but rather genuine exchange. I consciously curate encounters across generations and social milieus: the young artist meets the experienced collector, the art historian meets the career changer. This mix creates productive friction, which is supported not least by the challenging art on the walls.

Art thrives on exchange. To what extent is your collection accessible to the public today? Are there exhibitions, loans, or other formats through which you share your works?

At the Kunstsalon Berlin, the exchange goes so far that all artworks can be purchased. It's a wonderful feeling when I can make other collectors happy with my works. Of course, we make artworks available for museum exhibitions. It's important to me that art doesn't disappear into vaults. It only unfolds its full effect when it is seen, triggers conversations, and moves people.

Where and how do you personally prefer to buy art? Is direct contact with artists important to you, or do you prefer auctions, galleries, or art fairs? And, of course, a question that is always of particular interest to us: how do you assess the influence of art fairs on today's market?

I prefer to buy directly from the studio. There I can experience the history of the works' creation and better understand the artist's position. Personal contact with artists enriches my understanding immensely. But I also appreciate auctions because of the surprisingly diverse range of works on offer across the centuries. For me, galleries are partners with whom I have been working for decades in some cases. Art fairs democratize access and provide an overview in a small space. Where else can I see and purchase so many works of art at once?

Your motto is: “Art must please—and art must surprise.” Which work or artist has most recently surprised, irritated, or—to quote Susan Sontag—“made you nervous”?

I'm currently looking at a still life by Markus Lüpertz. It hangs above my Etrosofa, but it's anything but a pleasing sofa picture. Rather, it surprises me again and again with its compositional references. The harmonious play of colors between the painting and the sofa may calm the casual observer, but those who look closely will be unsettled by the skulls, ankle boots, and all manner of creatures. Those who engage with the painting will not only be unsettled, but completely absorbed, body and soul.

You say that art enriches life. What exactly do you mean by that—on what level does art make us “rich and happy”?

Art can make us rich and happy on four levels: emotionally, intellectually, socially, and financially. Emotionally, because it awakens feelings that everyday life often does not offer: amazement, shock, joy. Intellectually, because it stimulates thought and opens up new perspectives. Socially, because it brings people together and facilitates conversation. And yes, it can also be financially rewarding, but for me, that's the least important aspect. The real return is the aesthetic dividend: being surrounded every day by great art that never bores you. A good work of art grows with you, constantly revealing new facets. That is wealth in the truest sense of the word.

When you look at your own collection, which works are particularly close to your heart—and why? Are there any pieces that mark a turning point for you?

My first prints, which I bought for very little money as a teenager, are particularly close to my heart. They mark my first independent explorations and purchasing decisions and remind me that collecting is about a personal attitude and relationship to the object. A turning point was the purchase of a sculpture by Alicja Kwade, my first work of art that I repurchased after being forced to sell my collection: my rebirth as a collector, so to speak.

In your book, you often talk about experiences with your father. What role did the women in your family play in relation to art, as collectors, recipients, or mediators?

My family has been collecting art for five generations now. My daughter-in-law is the first woman in the family to show a passion for art. So my son is luckier than his male ancestors, who were the only ones involved in the art world. My father wasn't entirely alone, because he managed to inspire my enthusiasm for art at an early age. My mother, on the other hand, devoted all her energy and time to building up our fashion business. And since fashion is also an art form, she always kindly supported her men's art purchases. My wife was born into a family of collectors in Milan, where paintings hung side by side and above each other in Petersburg style. Despite this hereditary predisposition, until a few years ago she had only dabbled into the art world. However, she came to art through a professional detour: as the head of the culture and social affairs department of the Warendorf district, she is responsible for three museums, sits on purchasing committees, and writes forewords for catalogs. To my surprise, she just bought her first work of art for our collection at an auction: a nail painting by Günther Uecker. I am curious to see how she and art will develop.

What was it like for you to grow up with art? What does it mean when art is such a natural part of the family and how would you introduce children and young people to art today?

Growing up with art was a privilege, but also a challenge. As a child, I sometimes found it annoying to be dragged to exhibitions on the weekends, but my father enticed me with his white Porsche 911, which I thought was cool enough. Of course, the omnipresent art at home shaped my view, at least subconsciously. Art was never sacred or untouchable in our home, but part of everyday life. We discussed works of art over dinner as if they were old friends. My children have experienced a similar approach to art; they are interested, but have not yet caught the bug. That's why I don't want to give any advice. Perhaps just this: art should be enjoyable, and many museums have great offerings for children that are enjoyable.

Collecting is not only a passion, but also an enormous organizational task. How do you manage your collection and what are your most important principles or priorities in doing so?

Before selling the collection, which comprised several thousand works, the effort involved was naturally much greater than it is today. At that time, I distributed the work among several people, but thanks to a digital database, it was not a full-time job. The basic rule is to have a detailed database with the provenance, condition, insurance, and exhibition history of each work. Conservation is key, some works require special climatic conditions. Documentation is also important: photographs, correspondence with artists and art historians, purchase receipts. It sounds technical, but organization helps immensely.

And finally, what advice would you give to beginners who want to start collecting art? What should they look out for, what should they avoid, and what is perhaps the most important thing?

The most important advice: buy what really moves you, not what's currently trendy. Invest time before you invest money: visit exhibitions, read, talk to artists and gallery owners. Take the first step; you can start small: a high-quality print for the price of a restaurant visit is a perfect start. Live with art. Hang it up, look at it every day. Only then will you understand whether a work really suits you. Collecting art is not a sprint, but a marathon, yet one that makes you incredibly happy. And if I may make a personal recommendation: read my book “Kunst macht reich und glücklich” (Art makes you rich and happy) and visit me in my Kunstsalon in Berlin. I'll be happy to advise you.

Today you are no longer just a collector — you also advise others. How has your view of art changed since you have been on both sides of the market?

As a collector, I was always on the trail of young, unknown artists. As an advisor, I bring that experience with young emerging artists to the collectors I work with. Often, however, they want to acquire art that will hold its value over the long term. This leads me increasingly into the field of modern art, where I look for artists who have proven themselves in the market for decades and have the potential to enter the canon. As a collector, I never collected prices or names; as an advisor, I have to ask myself much harder how individual artists' prices are likely to develop. Overall, financial considerations now play a greater role.

The sale of large parts of a collection is a controversial topic in the art world — artists in particular sometimes worry that their works and market prices will become playthings of the market. Can you understand these concerns, and what responsibility, in your view, do collectors have towards artists when they part with works?

I can understand this concern from my own experience. When my company ran into a crisis, I had to sell my collection en bloc to meet an urgent need for liquidity. The only viable route was to go to auction. Auction results can boost artists' careers, but they can also hurt them. No one knows beforehand how anyone will fare. What particularly pleased me was that, through the auction, artists found their way into collections in which they had not previously been represented. Paintings are like children — they have legs and go their own way, often not the way you expect.

You have repeatedly backed artists before the market discovered them. Which young artists are you watching right now?

Most recently, I was impressed by the thoughtful sculptures of Sandra Schlipköter, whom I had previously come to appreciate as a painter. I have just acquired glass sculptures by Andreas Rier, winner of Leipzig's Grassi Prize and an artist with a wonderful feel for form. Peter Böhnisch, Monika Michalko and Moritz Schleime stand out for their distinctive approaches to painting, and all three have earned their spurs.