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With all eyes on India, five new-age collectors reflect on their journeys of patronage that extend beyond private collections toward lasting cultural legacies.
By HIMANSHU DUTTA
What does it mean to be an “art collector”? This was the fundamental query that guided my conversations with five young collectors from across the country. Over several hours spent on Zoom meetings and phone calls, my rudimentary assumptions about what often appears to be an extravagant pursuit were quietly dismantled, revealing an informed and intentional engagement with art and artists through personal patronage, institutional support, and the primordial impulse to surround oneself with beauty.
The collectors express a critical negotiation of the acquisitory epithet, adding layers of nuance and depth to the act of collecting. There’s an overwhelming sense of “why” that defines our exchange, and it is here that the power of these stories lie. As South Asia positions itself as one of the leading talent pools and global markets, these new-age collectors are looking beyond building personal collections. Instead, they are contributing to a broader cultural landscape, shaping artists’ careers, expanding public access to art, and participating in the stewardship of artistic legacies.
SALONI DOSHI
Saloni Doshi confesses that she’s not an easy collector to please. The arts patron and founder of the Space118 Art Foundation has been in the game for over 24 years—and it shows. Doshi’s journey as a first-generation collector began in the early 2000s as a solitary pursuit. “There’s not a single collector bone in the family,” she remarks on a bright sunny morning in Mumbai. “In fact, because we are Jain,” she continues, “there’s an emphasis on owning less, living with less. But I like to surround myself with beautiful things.” For Doshi, coins and stamps in childhood graduated to textiles, wooden artefacts, and period furniture as an adult. While her first purchase was a poster of an Amrita Sher-Gil work, her collection now includes over a thousand acquisitions.
After her Master’s in Media and Communication from the London School of Economics and Political Science, she joined The Times of India to digitise their publications. “I was living with my parents and had no overheads. There was no better utilisation of the money I was earning,” she reflects. Art, she says, brought her pure joy and satisfaction. Doshi’s practice as a collector is guided by three rules: “I don’t buy dead artists, I only buy what suits my pocket, and I buy art that I want to live with.” Feeling takes primacy in her attraction to a work of art. Does it evoke happiness, sadness, discomfort? “I look for myself in the work,” she explains, as she roots herself in this moment of encounter— to buy an artwork, it must first deliver her to a state of presence, of being. This is a moment of knowing, of trusting one’s gut, both of which Doshi suggests can be developed over time. “Go to museums, galleries, biennales, and look at art, engage with artists,” she advises, “this is how you learn to assess with clarity.”
What should be a near-Herculean task, that is picking favourites from her collection, Doshi handles with casual ease. She instantly names Anju Dodiya’s 1998 painting Studio Guests. The pair of European visitors watching a trio of sword-swallowers is a work she finds deeply resonant. Equally prized is Zarina’s Delhi that was flown in from New York after quite a chase. The series represents a sense of loss for the city that the collector grew up in. “I never buy names, but if there’s a particular work I want, I will buy it, even if I have to buy it from an auction,” she adds. Meanwhile, Sonia Jose’s Self Portrait (with clothes pins) and T Venkanna’s Naughty Nighty in the Night fall on the eccentric spectrum of her collection, articulating beauty across diverse registers.
With the fifth show on view at Space118, titled The Presence of Absence, curated by Kunal Shah from Doshi’s collection, the latter is already living a collector’s long-held ambition. And beyond collecting and showing her collection, she has also been a serious patron of the arts since she established the foundation in 2009. The initiative was launched to provide studio residencies to young visual artists, and transitioned to a financial grant-making organisation in 2021, with over 450 residents since then. “I don’t want good talent to ever get erased because they lack financial backing. I want to support these critical voices, be it artists, practices, curators, or collectors,” she adds. With a disclaimer of impending morbidity, I ask her if she’s thought about the future of her collection, beyond her time here. “The foundation shall outlive me, and everything I own shall be used to fund it,” she says, “I’m not married, I don’t have children, and I’m going to prove you don’t need any to create your own legacy.”