The Second Life of a Painting
Every so often, one of my older paintings pops up in the most unexpected places — an auction catalogue. It might be Strauss & Co here in South Africa, or Bonhams in London, and suddenly there it is: a canvas I painted years ago, now preparing for its “second debut” under the auctioneer’s hammer.
It’s a curious feeling. On one hand, the work is no longer mine — it left my studio long ago, found its first home, and settled into someone’s wall. Yet it still carries my name, and in a way, it still carries a piece of me.
Once a painting leaves the easel, its story takes on a life of its own. Some works stay rooted in the same family for generations. Others change hands quietly between collectors. And every now and then, they re-emerge into the light of an auction house. I like to think of these as milestones in the long journey of an artwork. They’re like postcards from the past — little reminders that the brushstrokes I laid down years ago are still alive, still moving, still making their way through the world.
A Collector’s Note
Not long ago, I received a message from a long-standing collector that perfectly captured this idea of paintings leading second lives. He had been following a Strauss & Co auction and, as it turned out, ended up being the successful bidder on two of my works. His note went like this:
“Hi Peter,
Thought you’d be interested to know that I was the successful bidder on last week’s Strauss Art online auction for the two Bonney works on the auction. I got the ‘Richmond Street Corner’ for R32,000 and had to endure some enthusiastic competition on ‘Roadside House,’ which pushed that price to R70,000. End result is I’ve sort of replaced the works which I sacrificed in my divorce some 25 years ago. At an average price of R51,000 (plus Buyer’s Premium of 15% — usurious!) for two decent-sized Bonneys though, I am delighted. Delivery to my office in a week to 10 days.”
He went on to puzzle over why one of the paintings sold for almost half the price of the other, despite being only slightly smaller. And then, in a typically generous aside, he added: “Anyway, I thought I’d let you know that my support for you and your work continues through a variety of channels.”
The Ripple Effect
That message hit home for me. Here was a collector who had owned some of my early work, lost it in life’s upheavals, and then, years later, had the chance to welcome two older Bonney paintings back into his world and his current Bonney collection. That, in a nutshell, is the secondary market at work — not just numbers and hammer prices, but stories of people, lives, and connections being re-tied.
As an artist, I don’t always think about what happens to a painting once it leaves the studio. I’m already knee-deep in the next canvas, the next subject, the next chase after light. But every so often, letters like this remind me that the paintings are out there, doing their own wandering, carrying their own stories, and sometimes circling back into the hands of people who cherish them anew.
The Nervous Thrill of Auction
Of course, there’s always a flicker of nervousness when I hear a painting is headed to auction. Auctions are unpredictable. The bidding can soar well above expectations — which is flattering and affirming — or it can stall below current gallery prices, which is less comfortable. As an artist, I have no control once the catalogue is printed.
And yet, that unpredictability is part of the theatre. The truth is, seeing my work alongside other South African artists, past and present, is a kind of validation in itself. It signals that my paintings are considered part of the conversation, worthy of standing on that platform, even if the gavel sometimes surprises us all.
Why Secondary Markets Matter
For collectors, the secondary market matters more than they sometimes realise. Each resale adds to a painting’s provenance — its documented history — which strengthens its place in the broader story of South African art. Auction results also create a public record. They build confidence, not only for those who already own my work but also for those who are considering acquiring a piece.
I’ve often said that collectors don’t just buy a painting — they buy into its journey. An active secondary market is part of that journey. It’s living proof that paintings don’t just disappear once they leave the easel. They continue to circulate, to change hands, to generate fresh interest.
The Artist’s Perspective
But let me be clear: I don’t paint with auction houses in mind. I paint because I’m compelled to — by the Karoo’s endless roads, by old tractors rusting into the soil, by the weight of light on mountains. The fact that some of these works circle back years later, entering a new chapter under the gavel, is something I accept with a mixture of gratitude and detachment. Gratitude, because it validates the path I’ve chosen. Detachment, because the real work still happens here in the studio, brush in hand, chasing after the next canvas.
At the same time, I have to be careful. If too many works hit the auction block at once, it can flood the market and soften demand. If a painting sells for less than my current gallery price, it can create confusion. These are the realities that any artist with a presence in the secondary market has to live with. The balance lies in focusing on the new — keeping the studio output fresh, consistent, and true to the vision that got me here in the first place.
A Living Legacy
In the end, what matters to me is that the paintings live on. They’re not static things. They travel. They change hands. They collect new stories as they go. Sometimes they’re part of life’s celebrations; sometimes, as Brian's note reminded me, they’re casualties of life’s storms, only to return decades later.
That’s the second life of a painting: it doesn’t end when the varnish dries or when the gallery red dot goes up. It keeps moving, keeps finding new walls, new eyes, and new meaning.
And so, while I’ll always encourage collectors, if they want the freshest work, to buy directly from me, or via the Cherie De Villiers Gallery in Johannesburg, I nevertheless see these auction appearances as milestones worth noting. They remind me — and hopefully, they remind others — that art is a living thing. It doesn’t sit still.