Addis Fine Arts, the country’s leading gallery, convened a candid conversation in October this year, bringing on board three well-known figures in the contemporary arts scene, who sat before a modest crowd and confronted a painful truth.
Dubbed “Ethiopian Art & the Economics of Collecting,” the gathering recognised that demand for local art is drying up. According to organisers, the local art market is struggling, with a lack of a robust collector base threatening the sustainability of artists and galleries. They insisted, rather melancholically, that the idea of collecting art as an investment remains unexplored mainly in Ethiopia, despite its long-standing importance in the West and parts of the Global South.
That warning lands harder when set against Ethiopia’s numbers. The country’s GDP per capita exceeded 1,000 dollars. However, paintings, sculptures or photographs at the top galleries across Addis Abeba list for anywhere between 500 and 25,000 dollars. For most households, that price is a distant luxury. Even buyers with disposable income may wonder why they should spend thousands of dollars on a canvas instead of booking a weekend in Dubai, complete with photos and gold cufflinks to prove it.
Art offers more than decoration. Paintings, music and sculpture capture the soul of a place, freeze moments in time and transmit cultural memory across generations. In the 21st Century, they also serve as a store of value.
Global investors have treated art that way for decades, and the windfalls can be spectacular. The most famous example arrived in 2017, when a painting attributed (some say questionably) to Leonardo da Vinci sold at Christie’s for 450 million dollars. The buyer, Saudi Arabia’s King, reportedly planned to hang the work in a new national museum, betting that the picture would lure tourists and help diversify the Kingdom’s oil-bound economy.
Closer to home, the career of Ethiopian painter Hana Yilma Godine shows how quickly value can build. Born in 1993 and trained at the Ale School of Fine Arts, she earned her MFA from Boston University in 2020. The New York-based Galerie Friedman signed her soon after, and pieces shown that year at London’s Contemporary African Art Fair fetched between 12,000 and 14,000 dollars. Last year, Hana’s starting prices had climbed to about 100,000 dollars.
A collector who bought one of those early works could, on paper, be staring at a return of roughly 50 times in less than five years. Her market still trails that of Ghana-born star Amoako Boafo, whose portraits cross the one-million-dollar threshold. Yet, the trajectory tells an apparent story. Ethiopian artists can command global attention and serious money when the right forces of institutions and collectors come together.
In Europe and large parts of Asia, school curricula introduce children to art early, nurturing a habit of museum visits and gallery tours. Public institutions then reinforce that education, buying contemporary pieces for permanent displays and weaving local talent into the national narrative. Each acquisition signals confidence, elevates an artist’s profile and stimulates private demand. After all, great artists are made, not born.
Ethiopia has yet to build that machinery at scale. The National Museum hosts historic treasures but devotes limited wall space to living painters. Addis Fine Arts and a handful of smaller spaces do their best, but without a larger collector class, their reach remains narrow. When people with means hesitate, artists lose income, galleries shut doors and a country risks letting future Leonardo stories slip away.
Collectors, defined here as anyone willing to spend any amount on art, whether for passion or profit, can tilt that balance. A single purchase pays an artist. Sharing the work on social media or talking about it at dinner tables plants seeds for future sales. Exhibitions generate buzz and, in today’s attention economy, “it’s all about the hype,” as younger audiences like to say. The media help too. Newspaper profiles, television specials and radio interviews give unfamiliar names a platform and, over time, expand the circle of potential buyers.
Change also depends on perception. Many Ethiopians view art as remote, a pastime for elites or expatriates. Shifting that mindset toward curiosity starts at home. Visiting a gallery, asking questions, and learning the stories behind each brushstroke, those small acts build a culture of appreciation. Some visitors will decide to buy. Others may post a photo or recommend an exhibition to friends. All of it counts.
Institutions, galleries and individuals should share the same assignment. The National Museum could reserve space for contemporary work and stage shows tracing the domestic artistic evolution. Addis Fine Arts and emerging online platforms can expand their rosters by pairing established names with younger talent. Public and private sponsors might commission murals or sculptures for public squares, turning city streets into open-air classrooms.
Above all, anyone with “hard-earned excess cash,” in the organisers’ words, can choose to turn a fraction of that money toward a local canvas instead of another weekend abroad.
Art’s full payoff rarely arrives overnight. Not every painting will return 50 times its purchase price, and some will never appreciate in value. But as collectors worldwide have discovered, a balanced portfolio can treat art as a store of value and a hedge against more volatile assets. For Ethiopia, the rewards can run deeper. A vibrant market keeps artists working, galleries open and cultural heritage alive. It tells young painters that their voices matter and signals abroad that the country’s creative economy is worth watching.
The discussion at Addis Fine Arts ended on a hopeful note. Panellists urged attendees to become advocates, whether by buying a small piece, inviting friends to an opening, or simply sharing news of upcoming shows. The fate of Ethiopian art will be decided not only by curators in distant capitals but by choices made in Addis Abeba living rooms.
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