How 9 Black Collectors Are Changing the Art World, Starting at Home

For many Black art collectors, the home doubles as a gallery. Not just because our interiors are where we keep our most valued possessions, but, as artist and curator Jessica Gaynelle Moss explains, because “we didn’t have space otherwise.” Historically, in the absence of institutional respect for Black artistry, domestic spaces were some of the only venues available for exhibition. “We weren’t allowed to show in museums or galleries as artists, let alone [exhibit the pieces of] collectors who wanted to support Black artists,” she says. “The only spaces we could see and find each other were our homes.”

A 2018 investigation by Artnet News and In Other Words found that since 2008, only 2.37% of all acquisitions and gifts and 7.6% of all exhibitions at 30 prominent American museums had been of work by Black creatives. But shows like Gaynelle Moss’s The Vault, which featured pieces from four established Charlotte, North Carolina–based Black collectors last year, and the Brooklyn Museum’s latest blockbuster, Giants: Art from the Dean Collection of Swizz Beatz and Alicia Keys, seem to signal a shift away from the historical disregard of Black creative achievement by prominent mainstream arenas.

Public showcases like these are crucial and long overdue, though even outside of the spotlight, the practice of collecting Black art in the home offers an intangible value, one that appreciates in a way that can’t be measured in dollars. Curator Kimberly Drew recalls her discussion with the designer and philanthropist Tina Knowles on the latter’s legendary collection, which she’s been accumulating since she was 19 years old. “This development of her practice as a collector [is] intergenerational: She raised two of the most significant artists of our time,” Drew says, in reference to Knowles’s daughters, Beyoncé and Solange. “There’s this through line in what it means to have these kinds of things appear on our walls, in our hearts, and be a part of our lives—potentially, for our entire lives.”

We talked to collectors (whether they’re adding works more casually or hunting for pieces on a weekly basis) about their most treasured art, how best to get started, and the value of living among work from creatives across the African diaspora.

Pamela Joyner

It’s impossible for renowned collector and philanthropist Pamela Joyner to pinpoint the beginning of her fascination with art. Her childhood was shaped by museum days and live performances. But after meeting the historian and curator Lowery Stokes Sims while studying at Harvard Business School, Joyner was alerted to the urgency of crafting a narrative—“really, sort of unveiling an existing narrative, and creating a legacy” of Black artists who have been unfairly overlooked.

The Joyner/Giuffrida Collection is that legacy. Three decades into the project, Joyner and her husband, Fred Giuffrida, have amassed one of the world’s most significant private collections of Black art. Primarily painting, as well as some sculpture, the works span from 1945 to the present day. While the pieces certainly beautify the couple’s homes in Lake Tahoe and New York City, their aspirations for the collection extend beyond the property lines: “I think it’s important for friends and family, but we are very active lenders, we’ve written a couple of books, I sit on four museum boards, and we’ve done a traveling exhibition of the highlights of our collection,” she explains. “The purpose of the collection is to get it into the public domain, the most important of those domains being the lineage of scholarship.”

Architectural Digest: How often are you procuring new pieces for the collection?

Pamela Joyner: Every 10 days, I’m buying a piece of art. As you were calling, I was emailing someone about a new piece. That’s just part of how we have been growing the collection. We love living with our art. Between the two homes, we have installed currently about 425 works of art.

The other thing we have always been very active about doing is opening our home regularly to various groups, maybe two dozen times a year, because institutions have such a long lead time to be able to show in their respective spaces, and because many of the artists that we have championed have been overlooked. We host salons, we have an artist residency. Getting people in to see the work is a very important part of our collecting mission. When you walk in my home, it’s kind of ready for me to do a docent tour. We do this regularly.

What does stewarding such a vast collection of Black art mean to you?

Being a custodian brings with it a lot of responsibility. You’re taking other people’s creative outputs, which represent who they are personally, and each individual has to decide what that stewardship should look like. One thing I have tried to do over the years is to know most of the artists that I collect. There’s some I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting because they passed away earlier or what have you, but most of the artists, I have known. I ask them what they want done with the work, and I try to do what I say I’m going to do. Most of them want visibility in the major institutions, and if there are shows that come up, they want you to lend, or if you are inclined to donate, they want you to donate the work to the institutions. We do a lot of both to the fullest extent of our capability, sometimes beyond.

Carmelo Anthony

Carmelo Anthony envisioned his 13,000-square-foot Westchester County, New York, home as “a rotating gallery, curated by me.” The NBA legend has been developing his curatorial eye for the better part of two decades. He got into the game the way many do, through sizing up pieces by the big-name art-world players, before realizing that the work dominating mainstream museums and galleries wasn’t necessarily the closest to his heart: “I started buying art—big art, pricey art—and then I was like, ‘Nah, I’d rather go tap into the youth. What’s the Black art community doing?’” he tells AD. “At that point, it was coming from a support standpoint as opposed to understanding what I was buying. It was all exploratory. I wanted to go talk to the artists, put my boots on the ground, and become a student of the art industry, so I started finding up and coming Black artists and artists of color.”

It’s safe to say that Anthony has realized his curatorial vision within his New York abode, which AD toured last fall. A trove of artwork by the likes of Ernie Barnes, Kehinde Wiley, Hebru Brantley, and Nathaniel Mary Quinn lines nearly every space. It’s an eclectic collection that he’s clearly been chipping away at for quite some time—true blue Melo fans might recall his 2004 home tour on MTV’s Cribs, where a 19-year-old Anthony displayed a piece depicting himself, basketball in hand, side-by-side with Jesus. In the 20 years since, the hoops icon’s tastes may have shifted some, but his affinity for living amongst whimsical, narrative-rich pieces remains the same as it ever was.

AD: What legacy do you want your collection to have?

Carmelo Anthony: I was able to tap into the artists of my collection early and see as they transitioned to different mediums and tried different things, adding more skills to their game, like we say in basketball. I got a chance to see Nathaniel Mary Quinn and Nelson Makamo from the beginning, and to work with Kehinde Wiley in his studio and have conversations with him.

Identifying creatives and supporting their vision early is the game I play. Once I buy, I’m a supporter, I’m not just buying it and that’s it; I want to follow your journey. I want talk to you. I want to come to the studio. So it is more of a continuous relationship, not just transactional.

Which pieces are your most treasured? Has any work in particular been inspiring you lately?

My Stan Squirewell piece. It has so many layers to it, so much depth. When I see that, it gives me that motivation to go conquering, and get in attack mode. It’s very hard to choose one though, to be honest with you. Because every day is different. My motivation is different every day. My inspiration is different every day.

Racquel Chevremont

Racquel Chevremont found herself with some downtime when she was working as a model in Europe. When she wasn’t on set, she began frequenting art museums. But it wasn’t until she moved back to New York that she discovered the pieces that really called out to her. Chevremont was introduced to the Studio Museum in Harlem, which, as its website notes, was spawned from “the near-complete exclusion of artists of African descent from mainstream museums, commercial art galleries, academic institutions, and scholarly publications.”

“At that point, I realized that this was what I wanted to collect,” Chevremont says. “I noticed that a lot of the artists were not being collected by people that looked like us, and also, if they were, it was not the contemporary artists.” She would go on to join the museum’s acquisitions committee.

The art curator and advisor has built a career on stewardship of art, sourcing pieces for everything from museums to movies. Unsurprisingly, her own New York abode is a love letter to her life’s work, with “70 or 80” pieces across a range of media, the majority of which are by Black artists like Lorna Simpson, Glenn Ligon, Lynette Yiadom-Boakye, Deborah Roberts, and Toyin Ojih Odutola.

AD: What is the value for you in keeping Black artwork in the home?

Racquel Chevremont: You pass it on. You create this legacy, but also, if you have children, having art that they can connect to promotes self-esteem and self-expression. They don’t get to see themselves in museums all the time, and it’s important for children to see themselves reflected in the images in their home—not necessarily just photographs of themselves, but images that they know are out there. Within the last decade or so, Black artists have become very popular within the contemporary art scene, so there are more [Black artists featured] in museums now than there were when I first started collecting, but still not as many as there should be.

What would you say to those hoping to start their own collections and feeling intimidated by the acquisition process?

There are some intimidating things that I would tell people to just ignore. When I first started collecting, I would go into galleries and if I asked a question about a piece, it would almost be as if I was irritating them. Somehow, if there was anything I was interested in, everything was always sold. I had to get [curator] Thelma [Golden]’s help for a piece at one point when a gallery was telling me something wasn’t available, yet I had spoken to another collector who said it was. That was frustrating. I have experienced being [quoted at] different price points than other friends of mine. But anyway, I would say do not be intimidated: Go into a gallery, and if there are any issues, it’s so much easier these days to find the artist online. Reach out to them directly and say, “I saw your show. I absolutely love it. I know it’s sold out. Are you showing with any other galleries?”

And join committees! It’s relatively inexpensive as a young collector. All these museums have youth groups with particular prices for those under 40 and they hold lots of events for those groups, because they are cultivating the future collectors. When you meet an artist, ask them, “Who are the artists you would recommend that I look at?” Also, the internet now [makes it] so easy; look at all the artists you can get your hands on, and figure out what you like. Go to art fairs. For a young collector, the main art fairs are daunting. Everything’s ridiculously expensive. But they’re worth going to, to see what’s out there. Go to the smaller fairs too. One of my favorite small fairs is Untitled, in Miami, it’s great. It’s smaller galleries and oftentimes more emerging artists, so you can discover new people.

Elliot Perry

In the summer of 1996, Charles Barkley took a group of NBA players that included Elliot Perry over to Japan. For 17 hours there, and the 17 hours on the way back, former player and then coach Darrell Walker sat beside Perry and jumpstarted his interest in the arts. “I really didn’t know anything, I just listened,” Perry, who played for the Memphis Grizzlies, Orlando Magic, and Phoenix Suns, tells AD. “And when I got back in the States and that season started, he would always say, ‘Hey, I see you’ll be in New York, or you’ll be in Boston, or LA, or wherever—go to this show, go to this artist’s studio.’”

For about a year, Perry did as he was coached. He felt like an amateur, but he was a voracious student, reading lots of catalogs, books, and looking at as much artwork as he could. One particular show by Walter Evans, MD, in Little Rock, Arkansas, set him on a determined course from art appreciator to collector: “I wanted to collect at that level. It jarred me into [my role] today, into thinking that this is what I was going to do for the next 30, 40 years.”

The Elliot and Kimberly Perry Collection (named for Perry and his wife) consists of between 250 and 260 pieces, at the moment. The nearly 30 years since he began his journey have been marked by a sea change in the broader industry’s appetite for Black artistry, and for Perry, witnessing the artists featured in his collection get their due is “the icing on the cake”—i.e., cool, but not the cake. “That’s just a part of the art world, it’s all about validation and who says what and who validates the work,” he says. “We’ve never really gotten caught up in that, which is why our mission now is collecting a lot of these artists at the beginning of their careers. We always tell an artist that we see value in your work right now.”

AD: What kinds of pieces do you gravitate toward?

Elliot Perry: In 2004, we did a one-eighty and only started collecting living contemporary artists, and many of those artists were emerging. That’s where our sweet spot is and we feel really comfortable. The works that we’re living with now, a lot of them are good friends of mine: Rashid Johnson, Hank Willis Thomas, Titus Kaphar. Those are some of my favorite works. Theaster Gates is another friend, Mickalene Thomas was one of the first artists we reached out to when we made the switch to collecting only emerging contemporary artists. Torkwase Dyson is another favorite, of course, and we really love Lynette Boakye.

What legacy do you hope that your collection has?

A legacy of chance-taking. The mission has always been to show what artists of color are doing at every level. When you look at some of the conversations that we’ve decided to have, we took a chance on collecting some works that are visually not easy to deal with, but we love to have those conversations. So, I would hope that the legacy of our collection is that somebody can look at it and say that we were brave and that we were, I hate to say, ahead of our time, that we were supporting artists really ahead of the curve.

Jessica Gaynelle Moss

Jessica Gaynelle Moss is still receiving letters from collectors worldwide about Vault, the show she guest curated at the Mint Museum, which wrapped in the fall. The dispatches are mostly from Black collectors, who she says are “excited to share what they have, but haven’t had an opportunity to do so publicly and are seeing me as a vessel or as a doula. It’s really interesting how that seed has extended the conversation well beyond the closing of the exhibition.”

Gaynelle Moss’s intent with Vault was to essentially bring each collector’s home into the Mint Museum so that “when Black audience members walked into the space, there was this semblance of home for them, too, this familiarity, this universal line.” Blackness is not a monolith, she emphasizes, and each collection was unique, but “there are some things that are just true connectors,” she explains. “Generations of Black people from all over came into this museum space and said that they felt like home.”

The artist and independent curator also has a real estate development practice geared toward rehabbing properties in predominantly Black communities and reopening them to Black artists. This, plus the nature of her job as an independent curator, means she goes where the work is. For her, “home” is a fluid construct. “Wherever the space [I’m residing in] is, I choose to invest in the artists who call themselves local there,” she says.

AD: How was the name Vault chosen?

Jessica Gaynelle Moss: Part of why we called the exhibition Vault was because Black people’s homes are their vaults, where they have their most prized possessions for safekeeping. To be able to open to open our vaults and share that publicly, collaboratively, and to demonstrate that legacy that so many people don’t know—because it has been intentionally hidden or discarded as invaluable, or discredited—for that legacy to be shared, seen, and witnessed, that’s the whole point.

What value does investing in Black artistry hold for you?

This object is just a reminder of my investment in this individual over time. It’s so much less about whatever X amount dollar piece that’s on the wall, and more about how that small investment probably propelled this artist further in the direction that they’d like to go in their journey in a way that I can’t even quantify. People always ask, “How are you able to afford this?” I’m not rich. I do acknowledge my privilege, but I am not wealthy. What is important to me is that I take a percentage of my check every month and I choose to invest it in this field that I am so dedicated to and to the individuals that I really believe in. This is philanthropy.

Chibundu Onuzo

London-based author and singer Chibundu Onuzo did not grow up in a home with art. So in her 20s, when she decided to get more serious about her relationship to visual arts, she wasn’t quite sure how. In a 2021 piece she penned for The Art Newspaper, she chronicled her entry into the world of collecting: “A friend of mine, the artist Victor Ehikhamenor, introduced me to looking. ‘Just look,’ he said, ‘and see how you feel about a piece.’ I didn’t have to know the history of Renaissance painting, Impressionism, Abstract Expressionism or any other -ism.” Some factors were out of her hands—like financial constraints, or the gallery that told her flat out “we don’t sell to collectors we don’t know”—but others, like apprehension about being a beginner in a new space, were surmountable.

“If you’ve not been raised in an environment where people buy art, it doesn’t make sense to you,” she tells AD. Today, keeping pieces in the home makes a lot more sense to Onuzo. The room she joins our Zoom from is filled with different pieces that inspire her during the writing process. Well on her way into her own journey, she’s taken to spreading the gospel: Onuzo held an event at her home where she invited a friend who runs the Black-owned Tafeta gallery in London to speak to 20 or 25 of her other pals—“basically to tell them why they should be collecting art,” she says. “African and African diaspora art is having a massive hot moment, but a lot of the collectors of this work are not from my community. They’re not African and they’re not Black. Maybe, for example, instead of spending on two holidays this year, you go on one holiday and buy a piece of art that can go on to increase in value and can be passed on. That’s something I want to see more of: African and Black collectors and people of color entering the space, not just as makers of the work, but as people who own the work and share the work.”

AD: What was the process of buying your first piece like?

Chibundu Onuzo: I saw it on Twitter, of all places. A gallery in Nigeria called Rele Gallery posted an image of it. Most of the time when you see art, you think, Oh, I like that, that’s nice. And I had the first [feeling of] “I want to buy this.” I just DM’d them on Twitter saying, “Can I buy it? How does one buy it? Can you own it?” They sent me the price and I could afford it. It wasn’t a big amount, but it felt huge, because I’d never spent anything like that on art. I didn’t know anybody who spent their disposable income like that. It is a collage of a woman’s face done in fabric and painted on a background, and I just thought it was so beautiful. People who see it always think it’s one of my sisters who I’m very close to. So maybe subconsciously I’m like, Oh, it’s my sister. I don’t see that it looks like her. I just liked the composition and the colors and just found it very striking.

I remember telling the price to a friend, who knew nothing about art and art pricing, and she was like, “That seems a lot.” I took the jump and I remember feeling very scared doing it because I didn’t have anybody to consult. One of my next steps was to find a community of other people who were interested in arts that I could talk through these sort of decisions with.

Would you say that you intentionally started building a collection of Black artists?

I started locally, with Nigerian artist Marcellina Akpojotor. And then I bought Victor [Ehikhamenor], my friend, who was an artist. Then it came naturally for me to start off by collecting Nigerian art and then Ghanaian art, because the subject matter was accessible; I understood it and it didn’t need to be explained to me. Initially, I was drawn to figurative work, and I think I still am, because I understand it.

Hannah Traore

“I think everything about the art world is intimidating, which is one of the reasons I opened a space,” says Hannah Traore of her eponymous gallery on the Lower East Side, which she debuted in 2022 at the age of 26. “It’s especially intimidating to Black people and people who aren’t billionaires and don’t look like billionaires.” In just a few years, Traore has established herself as a gallerist who champions the work of artists of color, both emerging and well-known.

Her education in the arts has been lifelong; her mother was a fiber artist and sold West African art before starting her family. Art camps and museum visits as a child begot an art minor at Skidmore College and some early investments in the work of friends. A clear portent of Traore’s future success in the art world was her senior thesis, for which she curated an exhibit featuring works by Mickalene Thomas and Derek Adams.

She set a goal to purchase a piece from each show upon opening the Hannah Traore Gallery. “Closing every single show is hard for me. I can’t even imagine how the artists feel,” she says. “It’s like I’m losing a part of myself.” Whenever she tells others of this practice, they tend to remark on what a clever financial strategy it is. And while that may be true, “that’s not the way I collect,” Traore explains. “I don’t plan on selling any of the work I buy. I buy it to give to my kids and to enjoy. I buy pieces that make me feel good—which is funny, because that’s the title of Tyler [Mitchell]’s show!”

AD: Do you have any thoughts around the recent rise in interest around Black art?

Hannah Traore: A lot of people talk about Black art as if it’s a trend, which frustrates me because we’re not a trend. Keeping Black art in the home and continuing to buy Black art prove that, solidifying Black art’s place in art history.

I always insist this about who I show in my gallery, but also in my personal collection: There’s not one artist I’ve bought or shown because they’re Black or because they’re queer. I’m buying it or showing it because it’s excellent; they happen to be those things. I think what’s dangerous is that some collectors, often the white ones, are buying Black art because it’s by a Black artist. If that’s the case, what’s the longevity of that? What’s the plan? Making sure that those collecting Black art aren’t seeing it as a trend is important for a gallerists to figure out: “Is this person buying this piece so that they can say that they own a work by a Black artist? Is this going to be the token Black piece in their home? Do they actually care about the artists in this work?” It’s important for people to think about that, and then for gallerists to make sure that they’re making decisions that hopefully will stop that from happening.

What are some of your most treasured pieces in the collection?

For sure the pieces by my artists. Working on the show together and having had the pieces in my gallery—which feels like my home, and my baby—and then that coming to my actual home…I can’t narrow it down, I love all my artists.

Kimberly Drew

For author and Pace Gallery curator Kimberly Drew, amassing largely Black artists for the walls of her home was organic—in fact, it’s “almost like breathing,” she says, “to think about having artists that tell stories that relate to you and have them as part of your collection.” She began with pieces by Theresa Chromati, Iman Person, and February James.

Platforming Black women artists is important for Drew in both her capacity as curator and a collector. Doing so is rewarding, but also just logical: she finds that a lot of the most exciting work today is from Black women creatives. “My framework is just thinking about supporting artists who I feel a very kindred connection with,” she says. “I know how integral it is to show up and support Black women artists. It just so happens that they’re some of my favorite artists; They’re working in mediums that are immersive, expansive. One of my greatest points of pride is watching artists really ascend into their practices.”

AD: What would you say are the most cherished pieces of artwork in your home?

Kimberly Drew: I think I love my babies all the same! Just to name a few, I have two of my favorite photographs on view in my kitchen. One is by Shaniqwa Jarvis, who is a dear friend. It’s this really beautiful print that she made for Pictures for Elmhurst, where a bunch of artists came together to do incredible fundraiser for Elmhurst Hospital in Queens. Then I have another one by Lelanie Foster, a kind of behind-the-scenes from Queen & Slim, which was styled by one of my best friends, Shiona Turini. They’re in these costumes that Shiona made herself, wearing these earrings that my friend Melody Ehsani made.

These two photographs, for me, represent the core of what I hope to do as a collector. Both Shaniqwa and Lelanie are friends and heroes. For me, it’s really that; yes, I collect Black artists, but I live a Black life. That’s a privilege that so many other Black people don’t have throughout their lifetimes. Black women have so many odds stacked against us, so I really appreciate being able to invest in their lives and careers.

How would you describe the ethos of the art in your home? Do the pieces share anything thematically or cohere in some way?

I started collecting 10 years ago officially, and I would say that the first few years were just kind of for the love of it. But I now am at a point where I am interested in collecting works that represent intimacies. I got this Jeffrey Cheung painting of these two lovers entwined that now hangs in my bedroom. I realized I have this really incredible Adam Pendleton print that I bought that’s a tribute to Julius Eastman and Eastman’s Evil Nigger series.

So that’s the story that I’m at right now. My last chapter was getting David Leggett works, because I wanted things that were funny and just a little tongue-in-cheek. I have them Easter-egged around my apartment. Then other impetus, I would say is that I have a collection that features a lot of artists’ first sales. That, for me, is just like, “Yay, I get to support my friends!” These things hold value.

Malene Barnett

As an artist and founder of the Black Artists + Designers Guild (BADG), it was only natural for Malene Barnett to craft her Brooklyn town house as a tribute to Black artistry. Among work by Nate Lewis, Wura-Natasha Ogunji, and Terry Boddie are her own pieces, including a ceramic tile installation along the fireplace area which she calls her “legacy wall.”

Barnett acknowledges the significance of institutional recognition and the impact that attention has on an artist’s life. Still, she considers the home as a gallery space all its own, and one that’s worthy of respect, for that matter. “I think we undervalue our homes as an archive because we’re so used to thinking about these bigger institutions, that there’s more value if [pieces are shown] there,” Barnett says. “But I don’t think the value is any different. I think when we stop putting hierarchy on these spaces, more people would be inclined to buy the work that they like.”

Filling her house with the work of Black artists in particular has given way to a comforting sense of belonging for Barnett. “When I’m home, I never feel out of place because I’m always surrounded by creativity, in so many ways and so many materials,” she says. “So it inspires my practice as well.”

AD: How would you describe your style as a collector?

Malene Barnett: I’m merging time periods, but still within that contemporary lens. [In my home] you’ll see Senufo sculptures, but then you’ll also see a ceramic vessel from a local potter. I have pottery from Colombia. You’ll see a more contemporary painting. It goes across mediums too. I’m a tactile person and a maker, so I like the work to have dimension, if they can. I have a lot of textile work, that’s another important medium in my collection.

Do you have any words of advice for people who are just beginning to collect?

I’m still very much in the beginning stages, and I think the rule is simple; just like we say with pretty much anything that you want in your life, buy what you like. You can’t worry about if this artist going to become a big name and if the piece is going to go up in value. We get caught up in capitalism when we think that way. To be honest, when we think about art made from Black people, it was never about that. We made, because we needed.