Keon Parsons-My path into art appraisal

By Staff

How did you first become interested in appraising African American art, and what perspectives or experiences most shaped your eye for value, rarity, and significance?

My path into art appraisal is not linear—it’s a tapestry woven from family, culture, music, and an early fascination with objects that carried meaning. If you give me a moment, you’ll understand why this work feels less like a profession and more like a natural extension of who I am.

Jazz was my first theoretical framework for understanding high art. My father, Lamonte Parsons, was a jazz guitarist—Wes Montgomery was his north star. Wes didn’t use a pick; he used his thumb. That warm, tactile tone, unmistakable from the first note, shaped the atmosphere of my childhood. I woke up to scales, chord changes, the amp humming through the floorboards, and long conversations about music and history. That daily immersion sharpened my sensitivity to nuance, mastery, innovation, and improvisation—qualities that translate directly to how I evaluate art.

My mother added another layer. She loved garage and estate sales and taught me to consider the afterlife of objects—how value, condition, rarity, and desirability shape what something is worth. My grandmother, Margaret Veasy, instilled in me an appreciation for textiles, furniture, cleanliness, and the formal presentation of a home. Together, these influences curated my understanding of aesthetics and the emotional life of objects.

The real spark came when I inherited my brother’s baseball, basketball, and football card collection at around seven years old. For him it was a hobby; for me, it became a discipline. I collected, categorized, hunted for rarity, studied photography, layout, text, lighting, and early ideas of visual culture. When pricing guides from FLEER and TOPPS emerged, I was studying indexes before I knew what a market was. That early engagement mirrors today’s art world: auction records, comparables, condition, scarcity. The scaffolding was already there.

Later, my love for reading exploded—nonfiction, art history, criticism, catalogs. I matured during the 1990s, when monumental African American art scholarship surged. Books by David Driskell, Dr. Sharon Patton, Rick Powell, Dr. Samella Lewis, Halima Taha, and the legacy of Dr. James Porter shaped my intellectual grounding. I learned from artists like Romare Bearden and scholars like Harry Henderson. I became immersed in the documentation of private African American collectors—the Evan-Tibbs Collection, Haron and Harriet Kelly, Dr. Walter Evans, Elliot and Kimberly Perry, Daniel Parker, and more recent stewards like Bernard Lumpkin, Pamela Joyner, and Swizz Beatz and Alicia Keys.

This research revealed a truth still underreported: African Americans have been collecting the work of African American artists for generations, long before mainstream recognition. In Chicago, that lineage extends back to Jean Baptiste Point du Sable. Collector Patric McCoy—who, with Daniel Parker, Joan Chrisler, and Carrol Briggs, founded the collectors group Diaspora Rhythms—has done tremendous work tracing that history. Even the deed of sale from du Sable’s Chicago property in 1800 listed over 23 paintings.

Chicago’s artistic lineage is unparalleled. Our global art stars—Kerry James Marshall, Nick Cave, Theaster Gates, McArthur Binion, Dawoud Bey, Rashid Johnson, Nina Chanel Abney, Amanda Williams—are all African American. Then there is another generation rising: Caroline Kent, Tony Lewis, Hebru Brantley, Norman Teague, Bernard Williams. It’s a continuum.

So when people ask why appraisal came naturally, it’s because the ingredients were there: the love of the object, of history, of form, of ideas; the discipline of research; the habit of discerning quality; and the desire to understand how culture moves. It feels effortless because it is organic. It’s who I’ve always been.

When you assess a work’s value, how do you balance market comparables with scholarly frameworks—such as provenance, exhibition history, critical reception, and an artist’s cultural impact?
My Art History training has been indispensable. While I am deeply rooted in African American art, I intentionally developed fluency in the broader global canon—Modern, Post-War, Contemporary—so I could engage both conversations with authority.

The canon, much like jazz history, is built on innovation. Artists who shift the discourse—through technique, material, subject matter, or conceptual rigor—become the anchors of value. Exhibition history drives visibility and critical reception: museums, biennials, galleries, and curators shape narratives. Name recognition is never accidental; it is built through institutional validation and critical engagement.

Provenance provides confidence—clarity of ownership, authenticity, and the integrity of documentation. Market comparables matter, but they are only meaningful when interpreted through a historical, cultural, and scholarly lens. An appraiser’s job is to synthesize all of these elements to get as close as possible to market truth.

What are the most common misconceptions collectors and institutions have about pricing African American art, and how do you address them?
One misconception is that prices appear from thin air. They do not. Valuation is grounded in demand, supply, reputation, and data. My personal opinion never overrides the market. Appraisal is impartial, rooted in methodology, not preference.

Another misconception is that value is fixed. It isn’t. Art markets, like all markets, fluctuate—sometimes dramatically. The secondary market is dynamic, responsive to visibility, scholarship, institutional acquisitions, and even shifts in global attention.

My appraisal reports are structured to explain the “why” behind value: methodology, analysis, comparables, provenance, and any factors that influence the object’s standing. Clarity is key.

Can you walk us through a recent appraisal where provenance research or archival discovery changed the valuation or attribution of a work?
This happens more often than people realize. Collectors frequently own works by artists who are not yet widely known, or whose careers were local or regional. My job is to research, verify, attribute, and identify. Sometimes, attribution changes the nature of the work entirely—its value, significance, conservation needs, and market context.

Every appraisal involves detective work: examining front and back, analyzing materials, cross-referencing archives, consulting experts, and evaluating clues. Attribution is foundational; misattribution can alter the scope and outcome of an appraisal. The process is not pure science—but it is scientific in its rigor.

How do you approach authenticity and condition, especially with mid-century or contemporary works where materials, mixed media, or studio assistants complicate authorship?
Appraisers must be clear: we are not authenticators. Authenticating art has become legally fraught, and many foundations and estates have stepped back from the practice.

However, we must assess, question, and document authenticity concerns in the report.

Condition plays a significant role in value. Contemporary materials can be experimental and inherently fragile. Paints crack, textiles fade, ceramics chip, photographs react to light, and all works respond to temperature. Condition can determine not only price but also desirability.

Collectors and institutions consider these factors carefully when making acquisitions.

Where do you see the market heading in the next three to five years for both canonical figures and emerging artists? What indicators reliably predict stability or momentum?
I’m optimistic by nature—sometimes to a fault. My friend Dr. Atwell says I “chase butterflies,” but I believe that artists who have earned their reputations have done so through vision and consistency.

Markets, however, are never static. Prices rise, plateau, dip, and rise again. Emerging artists must prove themselves at the $10,000–$25,000 level just as canonical artists must perform between $250,000–$500,000. Even so-called blue-chip artists face challenges, gallery shifts, and value reassessments.

Critical reception, institutional acquisitions, representation, scholarship, and secondary market resilience all shape momentum. Consensus is earned, not declared.

What ethical considerations guide your practice—conflicts of interest, restitution claims, or community stewardship—when valuations influence both cultural narratives and financial outcomes?
Appraisers adhere to USPAP—the Uniform Standards of Appraisal Practice—which governs ethical conduct, disclosure, and competency. Transparency is non-negotiable. I cannot appraise work I own or benefit from financially.

Restitution claims often arise from works made or circulating between 1933 and 1945, particularly those displaced under duress or colonial conditions. Provenance research becomes critical. Collectors must ask the hard questions:
Who owned this?
Where has it been?
Do gaps exist in the chain of title?
Are documents intact?

Cultural narratives emerge from institutions and scholarship; appraisers contribute not through opinion but through accuracy, rigor, and respect for truth.

What advice would you give to new collectors building a meaningful collection of African American art, especially regarding due diligence, documentation, insurance, and long-term planning?
Read relentlessly. Look constantly. Train your eye. African American art has a long, rich history that informs everything happening today.

Document everything—sales receipts, certificates, emails, catalogues, provenance trails. You’ll need them. Collections inevitably change hands; we are all temporary stewards of the works we love.

Think about legacy early:
Will your family want the collection?
Is anything museum-worthy?
Does the secondary market exist for the works you own?
How will you protect the collection across decades?

Art outlives all of us. The stewardship, management, conservation, insurance, and eventual disposition of a collection require intentionality. The endgame matters as much as the acquisition.