In her sharp and observational essays scattered across EXIT Express and EXIT #98, Rosa Olivares invites us to reconsider the archetype of the collector not as a unified figure, but as a complex and fragmented taxonomy of desires, privileges and performative roles within the art world, suggesting that speaking of "collectors" as a homogenous group is as naive as referring to all flying creatures as birds, since behind the acquisition of artworks lie motivations that range from genuine passion to ruthless speculation, from social climbing to interior design aesthetics; using a vivid analogy with dog breeds, Olivares maps out a gallery of collectors: some are decorators, others investors, a few become gallerists by accident, and fewer still are lone amateurs whose collections stem not from capital but from a slow, silent love of art, making her writing not just a critique of market dynamics but a mirror to the cultural value systems we take for granted, especially when she states that not all who are called collectors truly are, echoing that the presence of capital does not automatically create meaningful cultural contribution, and this is particularly relevant in the context of art fairs, private foundations, and the real estate-inflected elitism that increasingly defines the artistic landscape; in her view, the art market functions like a zoo, where every agent (curator, artist, critic, buyer) performs a role scripted by invisible forces of prestige and profit, and while the big names fill up catalogues and auction houses, other quieter agents shape the future of contemporary creation through persistence and affection, not through spectacle or accumulation, which is why her critique, however wrapped in humour or metaphor, ultimately demands that we rethink not only who collects but why, how and for whom the collection exists.
