Art World Players Rethink The Auction Marketplace

Collectors have long enlisted dealers or auction houses to help resell their art holdings because such insiders typically have up-to-date pricing data and access to potential buyers.

Now, in the latest challenge to the art world’s status quo, a team led by former Sotheby’s rainmaker Adam Chinn plans to launch a peer-to-peer digital marketplace later this month that will invite collectors to sell high-end art to each other, directly and anonymously. Listings in an early version of the site, called LiveArt Market, include an Andy Warhol “Rorschach” from 1984 valued around US$200,000 and Jack Pierson’s 2009 sign, “Glory,” valued around US$85,000.

The move comes as all sorts of art-world players rethink the traditional ways art gets traded online, from former Christie’s auctioneer Loïc Gouzer’s Fair Warning auction app to the proliferation of digital platforms selling NFT artworks. Even as the art world’s attention increasingly pivots back to in-person art events including fairs, online sales of luxury goods remain robust and some top industry dealmakers see a bigger market opportunity in finding fresh ways to sell art to collectors accustomed to shopping for art online.

“Collectors go to gatekeepers because they need pricing info, but we want to put collectors in control,” said Mr Chinn, Sotheby’s former chief operating officer. Late last year, he teamed up with artificial intelligence experts and former auction specialists like George O’Dell to buy and retool Live Auction Art, then an auction-tracking data site. The new owners have now equipped the site, renamed LiveArt, with machine-learning technology so it can analyze auction data and give users free, real-time estimates of their collection’s likely market value. The key to success will be convincing collectors that LiveArt’s pricing and provenance services are as reliable as those collectors would get from the auction houses.

The architect behind the tech is Boris Pevzner, a graduate of MIT known for creating and selling several companies that use AI-driven algorithms, including one that resolves freight-shipping issues and another that manages art collections, Collectrium, that he sold to Christie’s in 2015.

Starting later this month, LiveArt will add the marketplace component to double as an online platform for private art sales. People can upload artworks and specify any details they want shared or kept from potential buyers, including their own identities. Once listed, an artificial intelligence bot on the site will help them sift offers or field questions from potential buyers—like bots on retailer sites already do—as well as mediate deal terms so both parties remain discreet, if they choose. Once under contract, the seller will be asked to ship the work to the company’s clearinghouse in Delaware, where conservators and former auction specialists will check its condition and vet provenance before sending it on to its buyer, Mr. Chinn said.

He added that LiveArt has hired a team of provenance researchers, including some from Phillips, to vet work and if there are provenance disputes between buyers and sellers, the site will offer mediation. (LiveArt only charges buyers a flat 10% fee for any sales versus the big auction houses which can charge more than 20%.)

Christie’s and Sotheby’s didn’t immediately comment on Mr. Chinn’s new venture.

New York art adviser Alex Glauber, who isn’t involved with the venture, said the matchmaking element of a peer-to-peer digital marketplace could “solve a practical problem” for collectors who want to sell middle-market pieces without paying steeper fees to an auction house or wrangling a gallery to promote their consignments ahead of the gallery’s own inventory or artists.

Mr. Glauber said he plans to upload a few pieces to test the experience before he suggests it to his clients. He said the challenge will lie in persuading a “critical mass” of sellers, who typically prize discretion, to reveal the art they’ve got in storage. “Even with all the security assurances, some people may be reluctant to push their pieces online,” he said. “It’s going to take some convincing.”

David Rogath, a Connecticut collector who owns pieces by David Hockney and René Magritte, said he also has no ties to the venture but said he has bought and sold plenty of art through Mr. Chinn during his tenure at Sotheby’s, so he’s intrigued by the platform. “I have things I want to sell and things I don’t want anyone outside my family to know I own, and Adam understands discretion is key,” Mr. Rogath said.

Mr. Rogath said he used LiveArt’s pricing tool to test the values for several works he’s owned over the years and said he found them accurate. Mr. Rogath also said the site appears to smooth out some “speed bumps” that have historically dissuaded top collectors from brokering major sales to each other, including the logistics of hiring third parties to research and vouchsafe a piece’s condition and authenticity. If a platform can take over those real-world hassles, he said, “For a collector, there’s an allure to cutting out the middle man.”

A wave of corporate warnings and technical disclosures has flooded the media, with headlines worrying over “swarms” of rogue artificial-intelligence agents launching “unprecedented” cyberattacks, outsmarting their makers, and inching toward a terrifying autonomy. The most revealing part of this narrative isn’t what the software did. It’s who is telling the story—and why. When corporate leaders publicly insist that the systems they financed, engineered and deployed are suddenly beyond their power to contain, skepticism isn’t only healthy; it is essential.

For years, Silicon Valley has drawn scrutiny from civil society and global regulators over tangible harms such as youth mental health deterioration and systematic privacy violations. Today, industry figures seem to be trying to change that public image. Loudly blowing the whistle on their own systems—just as two of the leading companies were preparing for massive initial public offerings—lets AI executives position themselves as a new generation of leaders who have come to terms with their societal responsibilities. They seem to want us to believe that they no longer want to “move fast and break things” but will instead stand as vigilant guardians between humanity and a technological apocalypse.

There is one glaring problem: Software doesn’t rebel. A mathematical model possesses neither intent, malice nor the will to defy its creators, let alone extinguish our species. AI is a human artifact, engineered for profit.

When an agentic model in an evaluation sandbox connects to an unauthorized server or executes an exploit, it hasn’t staged a coup. It has tried to meet the human-defined objectives set out before it through a path its designers failed to constrain. It’s the digital equivalent of the King Midas myth, in which the king’s ill-defined wish turns even his food and drink into gold.

That powerful experimental models were able to discover novel vulnerabilities and breach external systems isn’t a sign of a dangerous superintelligence but of human error or negligence. There is no sentient actor lurking in the weights to be reasoned with, feared or pacified. There are only human software engineers, product managers and corporate boards deciding which guardrails are worth the latency cost and which permissions can be skipped in the race to market.

Policymakers and voters need to resist AI exceptionalism. In any other discipline—from civil engineering to pharmaceuticals—courts and regulators treat a system failure as evidence of bad product design and inadequate safety testing. If an aircraft crashes, we focus on finding the engineering defect, correcting it, and enforcing established liability standards for the damage created.

By leaning on an anthropomorphic narrative, Silicon Valley attempts to repackage its specific human choices that led to experimental, powerful models behaving unexpectedly during tests as an existential peril. Elevating the issue to a cosmic scale leaves the public paralyzed and takes ordinary product accountability off the table.

In the cutthroat race for venture capital and market dominance, building guardrails slows down deployment. Grandstanding about uncontrollable power costs nothing and generates billions of dollars in free publicity, justifying stock prices, all while cultivating an aura of technological capability not only to build the frontier but also ultimately to rein it in.

Governments need to recognize regulatory capture when it stares them in the face. Tech leaders’ strategy looks transparent: Alarm Washington and Brussels into creating a regime in which only trillion-dollar incumbents with fully staffed compliance and safety departments can legally operate. By sitting at the policymakers’ tables before anyone else, these companies can help draft rules digging an impassable moat protecting them from open-source developers and upstart competitors, domestic or international. The real danger is in further concentrating the tech industry into the hands of only a few companies with deep pockets.

Beijing and Washington have brushed off those tech leaders’ calls, albeit for very different reasons. Chinese state media dismissed them as part of the “Cold War playbook” and intended to preserve U.S. dominance. Xi Jinping argued for exactly the opposite at the Brics Summit on Sept. 12, calling on Brics countries to “strengthen cooperation in the field of AI, encourage open source, openness, collaboration and sharing, and break new grounds and scale new heights.” President Trump, steeped in a doctrine of unfettered capitalism and technological supremacy, called fears that AI could destroy humanity a “hoax.” Vice President JD Vance warned that AI companies “begging the government to regulate them” looked like a “Trojan Horse.”

Striving to pursue its “European way” on AI and assert regulatory leadership, Europe, by contrast, welcomed the call. European Union President Ursula von der Leyen made this clear at the State of the EU speech last Wednesday and announced that the EU will invite “the main frontier labs for a discussion on how we can support ongoing industry efforts to pace the frontier.”

Europe has been here before. In an effort to lead global regulation and react to fears borne from ChatGPT, Europe rushed its landmark AI Act into law in 2024. Already the world’s most restrictive rulebook, the framework quickly proved too broad and complex to enforce. Stalled by implementation delays and concerns about European competitiveness, the EU postponed the law’s full rollout, leaving regulations uncertain.

AI should be regulated—risks exist and should be taken seriously. But governments need to act based on available evidence and verified facts, not corporate PR panic, the views of industry insiders, or the desire for quick political wins. The greatest danger facing society isn’t that software will awaken and overthrow its human masters. It is that we will allow the creators of the software to abdicate human responsibility for the systems they choose to build and help them pull up the ladder to market access behind them.

Art World Players Rethink The Auction Marketplace

A new peer-to-peer digital platform lets high-end collectors buy and sell without the middleman.

AI doesn’t rebel—people design, deploy and profit from it. The real danger lies in allowing tech companies to escape accountability while shaping regulations that protect their dominance.